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Mariam was born in 1944 in the village of Buchuk'urta, Khevsureti. She married into Ch’ie, which today is a small village of just four houses at least an hour’s hike up from the nearest road.
Shortly after giving birth to her son in this remote village, both her husband and father-in-law died in tragic accidents and she was left to raise the child on her own.
''Some days,'' she says, ''it is hot and my cows go up to the forest. I sit out there, just sitting, with bread and cheese in my hand. Sometimes I think about the past. Sometimes I cry. And sometimes, all by myself, I sing!''
A love letter.
Siqvarulis Ts’erilze
(scroll down for English translation)
/Dghes ra ghamdeba, ver get’qvit
Khval k’i moveli k’virasa/
/Unda davasts’ro leksis tkma
Gasatenebel dilasa/
/Lekso ts’erilit gaggzavni
Khels eghirsebi mzisasa/
/Shen unda gitkhra mtskhovrebo
Gaghma perdobis p’irasa/
/Didi khania lamazo
Mchagrav maqeneb ziansa/
/Guls gamichine ch’riloba
Gunebas khalisiansa/
Ts’ameba geqo maride
Otsnebas burusiansa
/Gzas ek’lebians mashore
Maghirse qvaviliansa/
/Davgmo t’anjuli sitsotskhle
Gavudge khalisiansa/
/An tu mghalot’ob isats tkvi
Gzas me ar vzogav mt’riansa/
/Dzvirad dausom tsilobas
Vints gind daso makhiansa/
Shen tavs aravis davutmob
Isev dghes davtmob mziansa
Shens sakhels arvis vaghirseb
Vpitsav mtebs qinuliansa
/Mkholod imattan nu chamotvli
Zog rom qels uts’evs tmiansa/
/Ar vitkhov dananebasa
Ar shavkhvets’nior shriaksa/
/Me ar vuqureb sinazes
Arts ch’reli k’abis shrialsa/
Arts silamazes vuqureb
Arts enit lakardiansa
/Mkholod vet’rpobi khasiats
Sitsotskhles sinatliansa/
/Vgmob veridebi iset mzes
P’irs badavs sirtskhviliansa/
/Mash saboloo otsnebas
Mivandob ghamis ts’qvdiadsa/
Translation:
A Love Letter
What the night will bring, I cannot say
But tomorrow Sunday will come
I want to write a poem
Before the morning arrives
I will send you the poem in a letter
Your hands will be honored by the sun
I want to say to you,
Resident of the opposite slope
That it is a long time, my dear
That I am oppressed and hurt by you
You wounded my heart
And my buoyant nature
I've had enough of this torture,
This foggy dream
Distance me from this thorny road
Give me a flowery path
Enough with this torturous life
I want to live joyfully
If you betray me, then say it
For I show no mercy to the road’s enemies
I don't care who you want -
I won’t give you up to anyone
Today I prefer the sun
I swear on the icy mountains
I won't let others utter your name.
Only don't consider me as
A man who flirts with others
I am not asking you to pity me
I am not begging you
I don't look at tenderness
Nor the rustling of colorful dresses
Nor does language matter
I don’t look at beauty
I worship only character, the light of life
I refuse the sun who bows her head in shame
So finally I give my dreams
To the night’s gloom
Oblobaze
Text: Ivane Ts’ik’lauri
(scroll down for English translation)
Lekss it’qvis tushi omari
Tsimbirshi chamovjdebi
Tem-soplis madzulebuli
Vints sik’vdils daghvits’qebia
Otsi ts’lis gasadzlebuli
Shors qinulebshi vzrebia
Vazhk’atss otsdakhut ts’lisasa
Sul gamitetrda tmebia
K’ldeshi jikhvebis mimqoli
Ekhla pekhze dzliv vdgebia
Dznelia akit ts’asvlai
Vazhk’atss gind ebas mkhrebia
Pkhizloben rogorts mglebia
Am tskhveba k’veri oblisa
Makhsovs met’qoda bebia
T’olebs k’i maints ajobebs
Obols tan hqveba bedia
Ded-mama mashin momk’vdara
Omar rom daghbadebia
Memr mshoblis t’kbili alersi
Arodis ar mghisebia
Arts makhovs sakhe imati
Ar vitsi ra rigebia
Sitsotskhle momets’amlebis
Khan k’inagh gavgizhdebia
Chem khelit tavis mok’vlai
Ramdenjer mipikrebia
Mudam skhvat kheltad ts’akhedva
Ra ch’irad gavizrdebia
Ch’reli rat aris sopeli
Vpikrob ver gamigebia
Am kveqnad maints bevria
Mdidari gharibebia
Ramdenits ts’amovizarde
Tantan daberda mt’rebia
Rasats kveqana shvreboda
Qvela me dambralebia
K’iavots daisveneben
Ekhla khom davshordebia
Dideba shentvis upalo
Siaves ara vshrebia
Ar vitsi ras memdurian
Guldidad vazhk’atsebia
Zogtavit tvalqurobai
Me aros mik’adrebia
Kal-vazhi avis znisai
Akhlos ar mik’arvebia
Dachagrulebis dachagvra
Ertkhel ar mompikrebia
Mudam mts’qenia augi
Tu ra vis dauqmedia
Me arvis gamovktsevivor
K’i gaktseulan skhvebia
Chem gamo bidzashvilebsa
Sirtskhvil aravis zdebia
Chemad magivrad chem mt’erta
Khel arvis gaurevia
Taod mimitsav k’iseri
Tu ravin mt’rebi mrgebia
Bevr mts’are gamik’vnet’avis
Gul k’i ar gamit’ekhia
Sik’etes bevra minakhav
Mk’vekhrebzed k’idev met’ia
T’ialo ts’utisopelo, Gkhedav rom shaitsvlebia
Translation:
Orphanhood
Omar from Tusheti recites:
I will stay in Siberia
And bear the misfortune of families
Who have died and been forgotten
I have been exiled for twenty years
I am frozen far into the ice
Once a brave man,
Just twenty-five years of age
I have already grown grey
I was a mountain hunter but
Today it is hard for me to stand on my feet
It is very hard to be here –
You need much strength
Those Siberian bears are vigil, like wolves
Like my grandmother once said:
Orphans’ bread doesn’t bake.
My parents died when I was born
I never felt the sweet care of my parents
I don’t even remember their faces
My life has been poisoned and sometimes I go crazy
How many times have I thought of killing myself?
Whenever I look at others I wonder why I was born…
Why is the world in different colors?
I ponder and I don’t understand
How there are so many in our world, both rich and poor.
As I grow old, so do my enemies
I am blamed for the wrongs others have committed
Dear God -
I have never committed wrongs
I don’t know why they are against me, these proud people
I have never spied, like others have
I have never been close to a woman
I have never thought to oppress the oppressed
I have never tried to escape, like others have from me
How upset I was when they dared to reproach me
Thanks to me, my brother’s children have never been shamed
No one has fought my enemies for me
I have protected my own neck whenever I had to
I have not broken hearts, nor have I upset people
I have lived with kindness more than I have with boasting
Oh, You – You Brief Life!
I see you
In all the ways you have changed.
A ballad about the war heroes of Khevsureti, a highland in northeast Georgia.
Chven Gviqvars K’avk’asioni
Text: Ivane Ts’ik’lauri
(scroll down for English translation)
Chven gviqvars k’avk’asioni
Gmirebis namukhlaria
Aema mtat gulisatvina
Ts’qdebodes mam-p’ap’ania
Jach’v ver udzlebda bektari
Gmirt hkonda mk’lavis jania
Mudam mt’ris molodinesa
Ts’elt shaukhsnelad khmalia
Sul mzas jghani da ts’riap’i
Chokhis ubeshi paria
Khevsurt ar tkvian vazhebo
Sit’qva k’och’li da mtsdaria
Pir hkonda gaut’ekheli
Nabch’obi napikralia
Omshi uts’evlad diodes
Gmirt gaats’qvian jaria
Shin k’i ar imalebodes
Tkvian gvjoboian k’ania
Translation:
We Love the Caucasus Mountains
We love the Caucasus Mountains
The steps of heroes
Our ancestors fought
For the heart of these mountains
Wearing shirts of iron
The heroes had strong, healthy arms
They always were ready for enemies
They always had swords on them
Their cleats were always prepared
On the bosom of their chokha,1 a shield
You cannot say about the Khevsurs2
A word lame or false
They are steadfast
Their plans discussed, analyzed
They go to war
An army of heroes
They don’t hide at home, for they
Care not about the worth of their skin
1Part of a traditional male dress of the Caucasus. There are four versions of the garment within Georgia, and it is linked to a strong sense of national pride. Read more about the chokha here.
2People from Khevsureti.
Khevsuretze
Text: Gabriel Ch’inch’arauli
(scroll down for English translation)
Khevsurets miesalmeba
K’alami gamotsdilia
Sadats boinobs arts’ivi
Mkhrebs atamashebs gmiria
Ts’qaro chkebs qinuliani
Salik’ldit gadaghvrilia
Tsis varsk’vlav tavit qvavilni
Sit’urpit gasak’viria
Shurtkhi gahk’ivis ch’iukhta
Okros tma davartskhnilia
Lkhinobs bunebis surati
Mdis uk’vdavebis milia
Mtebi dgas chamts’k’rivebuli
T’ans mskhvili mkhargashlilia
Rogors st’alinis jarebi
Saubrad tavmaqrilia
Gachumebulan soplebi
Bevr dro akv gamovlilia
Khalkh akhsovs t’anabjriani
Mitkhos khmis mt’ekhi mziria
Sul ts’ukhad khirimt k’ukhili
Sidznele gadaqrilia
Khavsmak’idebul tsikheta
Libu ar mt’quvnobs dziria
Khavsmak’idebul tsikheta
Libu ar mt’quvnobs dziria
Masts’onda m’qviat karshkhali
Gul mk’erdit gamatvlilia
Chardakhianem k’edlebma
Topit itsodes lkhinia
Shvidn ch’ekdes goza rkianni
Dzvals k’vetda khmlebis p’iria
Jghreda qudvilebs parebsa
Gmins uqveboda gminia
Khelshi tsvdebodes k’irgorni
Dro hkonda gasach’iria
Tskhoneba khevsurt gmirebsa
Mits’a rom ak’rav grilia
Zog tu ts’evs gulsiskhliani
Zog khel-pekh gadach’rilia
Aghar zhghers imat abjari
Adgas kva mits’is chrdilia
Sjobs rom ar nakhan mzis shuki
Kveqana gardakmnilia
Arts imas vadzlevt p’at’ivsa
Vints saamaqo shvilia
Tem-soplis gamosadegi
Svindisit amozdilia
Mt’erstan gmirulad damakhvedri
Lomi k’mil gagershilia
K’arg vazhi k’argi kal-rdzali
Vinats qvelaprit srulia
Mamgondas gamikhardeba
Guls ek’urneba ts’qlulia
Taqvans stsems chemi k’alami
Kebas mk’arnakhobs gulia
Translation:
Khevsureti
Greetings to Khevsureti
My pen if proficient for you
Where the eagle reigns
Playing on the hero’s shoulder
The spring runs icy
Purified by the rocks
Like the sky’s stars, like flowers
Surprised by their own beauty
The snowcock cries to the gorge
Its golden hair combed
Nature celebrates
In a moment of immortality
The mountains stand in a row
Thick-bodied, broad-shouldered
Formidable
Like the armies of Stalin
Villages are silenced
So much time has passed
Forever troubled,
Difficulties have dissipated
The moss-covered castle
Protected and safe
It enjoyed the storm of bullets
That lashed its breast
These shadowy walls
Know both war and peace
There was thunder
Bones slashed by the tongue of swords
Flocks, all in a row
The moaning voices of sheep
Faded in the hands of the limestone hills
Time has had it difficult
Khevsur heroes must be remembered
Those who have turned over the cool earth
Some lie with bloody hearts
Some have wounded arms and legs
There is no longer the sound of armor
A rock stands in the shadow of the earth’s shade
It is better not to see the light of the sun
Because the world has transformed
And those glorious sons –
Don't get paid their due respect
Those who were meant for village life
And were raised well
Good fighters against the enemies
Lions with wild tears
Good young men, good young women
Perfect, absolute in every way
It would make me happy to remember
It would be medicine for my poor heart
I adore my pen
As my heart sings these praises.