Reaction to Georgia-Russian War (Guramishvili's Epitaph)

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For bio information on the poet, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Guramishvili English translation comes from Anthology of Georgian poetry / Trans. by Venera Urushadze; Ed. with an introduction by Mikheil Kvesselava. — Tb.:State Publ. House, Soviet Georgia, 1952. See http://www.nplg.gov.ge/dlibrary/collect/0001/000091/Anthology%20of%20Georgian%20poetry.pdf DAVID GURAMISHVILI TO THE FLEETING WORLD 1 Trust not this fleeting, hectic world, Its words are false, delusive bright. In vain is every strife to stop Its endless, ceaseless, whirling flight. The happy hours we pass to-day To-morrow vanish swift as light. Deny the flesh, pray for thy soul, All else is only vain delight. 2 The world embracing time and space Whirls into spans of dark and light, Where murmuring breezes, crooning soft, With violent, storm-racked winds unite. Its joys are harbingers of woe, Its visions fair — illusions bright. Remorseless time blots out fore'er All glory, happiness and might. 3 Alas! too well I know this world That is so lovely to one's eyes. Such happiness embraced my soul That life to me seemed paradise, But now behold me humbled low, A captive in a world of lies. Tears sought my heart for its abode And heaped on it deep smothering sighs. 4 Short-lived and fleeting is this world; What joy it gives is but a dream, And all that has been known and loved Floats from us down life's hellish stream. The happiness it promised me Was vain delusion's flashing gleam, The hopes now all to ashes turned Can naught on earth to life redeem. 5 O cursed demon! thou traitor false! Thou art the harbinger of woe. Thy promised pledges, every word Is but a false, deceiving show. Alas! I placed my trust in thee, But with an unexpected blow Thou conquered me and down I fell In spirit crushed and humbled low. 6 Thus I bewail this cursed world, Deploring bitterly my life. O whence and whither are we bound, And why this maddening, futile strife? No child have I to soothe my age, Deprived am I of kin or wife, Forgotten and alone I die! Alas, O world! O woe my life! 7 The world drew forth its bow and sent An arrow flying in the air. It quickly sought my heart and found Abode within its lonesome lair. Surrounded am I by the foe Instead of son or daughter fair. So down I sit to write a poem To be my offspring and my heir. 8 — Lonesome! Yes, lonesome is my life. Misfortune bows me down with care, And like a wind-tossed leaf I'm flung To earth where grief is but my share. A plaything am I, yoked to woe, Enduring more than flesh can bear. While others fate blessed lavishly For me no heir it had to spare. 9 Devoid of issue, barren-doomed, Like an empty wooden cage am I. Within the fastness of my heart Tears flow that naught but death can dry. Thus like a bird shut in a cage, That gazes wistfully on high, O'erwhelmed by tears in solitude, Within my narrow world I lie. 10 Fate guides us through long pathless ways, While swift as light the hours go by. Short hours of joy, long hours of woe Pass from us with a yearning sigh. By fate, like winds we're buffeted, First lifting us to soar on high, Then thud us back to earth that gave Us birth wherein we're doomed to die. 11 Eh! one by one our days and years Like sands of ruthless time run low, A moment's span of light from gloom, Then into dark once more we go. Time tears the threads we leave behind, Gives place to death who with a plow Erases, levels to the dust All that we were with a quick blow. 12 Before the mockeries of life The mortal being is made to stray, A transient guest in a transient world, A sombre urn of human clay. Time makes one step behind which ages From memory pass quick away, And all that seemed so breathless bright Is but an eye-deceiving ray. 13 Sorrow has shortened all my days, Like ashes on my head they fall. The sweetness of the draught I drank Was turned to bitterness and gall. The wild beasts keep a wary eye, And drawing closer, stealthy crawl To pounce upon my carcass foul Now wrapped within a funeral pall. 14 So down I sit to write a poem To be my offspring and my heir. It is a song wrought in a heart That knew but misery and care. It overfloods my soul with hope That hitherto knew but despair. Then let it swell and for the good Of Georgia flourish on fore'er!

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Uploaded: August 12th, 2008 @ 3:38 am
Author: tfine80

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Tags: conflict georgia georgian gori ossetia putin russia russian saakashvili war

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