2 EPISTLES TO MY DAUGHTER
1.
my bloodless daughter
frolicking in my capillaries all along
stop playing
stop drying up so pompously either
when i water you to grow
close your face with the rain
when i comb your hair
when i make up your eyes and lips
then dandle you to sleep
telling you aaaah
i’m your doll, OK?
i’m your pillow, OK?
i don’t exist — you’re yelling like a black cloud
flooding my house, sticking out your tongue
and walking away despondently
you don’t exist,
girl,
because my heart was generous and naïve
and i kept all the snakes in my bosom
when it was cold
they fed on my body
and when there was nothing left from me
they spat in my empty shadow
licked their lips, content,
and left to find a warm corner
leaning on my dead table
i’m tasting my tears with my tongue — they’re never the same
nor is the amount of the tide
the year is rainy, my daughter
i don’t want hails
so that when i water you, you might grow
i’ll thrust my fingers into the ground, tickle your roots so that you’ll bloom
send me elderly men, my daughter
skilled gardeners who will soften my tough heart in the cracking sun
2.
my daughter, i washed my hair, dressed
tinted my nails — your favorite crimson—
now that i am so good-looking,
my daughter,
give me the sway to wait for you
to wait for our daddy
and not to be cheated by these sirmaids
that sing from behind seven mountains and seven seas
about castles with tons of stars, planets of gold
which they will send to our moms
as a love price for giving birth to us
i’m scared, my daughter, so scared
that our ship’s helm might turn its direction
and enchanted with the grandeur of a hollow voice
she might hit the reefs
leaving our daddy an orphan
to say nothing of me
and you — forever unborn
Translated by Ann Voskanian
1 comment
Meri Grigoryan says:
Dec 27, 2013
Dear Ann Voskanian, please do pay attention to prepositions, idioms, phrases, adjectives and adverbs, choice of synonyms, and last but not least the definite articles.
My edited version © Meri Grigoryan
bloodless girl
endlessly frolicking in my veins
stop playing
and stop drying up so proudly
when I water you to grow
cover your face with the rain
when I comb your hair
when I paint your lips and eyes
and rock your cradle
then hum a-a-a…
I’m your doll, am I not?
I’m your pillow, am I not?
I don’t exist…
you keep yelling like a black cloud
flooding my house, sticking your tongue out
and walking away sullenly
you don’t exist,
girl,
you don’t exist,
because my heart was generous and naïve
and I nourished all the snakes in my bosom
when it was cold,
they fed on my body,
and when there was nothing left of me
they spat on my empty shadow,
licked their lips contentedly
and left to find a warm corner
leaning on my lifeless table
with my tongue I taste my tears,
they are never the same
nor is the height of the tide,
the year is rainy, my daughter,
let there be less hailstones,
so when I water you, you might grow
and I shall thrust my fingers into the soil, tickle your roots so that you’ll bloom
send me elderly men, my daughter,
skilled gardeners who will plough my hardened heart in the scorching sun
2.
my daughter, I washed my hair, dressed up,
varnished my fingernails with your favourite crimson
now that I am so good-looking,
my daughter,
give me some strength to wait for you,
to wait for our daddy,
and not to be misled by those mermen
who sing behind the seven mountains and the seven seas
about castles with tons of stars, planets of gold,
which they will send to our mothers
as a token of love for giving birth to us
I’m scared, my daughter, so scared
that the helm of our ship might willingly turn its course
and being enchanted by the beauty of the hollow voices
we might hit the reefs
leaving our daddy as an orphan
to say nothing of me
and you — forever unborn