დაბადების მოწმობა Birth Certificate

დაბადების მოწმობა

შეიძლება ჩემი შეყვარებულის ნეკნიდან ვიშვი,
ისეთი მოფერება იცის, არაფერია გამორიცხული.
იქნებ გავჩნდი მამაჩემის თავის ტკივილიდან,
ზუსტად ვერაფერს ვიტყვი,
ღმერთი რომ მოკვდა, ბავშვი ვიყავი.
ზღვის ქაფიდან? აბა, რა ვიცი,
შავ ზღვას, რომლის ნაპირთანაც დგას ჩემი სახლი,
შავი ქაფი და უამრავი ცრემლი მოჰყვება
და დელფინებიც მოცურავენ დროგამოშვებით.
აბა რა ვიცი, როგორ გავჩნდი,
რომელი ვაშლი გაიყვეს დედაჩემმა და მამაჩემმა,
რომელი ცომის ტიკინა გამოაცხვეს,
რომელი ყვავილის ბუტკოდან ამოვედი,
 
რომელ ხის ნაფოტს ჩაბერეს სუნთქვა
რომელი სიტყვა ითქვა და რომელ მარცვალს მოვყევი,
არაფერი ვიცი დაზუსტებით,
და ალბათ ამიტომაც ვწერ ლექსებს
და რამე ზუსტად რომ მცოდნოდა,
აღარ დავწერდი.
ყოველ შემთხვევაში,
მე ასე ვფიქრობ.
 

Birth Certificate

Maybe I was born from the rib of my beloved,
his caress made everything possible.
Perhaps I was born from my father’s headache,
I can’t say exactly -
when that god died, I was a child.
From seafoam? How would I know?
The Black Sea, on whose shore my house stands,
carries black foam and countless tears,
yet dolphins swim up here from time to time.
How would I know how I was born,
which apple my mother and father shared,
which doll they baked from dough,
which flower bud I came from,
which piece of wood they blew breath into,
which word was uttered and which syllable I followed?
I know nothing exactly,
and that’s why, maybe, I write poems -
and if I had known something exactly,
I would not have written.
Anyway,
that’s what I think.
 

Birth Certificate

Perhaps I was born from the rib of my sweet heart,
He can so caress that nothing can be excluded. ( - everything is possible)
Perhaps I was born from my father’s headache,
I cannot say anything exactly,
When the God died, I was a child.
From the sea foam(froth)? Well, how can I know,
The black sea, at the coast of which my house stands,
Is followed by black foam (froth) and numerous tears
And dolphins swim up here from time to time.
How can I know how I was born,
Which apple my mother and father share,
Which pastry doll (puppet) they baked,
Which flower bud I came from,
To which tree chip they blew breath
Which ward was said and which syllable I followed to,
I know nothing exactly,
And that’s why possibly I write poems
And if I had known something exactly,
I would not have written.
Anyway,
I think so. (that’s how I think)
 

It was really fun to translate this new poem by Diana Anphimiadi, a much-loved poet published by the PTC, with Natalia Bukia-Peters and the workshop group in Newcastle. Unlike our regular open-to-all PTC workshops, this group was largely made up of Brown Girls Write members, a group for South Asian women writers facilitated by New Writing North. Many of the members had experience with other languages like Bangla, Urdu and Arabic – and though we did have a Georgian hip hop fan in the group, nobody had worked with Georgian before. Only one person had translated before. We had travelled up to Newcastle to get to know the writing community there, ahead of the PTC’s 20th birthday showcase at Newcastle Poetry Festival later this year.

In ‘Birth Certificate’ (an excellent title we kept from Natalia’s guide translation), we see the speaker deal impatiently with the uncertainty of where they came from. You’d think this should be a source of greater grief – the speaker acts as though it’s an annoyance. But only at the end of the poem do we learn that it’s precisely this uncertainty that has enabled the creative life of this speaker and, we suppose, Anphimiadi and all poets too. It becomes a bit of an ars poetica or manifesto.

A little gloss: we only realised a few lines in that the poem references lots of different creation myths – it begins with Eve being born of Adam’s rib, then Greek goddess Athena emerging fully-formed from Zeus’s forehead, Venus rising from the waves… it goes on. Anphimiadi is known for her work on Classical Greek mythology, so this made total sense.

When translating, we had to pay particular attention to tone: were we being too formal, or informal? How could we communicate, for instance, the geography of ‘on whose shore my house stands’ without being too wordy? We also had to make sure we got the details of the myths right, and translated them using recognisable terms in English. And we spent an inordinate amount of time debating capital letters: Georgian doesn’t have upper/lower case, so should ‘black sea’ be capitalised? What about ‘God’? How much did we want to bring in the Judeo-Christian monotheistic concept of the divine, as opposed to the Greek pantheon of gods and goddesses?

There’s little I love more than a heated argument about capitalisation. It means we’re all invested in the act of translation, all of us engaged in a great deal of serious, collaborative play. I hope you feel the spirit of that play when you read this poem.

– Helen Bowell, Poet-facilitator

Original Poem by

Diana Anphimiadi

Translated by

Natalia Bukia-Peters with Brown Girls Write Language

Georgian

Country

Georgia