donderdag 23 mei 2013

Mirza Gelovani, Georgië (1917-1944)

Mirza Gedeonovich Gelovani werd geboren op 2 maart 1917 te Tioneti, Georgië.

Na afronding van de locale kweekschool in 1935, ging hij aan de slag als onderwijzer. In 1936 verhuisde het gezin naar Tiblisi waar Gelovani tot 1939 werkzaam zou zijn als proeflezer bij uitgevershuizen en verschillende kranten.

Hij begon op jonge leeftijd met het schrijven van gedichten. Het eerste gedicht dat ooit gepubliceerd werd droeg de titel "Witte aarde" welke door Radjen Gvetadze werd opgenomen in diens roman "Avonden in Lashuari"

Op het einde van de jaren dertig verscheen zijn werk regelmatig in magazines zoals Mnatobi, Choeni Taoba en anderen.

Gelovani werd in 1939 opgeroepen om zijn dienstplicht te vervullen en zou vanaf het begin van de Patriotische oorlog deel uitmaken van de Russische strijdmachten. Hij sneuvelde echter in juli 1944.

Zijn werk werd grotendeels postuum gepubliceerd.

Wait for me

I shall return to you when comes the day.
All mists and rainclouds I will dissipate,
your every hurt and wound I'll smile away,
if only you do want me back, and wait.

My friends will gather once they hear the news,
their shots will shake the dwedrops from the trees,
I'll take the moon down, prise the mountains loose,
and make them yours to do with as you please!

In voices low your bridesmaids will be chanting
of carefree girlhood, all too quickly flown,
and of the knight who came down from the mountains
to love you and to claim you for his own.

The zourna will begin, and then the drum
will join it in a song to you, my darling.
The whole community I shall invite to come
to wish us happiness and drink Madjari.

I'll make our wedding a celestial banquet,
but so no lie should mar the jubilations
where I am now I've got to know you want me
and that you're waiting for me with impatience.

Forgive me

A rattling boxcar carried me away
while you remained behind upon the platform.
Your wistful smile with me will always stay,
your hair, like maple leaves in autumn....

The power of your saddened eyes I swore
would bring me back to you, but I'm afraid
that wickedly these autumn days of war
will rob me of the promise that I made.

And if my heart should stop a bullet, or
if I should fall when running in attack,
you must forgive me, darling, I implore,
that I deceived you and did not come back.


remember how, those shells burst all the time,
and how the ground about us had turned dark?
Remember how that bullet past us whined
in our young comrade's heart to find it's mark?
That boy, whose greatcoat was too large for him,
beside the church wall limply huddled lay.
He had not loved yet or beloved been,
and died when spring was but a week away.
The blast had squashed and bent his tommy-gun...
The main thing, you said them, was not to quake
from grief and shock. So, fighting, we marched on.
The dead reflected in their eyes opaque
the copper flare of devastating fires.
We forged ahead, slow metre after metre,
and knew that nothing could from death safeguard us.
If live we would, we had ourselves to beat it!

(vertalingen van Olga Shartse)

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