Zviad Ratiani’s Twisted Lullaby (translation)

Sing to me your twisted lullaby, the song of relief,
for those who return home only at the break of day,
who cannot let go of their sacred embers of grief
until the night is muddled thoroughly with sunrays.

For the one who could do no better than falling
from the nightly bridge into hell; and for those
who stare at the first rays of the sun like the boring
end credits of a film. Who hate but cannot let go

of even a single, ugly past. So, sing to me
your bitter lullaby—for those who only know
that God is near, but cannot trust faith nor see
a path to reach Him, though they search and follow.

Sing to me your lullaby, once again, sing
your lawless lullaby, for those who now,
sleepless and beaten, drag themselves, gasping,
to the place they still call home, their cold house,

and believe that at least there, some warmth still is,
a warmth their bodies, somehow, still seek.
They believe the more you endure love and demise,
the more peaceful, somehow, will be your sleep.

(Sing for the one who’s seen the place of his final rest
and its inscription very nearly brought him to tears.
Houses are torn down, seas are dried up, cut are the forests—
yet still he cannot sever his deathly fears.)

Sing to me your lullaby, the song of respite,
for the one who presses the lift’s red button at sunrise,
and imagines three times how the door opens wide
and someone shoots him in the face three times.

The one who can only thinks of his face, bleeding,
and of the dogs that outside howl and mourn,
as he opens the door quivering and trembling,
and collapses on the bed, still dressed, only at dawn.

and to hush the sleepless thoughts, he draws flowers
on the pillow with a finger, or fancies
having taken a sleeping pill, or counts, or cowers
under the blanket, or gathers rhymes into verses,

and feels that the blood no longer runs from his eyes.
Not even tears anymore. Only fear, fear and exhaustion.
Sing to me your twisted lullaby, the song of release,
for those who sink into sleep only at dawn.

***

აღარ მახსოვს, რამდენი წლის წინ, ამ ლექსით გავიცანი დიდი პოეტი და დიდი ადამიანი, ზვიად რატიანი. წლების შემდეგ ეს გახდა პირველი ქართული ლექსი, რომელიც ინგლისურად ვთარგმნე.

ახლა, როცა ეს თარგმანი ჩემს ბლოგზე ქვეყნდება, ზვიად რატიანი ციხეშია – სირცხვილი, რომელსაც ვერ ჩამოვირეცხავთ, მაგრამ ალბათ, შევეგუებით, როგორც აქამდე შევეგუეთ ჩვენი ქვეყნის დიდი შვილების წინაშე ჩადენილ სირცხვილებს.

თავისუფლება ზვიად რატიანს!