#georgian
THE KNIGHT IN THE PANTHER’S SKIN
***** Rustaveli (c. 1160-1250), often called simply Rustaveli, was a Georgian poet who is generally considered to be the preeminent poet of the Georgian Golden Age. “The Knight in the Panther's Skin” or “The Man in the Panther’s Skin” is considered to be Georgia’s national epic poem and until the 20th century it was part of every Georgian bride’s dowry. It is believed that Rustaveli served Queen Tamar as a treasurer or finance minister and that he may have traveled widely and been involved in military campaigns. Little else is known about his life except through folk tradition and legend.
The Knight in the Panther's Skin
by ***** Rustaveli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
excerpts from the PROLOGUE
I sing of the lion whose image adorns the lances, shields and swords
of our Queen of Queens: Tamar, the ruby-throated and ebon-haired.
How dare I not sing Her Excellency’s manifold praises
when those who attend her must bring her the sweets she craves?
My tears flow profusely like blood as I extol our Queen Tamar,
whose praises I sing in these not ill-chosen words.
For ink I have employed jet-black lakes and for a pen, a flexible reed.
Whoever hears will have his heart pierced by the sharpest spears!
She bade me laud her in stately, sweet-sounding verses,
to praise her eyebrows, her hair, her lips and her teeth:
those rubies and crystals arrayed in bright, even ranks!
A leaden anvil can shatter even the strongest stone.
Kindle my mind and tongue! Fill me with skill and eloquence!
Aid my understanding for this composition!
Thus Tariel will be tenderly remembered,
one of three star-like heroes who always remained faithful.
Come, let us mourn Tariel with undrying tears
because we are men born under similar stars.
I, Rustaveli, whose heart has been pierced through by many sorrows,
have threaded this tale like a necklace of pearls.
Keywords/Tags: ***** Rustaveli, Georgia, Georgian, epic, knight, panther, skin, queen, Tamar, praise, praises, Tariel, Avtandil, Nestan-Darejan
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 1:38 AM UTC
ატმისფრად იწვის შენი ტუჩები
მათთვის სიცივე არაფერია,
სანამ კოკორო გაიფურჩქნები,
მითხარი შეთნვის ცა რა ფერია.
გრძნობას უბედოს ჩუმად დასტირის
ზღვა მუდამ სევდით სავსე მთოვარი,
ვით ომში მფრენი თეთრი მანდილი
ფიქრები შენზე დანატოვარი.
მაგრამ ოცნება მიწაზე ვარდილ,
უთეთრეს ფურცლეს ჰგავს, როგორც ადრე...
მასზე ვწერ ყველა ნანახს თუ განცდილს,
ყველა სტროფს იტევს რაც კი რამ ვანდე...
ატმისფრად იწვის შენი ტუჩები,
მზეზე მძლავრია და მწველი მასზე,
ერთი შეხება და გაფრენილი
დავემსგავსები რაკეტას მარსზე.
მე რეაქტიულს მოგიტან ყვავილს
შენ კი ღიმილი გთხოვ მომიქსოვე
Lady Stardust - ის ქუჩას რომ გაჭრი
მთვარეზე მჯდარი ისევ მიპოვე.
ატმისფრად იწვის შენი ტუჩები,
მათთვის სიშორე არაფერია,
სანამ სხვა მხარეს გადაფრინდები,
მითხარი შეთნვის ცა რა ფერია.
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 8:15 AM UTC
we ran out of gas as we pulled
into the marina
and I thought
“how lucky it was
we weren’t stuck at sea”
it mimicked the moment
you called and said
“I didn’t feel how
I was supposed to.”
the dog was stepping on my toes
on board
and
the bare-chested captain
bounced me out of my seat
going parallel along the waves
the salt air kept catching
in my throat
it felt like your hand
was still clasped around it
I am at ease knowing
that sardines don’t swim
in these waters
I wonder if your fish pillow
swims sentinel –
no school surrounding –
watches you scroll past
pictures of my naked figure
with newly acquired tan lines
I am shallow water:
feel comforted knowing
you can wade in up to your knees
and not get in
too deep.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
The grange had got it's new tenants at last
Swiftly approaching it's great gates
They were a beef eating bunch of a bloodline
horse and carriage and all
Driven by a shirtless whip in sunburnt skin and an ivy cap
The sun above a dreadful shade of burning peach and sky of sickest sea blue
The master twiddled his thumbs as he leaned out the window
Watching the gate part
The letter open on his desk
Not as much as an telephone call
Just a stack of notes and a newspaper clipping
Smartly closed in red sealing wax
Did they not know what had happened here just a year before?
_______________________________
At lunchtime in five weeks
All was not well
Not one bit
The garden swing hung off it's hinge
Creaking in a minor key
Drops of blood the same shade as sealing wax disrupted the floral wallpaper which lay abandoned on the garden path
lumps of earth were roughly dispersed
Four lumps
For that one bloodline
One year, five weeks and a few lonely hours
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC