Rati Amaglobeli Poems

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I used to go to school on foot and by trolley-bus.
Simple time. Slow tempo. Ad lib tempo.

I loved you with the same feeling

I loved you with the same feeling
I had for the universe, for childhood,
A feeling which quivered in me for years,

To Dachi

When you tremble and with your
One-week-old hands seek space -
I truly know God exists,

Quiet, A Child Is Asleep

Curtains have shaded the room. All round
Peace breathes, peace wafts,
But thought is audible, let nothing seek out

I want your hand

I want your hand to be placed on my heart, and come,
I want the palm of your hand on my heart, for it to be placed on me.

As Soon As

As soon as I open my eyes towards morning
I shall open the balcony doors, then


A, B, C and
I really don't know what I want.

The Forest

This forest is thick, but it's light,
Like a temple, like Athens city.
In the forest every daybreak seems

Zwischen uns

Zwischen uns lediglich Straßen liegen
Und in den Höfen noch Biegungen,
Deren großen Bäume in der grünen
Zeit in dein Fenster blicken, sich biegend.

Als ob sie im Rascheln würden suchen
Die eigenen Schatten, deine Wohnung
Auch auszukundschaften versuchen,
Wenn's dämmert und du willst ruhen.

Und dies jede Nacht, und jeden Morgen
Geht zwischen uns beiden auf die Sonne
Und das geschieht so ruhig und sorglos
Wenn wir sie gewahren, dann nur mit Wonne

Leider will ich immer wieder kommen
Fort von meinem Hof, meinen Wegen,
Meiner Straße, aber dieses Warten beklommen
Machte mich schlapp, kann mich nicht regen.

Im Frühling, wenn aus irgendeinem Grunde
Du jemanden plötzlich liebst und leidest,
Dann liebst du nicht - der Frühling gibt seine Kunde
Er berührt das Herz, der Frühling weidet

Sich an demjenigen, der ich nie war, niemals.
Zwischen uns waren mit Gefühlen
Und vollem Ernst nie getrennt die Wäsche
Und das Bettzeug, einzig die kühlen

Menschenlosen Straßen zwischen uns liegen
Und in den Höfen noch Biegungen,
Deren großen Bäume, die grün sind
In dein Fenster schauen, sich biegend,

Und jetzt, da die Frühlingszeit anbricht
Führen die Straßen mich fort wie getrieben,
Ich beschuldige die Straßen, nicht wissend,
Schreibe ich Gedichte oder liebe ich dich wirklich.

Übersetzung aus dem Georgischen von Steffi Chotiwari-Jünger


It's as though something expired in me, something died -
An old person, as aged as time.
What hitherto I was moulding as an entire teleological body,
Has shattered on me, is scattered into ten thousand bits and elements,
Like a human corpse,
Which after death has given back to mother earth
What a human being spent all his physical life putting together out of it, filling it with his invisible ghost:
With minerals, carbohydrates, vegetable or animal fats, and with proteins, and made it visible and palpable, because he ate the mother earth when he ate: tomatoes and onions and garlic and dill and lettuce leaves and petrushka, which is Russian for parsley, and he also ate celery and mint and coriander and tarragon and basil and leeks and coloured vegetables and thousands of greens and types of pepper and dried herbs and vegetables and carrots and cabbage and beet and radish and gherkins and aubergines and maize, which you can boil or else peel and make polenta from it and eat it, and so on.
Thousands of sorts of soft fruit and any sort of fruit: plums and apples and pears and jujubes and damsons and smilax berries and korolioks, which is Russian for kaki fruit. And pomegranates and watermelons, and melons and strawberries and mirabelle plums and wild seedling mirabelles: oh, how generous nature is!
And figs and grapes,
After pressing which we get a liquid product, from this liquid product we can make for the little ones: grape-juice jelly, flour and juice blancmange and, if we don't grudge the walnuts and hazelnuts, we get churchkhela sweets, and we also have the right to make from this product, or the fluid we pour off it in liquid form, either grape juice or young wine, or whatever we like.
Put something over it and if we give it as bit of time, it gives us wine too for grown-ups.
And tart plums and small apricots and bullaces and sour plums and peaches and large apricots and cherries and morello cherries, not raw, but as preserves, as jams, which means we get the fruit pulp as a compote, and anyway, who can count how many things we get from nature and unite in our physical organization, which makes visible and palpable our invisible ghost, which after physical death gives back to the earth, reprocessed, everything that was received in the course of a whole life, and once again becomes invisible, like that teleological body which I was constantly moulding into a whole, which was shattered and scattered into ten thousand bits and elements, because it is as though something expired in me, something died - an old person, as aged as history.

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