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Violet on the Mountain

Violet on the Mountain :


An Anthology of Georgian Folk Poetry
Translated and Edited by Kevin Tuite

ia mTazeda :
qarTuli xalxuri poeziis
anTologia (inglisur enaze)

Seadgina da Targmna qevin TuiTma

Tbilisi: Amirani

Tbil isi : gamomce mloba « amirani »


This book is dedicated to my mother.

gezläS laCfanal dia eser li.


— Svanetian proverb
ia mtazeda

Contents
TRANSLITERATION SYSTEMS 7
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 8
INTRODUCTION 10
MAP OF GEORGIA 24
MUSICAL EXAMPLES 25

Text Notes
1. Moq’me da vepkhvi “The young man and the leopard” 30 120
2. Akhmet’uri p’at’ardzali “The bride from Akhmeta” 34 120
3. Dælil k’ojas khelghwazhale “Dali is giving birth on the cliff” 38 121
4. Ts’utisopeli “The fleeting world” 40 121
5. Tavparavneli ch’abuk’i “The lad from Tavparavani” 42 121
6. Nest’an-Darejan “Nestan-Darejan” 44 122
7. Avtandil gadinadira “Avtandil went hunting” 44 122
8. A, is ghrubelni miq’varan “Ah, how I love those clouds” 48 123
9. Ts’itel ghvinos migagvane “I’ve likened you to red wine” 48 123
10. Ts’q’alsa mohkonda napot’i “The stream carried me a wood-chip” 48 123
11. Shens loq’as vardi hq’vaoda “A rose blossomed upon your cheek” 48 123
12. Rad ginda kali lamazi “Why do you want a beautiful woman? 50 123
13. Mtieli “The mountaineer” 50 123
14. Khidistavs shavk’rat p’iroba “At Khidistav we'll make a pact” 52 124
15. Lekso, amogtkom “Poem, I will declaim you” 52 124
16. T’ialo ts’utisopelo “Oh wretched fleeting world” 54 124
17. Iavnana “Lullaby” 56 125
18. Iambe, tsikhis nashalo “Speak, o fortress ruins” 58 126
19. Vazhk’atsis sik’vdili “A man’s death” 60 126
20. Bzha dia chkimi “The sun is my mother” 60 127
21. Aguna “Aguna” 60 127
22. Tamar dedopal viq’av “I was Tamar the Queen” 62 127
23. Omi gumbrzed “The Battle of Gumbri” 62 128
24. Oy Jgëræg-ieha, loygwi-i-she-e-da “Oy Jgëræg, stand by us” 64 128
25. Ak’alæ-æd, mak’alæ-æd [Svanetian nonsense song] 64 128
26. Ochop’int’ra “Ochopintra” 66 128
27. Gonja modga k’arebsao “Gonja came to the door” 66 128

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VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

28. Tsangala da gogona “The mandolin and the girl” 66 129


29. Vazhis nat’vra “A young man’s wish” 68 129
30. Me var Qhel-Samdzimari “I am Qhel-Samdzimari” 68 129
31. Adgilis-dedao “Place-mother” 70 129
32. Kali khwaramze “The woman Khwaramze” 70 130
33. Monadire zovis kvesh “A hunter trapped under a snowslide” 72 130
34. Mzeo, mzeo, amodi “Sun, sun, come up” 72 130
35. Mze shina da mze gareta “Sun inside and sun outside” 72 131
36. Suletis leksi “The land of souls” 74 131
37. Mirangula “Mirangula” 76 131
38. Dideb, dideb tarigdzelas “Glory to the Archangel” 82 132
39. Survili “Wish” 82 133
40. Aleksi Bidzashvili “Aleksi Bidzashvili” 82 133
41. Sheq’varebulis guli “A lover’s heart” 84 133
42. T’ilebis korts’ili “The wedding party of the lice” 86 133
43. T’rpiali “Love” 86 133
44. Ra bevri mit’irebia “How long I have been weeping” 88 134
45. Chari-rama “Chari-rama” 90 134
46. Gasatkhovari kali var “I am an unmarried woman” 92 134
47. Sapeikro: jarav, jarav, bzio “Spinning song: Spinning wheel, bzio” 92 134
48. Sapeikro: Araru, Darejanasa “Spinning song: Araru, Darejan” 92 134
49. Melekhishe si reki “There you are, on the other side” 94 134
50. Ana, bana, gana, dona “Ana, bana, gana, dona [alphabet song]” 94 134
51. Net’avi ratme maktsia “I wish I could turn into something” 94 134
52. Tvali sheni “Your eyes” 96 134

Round-Dance Songs

53. Tvalzhuzhuna kalo “Bright-eyed woman” 96 135


54. Ia mtazeda “Violet on the mountain” 100 135
55. Perqhisa “Round-dance” 102 136
56. Betgil “Betgil” 106 136
57. Dghesam dgheoba visia? “Today is whose festival?” 108 137
58. Samaia “Samaia” 108 138

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Funerary Poems

59. Darishk’anit momk’wdari “Dead from poison” 110 138


60. Zhamis naqhots kalebze “Women slaughtered by the plague” 110 138
61. Net’avi mok’la marjek’ali “Woe betide the matchmaker” 110 139

Love Poems

62. Bat’arik’a kalai var “I am a very young woman” 112 139


63. Net’avi kalo Ninao “Nina woman” 112 139
64. Eter shen silamazita “Eter, with your beauty” 114 140
65. Aksha aksha mamalo “Aksha, aksha, rooster, scram!” 114 140
66. Zghvashi shatsurda k’urdgheli “A rabbit swam into the sea” 114 140
67. Net’ain mamk’la mtashia “May I die in the mountains” 114 140
68. Tval k’i mich’irav shenzeda “I have an eye on you” 114 140
69. Nadobis k’abas vapere “I likened it to my sister-spouse’s dress” 116 140
70. Dghe tu ghame “Day or night” 116 140

ABBREVIATIONS OF WORKS CITED 141

6
Transliteration Systems
All of the poems contained in the anthology were transcribed in the standard Georgian
alphabet, with some additional characters to accommodate the Svan and Pshav-Khevsur
phonological systems. I have used two different sets of symbols to transliterate the
Georgian, Svan and Mingrelian poems, terms and names that appear in the book. A so-
called ‘informal transliteration,’ using familiar characters, is employed in the Introduction
and Notes, and is used to render proper names. The ‘scholarly transliteration’ resembles
the systems familiar to specialists in Caucasian and Amerindian languages; it is used in
the transliterations of the original poems.

Georgian Scholarly Informal Georgian Scholarly Informal


alphabet transliteration transliteration alphabet transliteration transliteration
a a a Z z& zh
A a# a: r r r
ä Q æ s s s
b b b T t’ t’
g g g u u u
d d d p p p
e e e k k k
E e# e: G ƒ gh
v v/w v/w q q’ q’
z z z S s& sh
t t t w c& ch
i i i c c ts
K k’ k’ j Z dz
l l l C c’ ts’
m m m W c&’ ch’
n n n x X kh
Y y y Q qh qh
o o o J Z& j
ø ø ö h h h
P p’ p’ ë ´ ë
ia mtazeda

Acknowledgments
The initial impetus for this project came from Eteri Chkadua, a talented artist and very
dear friend, who had been insisting for some time that folk poetry is an essential and
valued part of her nation’s literature. It was not without some feeling of reluctance that I
began reading the chrestomathy she placed in my hands; after all, I was still prey to the
belief that folklore was fine for children and ethnographers, but no match for “real”
literature. The poem on the first page was “The young man and the leopard,” and I was
hooked.
Several Georgian specialists in the fields of ethnography, folklore studies and literary
translation have provided invaluable assistance. Zurab K’ik’nadze of Tbilisi State
University read an earlier version of my work, corrected numerous errors and
misinterpretations, and explained the significance of symbols that had been thoroughly
opaque to me. Vakht’ang Chikovani, Rusik’o Choloq’ashvili, and Sargis Tsaishvili
shared their expertise with me. Vakhusht’i K’ot’et’ishvili, continuing in the tradition of
his father, introduced me to the folk poetry that has been composed in recent times, up to
the present day. I am greatly indebted to Eteri’s father, Ambak’o Ch’k’adua, for what
insights I have into the Svan language and Svan poetry.
While visiting Svanetia in the summer of 1991 I encountered the ethnomusicologists
Sylvie Bolle-Zemp and Hugo Zemp, who were recording the traditional music of the
Georgian mountaineers. The description of Georgian folksong and musical instruments in
this book has been vastly improved thanks to their patient explanations of how, exactly, a
lute differs from a mandolin, responsorial singing from antiphonal, etc., etc.
In the decade since I completed the first version of the poetry anthology in 1994, my
acquaintance with traditional Georgian culture has been deepened and widened by
fieldwork in Pshavi, Khevsureti, Svaneti, Rach’a and Guria. There is not enough space
here to acknowledge the help of all those who generously shared their knowledge with
me, and furthermore permitted an inquisitive, and all-too-often maladroit, outsider to
witness the performance of Georgian oral literature in ritual and festive settings.
Thanks also go to two non-Georgians from Chicago who have read over my
translations and pointed out some clunky spots that needed reworking: Paul Friedrich and
Warren Leming.
Work on the first edition of this anthology was begun while I was a post-doctoral
fellow at the Institute of Oriental Culture of the University of Tokyo, under the auspices
of the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science, from February 1989 to February 1991.
I wish to express my gratitude to both institutions for providing the wherewithal to realize
this project. It has been a great pleasure for me to have had the opportunity to live in
Japan for two years, and my as yet superficial encounter with early Japanese poetry has
helped to illuminate some aspects of the folk literature of far-away Georgia.

Kevin Tuite
Département d’anthropologie
Université de Montréal

8
Violet on the Mountain:

An Anthology of Georgian Folk Poetry


ia mtazeda

Introduction
This is an anthology of poems composed in a very different way from the works filling
most poetry volumes, and translated from a language almost unknown outside of the land
where it is spoken. The seventy poems I have translated are examples of what is
commonly called “folklore,” which, in the minds of some, would disqualify them from
consideration as reading material by anyone outside of an anthropology department.
The Georgians themselves see matters differently. Readers esteem poems such as “The
young man and the leopard” (#1) every bit as highly as the finest works produced within
the tradition of “high culture.” Ballads recorded from the mouths of Khevsur peasants
take their place in poetry anthologies beside the masterpieces of the Georgian classical
and romantic periods, and children are taught — and made to memorize — works of folk
literature as an integral part of their primary education.1
For many of you reading this book, this will be the first encounter with the culture of
Transcaucasian Georgia. Only a small fraction of Georgian literature has been translated
into any language other than Russian, and what little exists is difficult to obtain. To
convey something of the context within which the poems in this volume were created and
enjoyed, I will provide a thumbnail sketch of the Georgian people, their country, and
their poetry.

The Georgian People and Georgia

The roots of the Georgian people are deeply embedded in the soil of their native
country. In the Georgian language the land is called Sakartvelo, “the homeland of the
Kartvelians” (which is how the Georgians refer to themselves). As far as can be told, the
original Sakartvelo is within the territory the Georgians inhabit to this day: the Republic
of Georgia, until recently part of the Soviet Union, and neighboring parts of northeast
Turkey. Despite its small size, no larger than the American state of South Carolina, the
Georgian homeland has a topographic diversity equal to that of the largest nations: the
lofty Caucasus mountain range, with several peaks exceeding 5000 meters; narrow
gorges cut by ice-fed mountain streams; lush meadows; arid semi-deserts; and subtropical
coastlands along the Black Sea.
The Georgians are one of over forty ethnic groups indigenous to the Caucasus region.
To the northwest is one group of autochthonous peoples — the Abkhazians, Adygheans,
Abzakhs, and Kabardians — and to the northeast another group, the Daghestanians. The
Armenians, who have resided in Transcaucasia for at least five millenia, border Georgia
on the south, and on either side of them, to the southwest and southeast of Georgia, are
Turkish-speaking peoples. In prehistoric times the Georgians were in contact with the
great civilizations of old Mesopotamia, and, it appears, with the ancient Indo-Europeans,
from whose language most of the tongues of Europe have derived.

1. The same could be said of Georgian appreciation of the literatures of other nations. The anthology of
English and American verse translated into Georgian by G. Nishnianidze [Tbilisi: Merani, 1982] includes
fifteen folk poems (“Sam Hill,” “The Vicar of Bray,” “Oh no, John,” etc.).

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VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Over the two millenia for which we have historical records, the Georgians have seldom
been left alone. The Persians to the east have been uninvited guests on numerous
occasions. The Arabs conquered Tbilisi (Tiflis) in the 7th century, and the Turks began
their forays into Georgia in the 11th century. The Mongol hordes led by Tamerlane
devastated eastern Georgia no less than eight times in the 1380’s and 1390’s. For most of
the period since then Georgia has been under foreign rule, for many centuries divided
between the Persian and Ottoman empires. In 1784, in a desperate move to secure
protection from the Turks and Persians, King Irakli II placed his kingdom under the
sovereignty of the Russian throne, and so it remained until recently, save for a brief
period of autonomy after the Soviet Revolution. In April 1991 the Republic of Georgia
declared its independence from the USSR.

The Provinces of Georgia

Traditionally, Georgia was divided into about twenty provinces, each with its
characteristic climate, topography, agricultural base, customs and dialect. Distinctive
character traits are assigned by popular wisdom to the inhabitants of each region (this has
been a fertile source of material for Georgian anecdotes and jokes). The provinces can be
grouped according to two primary features: terrain (highland vs. lowland) and situation to
the east or west of the Likhi mountain range. The Likhi range is Georgia’s “continental
divide,” and for many centuries marked the boundary between that part of Georgia under
Persian domination, and the western half, which was largely incorporated into the
Ottoman Empire. Here is a list of the provinces, divided according to these two features:

EASTERN GEORGIA
Northeastern highlands: Khevsureti, Pshavi, Khevi, Tusheti, Tianeti
East-central lowlands: Kartli, Kakheti, Trialeti
WESTERN GEORGIA
Northwestern highlands: Upper and Lower Svaneti, Racha, Lechkhumi
Southwestern highlands: Meskheti, Javakheti, Achara, Chaneti
West-central lowlands: Imereti, Mingrelia, Guria

In evaluating the assimilation of foreign influences by Georgian culture, it is important


to note a certain geographical specificity to the process. While the more accessible central
lowlands have served as a virtual crossroads between Orient and Occident, the
inhabitants of the northern Georgian mountain districts, both east and west of the Likhi
range — some of which had never yielded to a foreign army until the tsarist period —
have held on to their ancient folkways and pre-Christian religious systems to a degree
unparalleled in modern Europe. Until very recently, oracles (kadagebi) practiced their
trade within a few dozen kilometers of Tbilisi; animal sacrifices and the pouring of
libations, traditions reminiscent of Homeric Greece, are still commonly observed in many
parts of Georgia today. In regard to folklore, and poetry in particular, these mountain
provinces have yielded a wide array of motifs and genres not to be found elsewhere in
Georgia.

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The Georgian Language

The South Caucasian language group (also known as Kartvelian) comprises the
Georgian language proper with its sixteen or so dialects, and two related languages of
limited distribution: Zan, spoken in the provinces of Mingrelia and Chaneti, and Svan, the
language of the inhabitants of Upper and Lower Svaneti.
Georgian has been a written language since at least the 5th century, giving it a recorded
history longer than that of most European languages. The earliest Georgian writings to
have come down to us are ecclesiastical in nature: translations of the Bible and the works
of the Church Fathers, lives of saints. The first examples of secular literature, most of it
poetry, are attested in the 12th century.
One could say that the Georgian language epitomizes the nature of the culture. It has
borrowed extensively from Arabic, Persian, Greek, the modern European languages and
the tongues of neighboring Caucasian tribes: But these borrowings have been limited to
vocabulary items. The grammatical structure of the language has not been affected in any
significant way by its neighbors, at least not within the 1500 years for which Georgian
has been attested in written documents. It has drawn freely from other languages,
assimilated their words into its lexicon, but without in the least yielding its fundamentally
Caucasian nature.
In its phonological component, the Georgian language (likewise Svan and Zan) has a
healthy inventory of consonant sounds — though not nearly as many as Abkhaz and the
other Northwest Caucasian languages — which can appear in clusters of five or even
more without an intervening vowel. In addition to voiced (b, d, dz, j, g, gh) and aspirated
(p, t, ts, ch, k, qh) consonants, Georgian has a series of glottalized obstruents, which are
pronounced with a simultaneous closure and release of the vocal cords (transcribed as p’,
t’, ts’, ch’, k’, q’). For all this, the language is by no means harsh sounding — quite the
contrary. One German linguist wrote that Georgian speech reminded him of “the murmur
of flowing water.” A statistical analysis of sound frequencies has shown that Georgian
has a higher incidence of vowels (relative to consonants) than English, nearly as high as
Spanish. Still, skilled poets can heap on the consonants when a particular effect is
desired, for example, the turn-of-the-century writer Vazha Pshavela describing one of his
heroes as mk’lav-mskhvili rk’inis mk’vnet’avi “a thick-armed iron-biter” [“Gogotur da
Apshina”].
The morphology of Georgian is very complicated, in particular the conjugation of the
verb. There are markers in the verb to indicate the person and number of not only the
subject but the object as well. The system of aspects, tenses, and moods coded in the
Georgian verb is rather involved; one is reminded of classical Greek or Sanskrit.
The nonwritten dialects differ to varying degrees from the standard language. The
Georgian spoken in the mountain districts of Pshavi, Khevsureti and parts of Racha bears
a stronger resemblance to the literary language of eight centuries ago than to the speech
of modern Tbilisi. The Zan dialect spoken in Mingrelia, and to an even greater extent the
dialects of Svaneti, are incomprehensible to Georgians from other parts of the country.
(Some 19th-century scholars even doubted whether Svan was related to Georgian at all).
Each dialect lends its own flavor to the poetry of its region, creating a diversity of
inflection, accent, and vocabulary that is truly remarkable in a country as small as
Georgia.

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VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

National Character, Religion, and Beliefs

In view of the grim history of nearly continuous warfare and foreign occupation that
fate has visited upon the Georgian people, one might wonder what imprint it has left on
them as a nation. Foreigners who have dwelt in Georgia for any period of time have
invariably been impressed by the Georgians’ effusive hospitality (a practice they share
with many West Asian peoples), boisterous and vivid personalities, and fondness for
wine and feasting. The Georgian supra (banquet) can go on all evening into the wee
hours of the morning, with each guest consuming several liters of wine. These heroic
quantities of alcohol are drunk in accordance with strict rules: the participant in a supra
must pronounce a toast — to another guest, to Georgia, to the souls of the departed, etc.
— before drinking each glass, or drinking horn, of wine.2 The toasts are frequently
occasions for a display of eloquence, and are accompanied by song and recitations of
poetry. (Many of the poems contained in this volume are intended for just such a
context). If Georgian hosts appear to us to be recklessly improvident in the lavishness
with which they entertain their guests, it does not seem so to them. In these celebrations
of life and of their bonds to each other, they have discovered a uniquely effective way of
making life bearable under the most adverse circumstances.
As evidence of what he termed the “amoral and untrammeled mind” of the Georgians
(HGP, p 72), the British historian W. E. D. Allen made reference to their attitude toward
(organized) religion: the rareness of fanaticism, the subordination of religion to national
feeling, and so forth. If one examines Georgian folklore, however, one sees that
“religion,” in a sense, is very important indeed, coloring all aspects of the intellectual
culture. Many of the poems contained in this collection are hymns to be performed at
festivals, or texts of a mythic nature. What we must take into account is that, although
Georgia has been a nominally Orthodox Christian country since the 4th century, an
indigenous pre-Christian religion was actively practiced in many parts of Georgia up to
the beginning of this century and even more recently in some areas, where, with the
restriction of official Georgian Orthodox activities under the Soviet regime, syncretistic
Christian-pagan rites conducted by the village elders had become the sole forms of
worship.3
The Georgian-French scholar G. Charachidzé has given a thorough description and
analysis of Georgian “paganism” in his book Le système religieux de la Géorgie païenne
(Paris: Maspero, 1968). I will touch on only some of the major elements of this religious
system here.4

2. See “The rules of the supra or how to drink in Georgian” by D. A. Holisky [Annual of the Society for the
Study of the Caucasus #1, 1989].
3. Not all specialists share this view. The Georgian ethnographer Zurab K’ik’nadze, with whom I spoke in
the summer of 1991, sees the paganism described here as an innovation, a religious system cobbled
together out of Christian elements in the late middle ages, after Mongol and Persian invasions had cut off
the mountains and other peripheral areas from the cultural hegemony of the orthodox Orthodox center.
4. Charachidzé’s monograph remains the most complete overview of Georgian highland religion in a West-
European language. For further information, and for interpretations differing from Charachidzé’s structural
analysis, readers can consult the works of Bardavelidze (DRV), Ochiauri (ARG), K’ik’nadze (SC), Tuite
(AM, LSP), among many others. Heinz Fähnrich’s Lexikon Georgische Mythologie [Wiesbaden: Reichert
Verlag, 1999] offers a useful, easy-to-access digest of the Georgian-language ethographic literature. The
abbreviations used here and in the notes to the poems refer to the references listed at the end of the book.

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Pantheon: The traditional Georgian religion is commonly described as polytheistic, but
there is a clear distinction between the Supreme God (Morige Ghmerti), creator and
sustainer of the universe, and all other divine beings. As a result of long contact with
Christianity, many of these have taken on Christian names, so that, as was the case in
some parts of Europe, the cult of a “saint” is founded upon the worship of a pagan deity.
Among the principal figures in the pantheon of the Georgians are “St. George” (Giorgi;
in Svan Jgëræg), the “Archangel” (Georgian Mtavarangelozi; Svan Taringzel), and a
hunter deity and protector of wildlife in the high mountains (in Svaneti represented as the
goddess Dæl or Dali). Important female figures include Barbal “St. Barbara,” a fertility
deity and healer of illnesses; and Lamaria “St. Mary,” protector of women. Krist’e
“Christ” presides over the world of the dead.
Two of these personages are of particular importance, especially for readers of folk
poetry. Dali, the Svanetian hunter goddess, is a popular subject of mythological poems.
She is represented as a woman of fabulous beauty, with long golden hair worn in braids.
Svans believed that the success of a hunter depended on the degree of favor with which
Dali looked upon him. Many poems tell of legendary hunters being seduced by Dali and
then being destroyed by her out of jealousy, or because the hunter violated some taboo.
Georgian scholars have devoted considerable attention to the Dali cult and its variants.
The ethnologist Elene Virsaladze has advanced the provocative hypothesis that the figure
of a protector-goddess of wild animals is a remnant of a yet more ancient, “matriarchal”
ideological system, in which the chief deity(ies) were female, and religion celebrated the
life-giving principle and harmony with nature.5 With time — especially after the
introduction of Christianity — the ancient beliefs were supplanted by a more aggressive,
“patriarchal” ideology. Evidence for this includes the cult of a male hunter-deity
(Ochop’int’re) in the northeastern provinces (believed by Virsaladze to be of more recent
date than the Dali cult), and the elevation of the warrior-god St. George to preeminence
in Georgian religion.6 St. George, depicted as a knight on horseback slaying a dragon, is
venerated in all corners of Georgia, and hundreds of churches and shrines throughout the
land are consecrated in his name. Myths recount his exploits in making war against the
Kajes, a race of demons with magical powers, and under his numerous epithets he is
invoked in prayers as the chief protector of humanity.
Two apotheosized historical figures appear frequently in folk literature of a religious
nature. They are Tamar, derived from the monarch of that name who presided over
Georgia at the zenith of its power (early 13th century), and Lasha Giorgi, named after her
son, who reigned as George IV. Both are represented in folklore as warrior deities,
subduing the enemies of Georgia.
In the dialect of the Georgian mountaineers, notably the Pshavians and Khevsurs,
deities can be referred to by the terms jvari, which in the classical language means
“cross,” or khat’i, which means “icon”. Depending on context, these words can denote an
actual cross or icon, the shrine in which it is kept, or the deity associated with the shrine.

5. This argument is laid out in particular detail, with extensive illustrations from Georgian folklore, in
Virsaladze’s Gruzinskiy okhotnichiy mif i poeziya [Moscow: Nauka, 1976].
6. One is reminded of the religious system of ancient Europe, as reconstructed by Marija Gimbutas, and its
subsequent replacement by the masculine-centered ideology of the Indo-Europeans (see her The goddesses
and gods of Old Europe [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982]).

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VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

One suspects that the different meanings are not as distinct in the conception of the
mountaineers as they appear to us.
The edifices where religious ceremonies are carried out are, in most cases, Christian
churches, over 10,000 of which are known to have been constructed in Georgia. In some
areas, and especially in the provinces of Pshavi, Khevsureti and Tusheti, the villagers
constructed shrines of stone, many of them adorned with the horns of sacrificed animals.

Relations with the Souls of the Dead: One of the primary functions of religious
observances is to maintain contact with the souls of deceased relatives. This is
accomplished through various rituals and the offering of sacrifices and libations.
Especially important are funeral observances, followed by a period of mourning. In
traditional times, the close relatives of the deceased would be in mourning for as long as
three years. They would fast (abstain from animal products), wear mourning colors
(black, or sometimes red), and the men would shave their heads and faces and let their
hair grow out until the end of the mourning period. Failure to observe these restrictions
was believed to have unfortunate consequences for the soul of the deceased.
The departed souls led a somewhat shadowy existence in a world similar to the one
they left behind. Their well-being in the spirit world was related to their sinfulness before
death, and the zeal of their surviving kin in making prayers and sacrifices on their behalf.
Once a year at the festival of Lipānal, held in the province of Svaneti in mid-January, the
souls of the deceased were believed to return to their families (HEE I 56-58). They
remained in their former homes for several days and were entertained with feasts and the
recitation of folktales. Also during this time, the souls met and determined the fortune of
their kin for the coming year.

Food and Drink Offerings: Four types of offering are utilized in traditional Georgian
rituals: (1) livestock (most often oxen and sheep), slaughtered in or alongside the shrine
precincts; (2) various kinds of breads; (3) alcoholic beverages; (4) beeswax candles. The
beverage of choice is wine, save for the highland districts where grapes cannot be grown;
in those areas beer or vodka is used.
Many Georgian religious festivals are accompanied by the presentation of animals for
sacrifice at the shrine, followed by a feast at which their meat is cooked and eaten.
During the feast the various deities are invoked, and after each invocation the participants
drink from their cups, bowls or drinking horns. According to custom, they must drink to
the bottom of whatever vessel they are using. On certain feast days — this is especially
common in Svaneti — the women bake loaves of flat bread, sometimes with a cheese or
meat filling, which are held up during the invocations.
Offerings of food and drink are especially important in commemorations of the dead.
The Georgians believed that the souls of deceased relatives are sustained by offerings
made by the living. Traditionally this involved the setting out of food for the souls to
“partake” of, and the pouring of wine or vodka onto the ground. This custom can be
observed in remnant form in Georgia to this day: at every supra (banquet) a toast is
proposed in memory of the deceased, after which the participants pour a small amount of
wine onto a piece of bread.

15
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Relations between the Sexes: Among the Caucasian mountaineers of a hundred years
ago, the relationship between wife and husband was not an especially warm one —
indeed, they scarcely spoke to each other, according to some accounts (SR 80-83). This
may be a reflection of two conflicting characteristics of mountaineer society: it is
exogamous, that is, one must marry outside of one’s clan, and at the same time, to a
degree, xenophobic. The wife brought into the clan from another social group remained,
in the view of society, an outsider.
As though to compensate for the emotional sterility of marriage, a relationship that
Charachidzé terms “anti-marriage” came into being, evidently many centuries ago (SR
101; FY 131-140, 157-165; SKh; AM). The custom, known to the Pshavians as
ts’ats’loba, survived almost up to World War II in the isolated mountain villages of
Pshavi and Khevsureti, and a similar practice has been noted in Svaneti (AM 49-52).
Charachidzé has assembled the facts that have come down to us concerning ts’ats’loba,
and analyzed them within the context of archaic Georgian paganism (SR 96-109). I will
give a short summary here.
In Pshavi, where the custom was best documented, a boy and girl entered into
ts’ats’loba by their own volition (in contrast to marriage) and with the full knowledge
and assent of the village community. They were free to spend the night together — in
fact, required to on certain feast days — and caress each other affectionately. They
expressed their love for each other openly, and the songs inspired by ts’ats’loba form a
stunning contrast to the grim battle-epics and mythological poems that make up the bulk
of the Pshav-Khevsur literary corpus. Several examples are included in this anthology.
At the same time, ts’ats’loba was governed by stern constraints. Mountaineer society
regarded the young couple as, essentially, sister and brother. Should the woman become
pregnant, she and her “brother” were ostracized, a punishment befitting those who had
committed incest. More importantly, two people bound by ts’ats’loba were strictly
forbidden to marry each other, just as blood siblings would be. The warm and
affectionate relationship between “brother-spouse” and “sister-spouse” had to give way to
the socially necessary union of marriage. This inexorable law took its toll: suicides were
not uncommon among young women separated from their ts’ats’ali upon engagement
(SR 102; see poem #59).

Georgian Folk Poetry

The Georgians are avid producers and consumers of poetry. Poems are recited or sung
in a variety of contexts, and with a variety of contents. Among the genres represented in
this anthology are epics, hymns, love poems, work songs, humorous poems, lullabies, and
“philosophic” poems, with observations on the nature of life and death. At this point I
will launch into a somewhat lengthy discussion of the mechanics of Georgian folk poetry.
Since there is next to nothing presently available on the topic in languages other than
Georgian, I will go into more detail than I would have under other circumstances.

Meter: Georgian, like French, is a syllable-timed language, that is, the unit setting the
pace of speech is the syllable. (It therefore contrasts with stress-timed languages like
English or Russian, in which stresses occur at more-or-less regular intervals, regardless of

16
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

the number of intervening unaccented syllables). Although Georgian words are accented,
the accent is not very prominent, and does not affect the flow of speech.
As is natural for languages of this type, Georgian verse is structured according to a
fixed number of syllables per line. This appears to be a uniform condition throughout the
territory where Georgian and its related languages are spoken. Other than that, the
structure of Georgian verse shows considerable variation from one province to another
and, since most poems are to be sung, from one style of song (or dance) to another. The
three principal parameters are: (1) number of syllables to the line; (2) subdivisions within
the line; (3) fixed or alternating line length. Certain combinations of these features are
especially common, either throughout Georgia or in particular provinces. I will describe
the more frequently-employed metric patterns here.
(A). Octosyllabic. By far the most commonly employed syllabic quantity is eight to the
line. Lines of this length occur in poems from all provinces of Georgia. One of the oldest
poems attested in Georgian literature — Gundni igi zetsisani (“The heavenly choirs”) by
the 10th-century writer Ioane Zosime — was composed in units of eight syllables, and
Rustaveli’s “Knight in the leopard’s skin” employs sixteen-syllable lines throughout: two
hemistichs of eight syllables, divided by a caesura.7 In a handful of poems represented in
this anthology (for example, #38 “Glory to the archangel”) there appears to be no
recurring rhythmic subdivision of the eight-syllable line. In the vast majority of cases
there is such a subdivision. These metric patterns correspond to what medieval Georgian
writers referred to as “high verse” (maghali shairi: lines divided evenly, 4+4) and “low
verse” (dabali shairi: lines divided unevenly into two- and three-syllable groups).
(A1). 4+4: Folk poems with evenly subdivided eight-syllable lines are not extremely
common. This pattern does predominate in certain areas, in particular Svaneti. Here is an
example of Svanetian “high verse,” from the poem “Dali is giving birth on the cliff” (#3):

Dæ-lil k’o-jas // khe-lghwa-zha-le,


Khe-lghwa-zha-le // twe-tna:m k’o-jas.
Ge-zal i-sgwi // kaw ja-shq’e-da,
Kaw ja-shq’e-da // k’o-jas ka-men.

[Dali on-cliff // is-giving-birth,


Is-giving-birth // white on-cliff.
Child your // indeed has-fallen,
Indeed has-fallen // cliff down-from]

7. Shota Rustaveli [born c. 1170] was the finest poet active during the Georgian golden era of the late
12th and early 13th century, and, it is generally conceded, the greatest Georgian writer of all time. Only one
of his works has come down to us: the Vepkhist’q’aosani (“Knight in the leopard’s skin”), an epic poem
comprising nearly 1700 quatrains. Georgia at the time was an important center for intellectual contact
between the Byzantine West and the Persian-Arabic East, the philosophies of which were being synthesized
into a new humanism. Unlike any Western Christian writer of his time — or for a long time thereafter —
Rustaveli betrays no partiality toward the doctrines of his faith: the philosophical and cosmological
framework of the Vepkhist’q’aosani draws as much from Platonism and Islam as it does from Orthodox
Christianity. Several English translations of the epic exist, of which the first, by Marjorie Wardrop, is in
many ways still the best.

17
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(A2). 3+2+3, 2+3+3, 3+3+2: The meter known as “low verse,” in which eight-syllable
lines are subdivided into two three-syllable groups and one of two syllables, appears to be
the predominant form. It is the meter most favored by poets of the northeast Georgian
highlands, and is also frequently employed in almost all other provinces of the country. In
some poems, the line has one primary division (3+5 or 5+3); the subdivision of the five-
syllable group may not always occur in the same place. Here is the beginning of poem #7
“Avtandil went hunting,” as divided into feet by J. Bardavelidze [DGF I, 127]:
Av-tan-dil // ga-di- // na-di-ra (3+2+3)
Ke-di // ma-gha-li // t’q’i-a-ni; (2+3+3)
Verts kha-ri // mo-hk’la, // verts puri, (3+2+3)
ver-tsa // i-re-mi // rki-a-ni. (2+3+3)
[Avtandil // across- // hunted
Ridge // high // forested;
Cannot male-animal // he-killed-it // cannot female-animal,
Cannot-also // deer // horned]
(B). Pentasyllabic. The anthology includes a pair of examples of five-syllable verse:
“Violet on the mountain” (#54) and “Nestan-Darejan” (#6). In both cases the lines are
subdivided into 2+3, and there is no end rhyme. Here are the opening lines of #6:
Ne-st’an // Da-re-jan, [Nestan- // Darejan,
Sad ras // ge-dzi-na? Where what // did-you-sleep?
Mi-ndvris // bo-lo-sa. Meadow’s // end-at.
Zed ra // ge-khu-ra? On-top what // covered-you?
Za-ri // za-rba-bi. Golden-thread // brocade.]
This is the same rhythmic pattern as that to which some Georgian folk dances (for
example, the dance entitled “Kartuli”) are performed: Dim-di // da-ur-i /// dim-di // da-ur-
i (RFl 259). Pentasyllabic verse was also favored by the important 12th-century Georgian
courtly poets Chakhrukhadze and Ioane Shavteli.
(C). Lines of alternating length. Several poems from the provinces of Guria and Kartli
have eight-syllable lines alternating with lines of six or seven syllables. (In some
instances — for example, “Samaia” and “Iavnana” — the alternating line is a sort of
refrain.) These are all intended to be sung, so the pattern is set by the accompanying
music. The opening lines of “I am an unmarried woman” (#46) will illustrate:

Ga-sa-tkho-va-ri // ka-li var, (5+3)


Ne-na // ar mi-p’i-rde-ba, (2+5)
La-maz bi-ch’ebs rom // she-vkhe-dav, (5+3)
Gu-li // a-mi-t’i-rde-ba. (2+5)
[Not-yet-married // woman I-am,
Mother // not she-advises-me,
Beautiful boys when // I-look-at-them,
Heart // it-begins-to-cry-on-me]

18
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

In connection with this discussion of Georgian poetics, something should be said about
the methods used by the performers of these verses to fill out the correct syllabic
quantity, when the words they have selected fall somewhat short of the required length.
Svan poets will on occasion insert schwa syllables (/ë/) into certain words to lengthen
them appropriately. In the following lines from “Dali is giving birth on the cliff,” the
word anghri “s/he comes” is expanded by one or even two schwas to fill out the line:

E-snær za-grush // me-tkhwyær a-nghri,


Me-tkhwyær me-psæy // a-në-ghë-ri,
Me-tkhwyær me-psæyd // te kha-re-k’i,
Za-grushw me-tkhwyær // ch’ur a-nghë-ri.
[Then mountain-ridge-from // hunter he-comes,
Hunter Mepsay // he-comes,
Hunter Mepsay // eye he-hung-it-on-it (= looked around)
Ridge-from hunter // indeed he-comes]

Pshavian, Khevsur, and Kakhetian poets commonly append the syllables -a and -o to the
end of the line to bring it up to the required eight syllables. These endings derive from
actual morphemes, but have been emptied of their original meaning. (As an extreme
example, fifteen of the twenty-six lines of “At Khidistav we’ll make a pact” (#14) end
with a semantically-unmotivated o).

Rhyme: The earliest recorded Georgian poems — liturgical hymns composed in the
10th and 11th centuries — made no use of end rhyme. Rhymed poems begin to appear in
the Georgian literary record toward the end of the 11th century, but the use of rhyme does
not become widespread until the rise of secular poetry a century later. Rhyme is also not
found in Svanetian poetry, but it is almost ubiquitous in the folk poetry of every other
Georgian province. These facts can be interpreted in at least two ways. According to one
hypothesis, the unrhymed 10th-century hymns and Svanetian poems represent the more
ancient state of Kartvelian verse. Given that Svaneti, high in the Caucasus mountains, is
home to many archaic cultural and linguistic phenomena that have disappeared from
other parts of the land, this argument has much to speak in its favor.
A second line of argument attributes the lack of rhyme in liturgical poetry to Byzantine
Greek influence. It is the very rich rhyme schemes, with rhymes of three or even four
syllables at the end of each line in a quatrain, found in the courtly poetry of the 12th and
13th centuries, that represent the “natural state” of Georgian verse. If one considers the
morphological structure of the language, one can see why the use of rhyme is almost
inevitable in Georgian poetry. The Georgian verb can have five or more suffixes, and the
noun up to three. By setting the line-final words in parallel syntactic and semantic
contexts, one can get two or three rhyming syllables for free, so to speak. For example, in
the Pshavian poem “The young man and the leopard” (#1) the first rhyming pair is
k’ld=isa=n=i “[those] of the cliff” and ch’iukh=isa=n=i “[those] of the steep incline.” In
their bare-stem forms these words would not even come close to rhyming (k’lde //
ch’iukh), but by adding identical case and number suffixes (=isa=n=i) a three-syllable
rhyme is obtained. Likewise, in “Poem I will declaim you” (#15) the placing of two verbs
in the second-person-singular inchoative conjunctive guarantees three rhyming syllables

19
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(ga=h=kveq’n=d=eb=od=e “may you be broadcast”// a=h=q’vav=d=eb=od=e “may
you blossom”). The lack of rhyme in Svanetian poetry can be accounted for by the
converse argument: Suffixal groups are shorter in the Svan language, and
morphologically more irregular, which makes rhymes much less readily available.
Georgian folk poetry also makes use of “slant rhyme.” Specifically, the resonants /n/,
/r/, /l/, /v/ often occupy parallel positions in rhyming syllables. By exploiting this device,
extremely long sequences of rhymes can be obtained. The poem Perqhisa “Round-dance”
(#55), for example, has twenty-two consecutive three-syllable rhymes, many of them
slant rhymes of this type (for example, bdzania “he-is”// jvaria “cross”// salotsavia
“shrine”// dedupalia “queen”).
Returning to Rustaveli, we recall that one poetic device of which he was especially
fond is the use of homophonous words or phrases in the rhyming portion of the line
(called majama in Georgian — the word, and perhaps the concept, was borrowed from
Persian). In one quatrain (VT 177) three lines end with the sounds danasa. In one it is
read as a verb (da=nas=a “it destroyed its beauty”), in another as a noun (dana=sa,
dative case of dana “knife”), and in a third as two words (da na=sa “and the panpipe”).
Non-literate Georgian poets have also exploited majama in this way; here is an example
from the Kartlian poem “A young man’s wish” (#29):
T’urpa baghi da ts’alk’ot’i
Ek’lita vinme she=nar=a.
Rk’inis k’arebi sheaba,
K’lit’e me momtses, shen ara!
[Lovely garden and orchard
With-thorns someone he-planted-it-with-thistles.
Of-iron doors he-hemmed-it-in,
Key to-me he-gave-me-it to-you not]
The sound sequence shenara is first employed as a verb (it appears to be a nonce
formation from the noun nari “thistle”: “he thistled [the garden] with thorny plants”),
then as two separate words (shen ara “not you”). Another instance is in the song “Chari-
rama” (#45) where the line-ending sequence manana is read as a proper name (Manana
“Heather”) in line 2, and as a verb (m=a=nan=a “it-made-me-regret-it”) in line 4.

Poetry and Music: Most folk poems are intended to be sung. The traditional Georgian
musical genres are as numerous as the poetic genres, and it would go far beyond the aims
of this book to discuss them with any thoroughness. I will limit my discussion to a few
short examples of the musical settings of Georgian poems, to give Western readers some
idea of how they are performed within Georgian culture.8

8. Readers who would like a more direct experience of Georgian folk music in its full variety have a range
of recordings to choose among. The Rustavi Ensemble, directed by Anzor Erkomaishvili and Pridon
Sulaberidze, have been touring and recording for decades, and remain the benchmark for the groups who
have come on the scene more recently. Among the latter, I recommend the Riho Ensemble from Svaneti,
directed by Islam Pilpani; the female vocal group Mzetamze; and the Georgika Georgian men's choir (the
two latter choirs record with Face Music). Also worth listening to is a recording of Svanetian folk music,
recorded in the field by the ethnomusicologist Sylvie Bolle-Zemp (in the series “Le Chant du monde”,
issued by the Musée de l'Homme).

20
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

(A). Homophony. Many folk songs consist of a single melody line, with or without
instrumental accompaniment. The epic ballads of Pshavi and Khevsureti, recounting the
exploits of legendary or actual warriors, are of the former type, sung to the
accompaniment of the panduri, a three-stringed plucked instrument of the lute family.
Among the poetic genres associated with a-cappella homophonic singing are the urmuli
(sung while hauling a load in an oxcart [uremi ]) and the khmit nat’irali, a form of
lamentation for the dead. An excerpt from each is given here. The text of the Kakhetian
urmuli in Ex.1 [HGF #8] mainly consists of the nonsense syllables aru aralo, variants of
which accompany many Georgian folk songs (for example poem #48: Araru darejanasa).
The Khevsur lament shown in Ex.2 [from GFS] is performed responsorially: a solo
mourner (typically a woman) intones a phrase, and the others respond, in this case with
nonsense syllables. For more on the manner of performance of funerary songs, see the
notes to poems #59-61.
(B). Polyphony. Georgia is almost alone in the Caucasus region in having a tradition of
polyphonic folk music. Several varieties are recognized, with different degrees of
harmonic complexity. The simplest type involves a single melody line accompanied by a
drone bass. The song excerpted in Ex.3 is a plowing song (gutnuri) from eastern Georgia
[HGF #13], with an extremely simple two-note bass line setting off the melismata of the
solo tenor voice.
Somewhat more elaborate are three-voice songs of the type shown in Ex.4 [HGF #2],
consisting of a melody line, a descant moving roughly in parallel with it, and a drone. As
is common in Georgian folk singing, a single voice leads off with the first two or three
bars of each segment. Ex.4 is one of several published settings of poem #17.
In some parts of Georgia, and especially in Svaneti, the basses have their own melody
line instead of a sustained drone. Many Svanetian hymns and choral laments (zari) utilize
harmonic and melodic progressions unfamiliar to Western ears. Ex.5 is taken from the
archaic hymn to the sun Lile (see notes to poem #38), which is sung in alternation by two
three-voice male choirs [HGF #4]. Note the startling leap of an augmented fourth in the
upper voice that announces the entrance of the second choir.

Poetry and Dance: A few of the poems in this anthology are accompanied by dance as
well as music. Especially noteworthy are the songs (Betgil, Perqhisa, Samaia) which set
the rhythm for the dancing of the perkhuli or round dance. This dance is an important
accompaniment to certain traditional religious ceremonies, and its form has special
meaning. (The representation of people dancing in a ring is a frequent motif in Svanetian
folk art.) Here is a description of how a song is performed during the dancing of the
mrgvali (“round”), a round dance known in Georgian mountain communities. The
dancers are divided into two choirs, each with its leader, that join to form a circle.The
leader of one half-circle sings a line of text, which is repeated by his choir. Then the
leader of the second choir sings the same line, usually with some variation, followed by
his group. The leader of the first choir then intones a second verse, and so it proceeds,
with four iterations of each line. Traditionally the tempo was kept slow, to allow the
song-leader time to improvise each line [GHM 203]. A particularly elaborate round
dance, the kor-beghela, is described in the notes to poem #57.
Round-dance songs are most commonly in triple meter. The excerpt in Ex.6, sung to the
text of poem #54 (“Violet on the mountain”) accompanies a women’s round dance

21
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[music from GFS]. An example in quadruple meter, from Guria, is shown in Ex.7 [HGF
#51].
Improvisation: In a discussion of performance, something should be said about the
role of improvisation in Georgian folk poetry. While many poems, especially the longer
ones, are to a degree re-created anew at each performance on the basis of a memorized
plot framework and an inventory of set phrases, special mention should be made of the
practice of shairoba (from Arabic shair “verse”), also known as k’apiaoba, which the
Georgians of the northeast highlands have maintained up to this day. This is a type of
poetry contest, in which two individuals try to get the better of each other through
boastful or humorous poems composed on the spot.9
Numerous examples of these poetic skirmishes have been recorded by Georgian
folklorists. Here is one such encounter [GMD 96], which took place in Pshavi in 1913
between a certain Nadira Kumiashvili and Q’ruv Giorgi (“Deaf George”) Mgeliashvili,
one of the most celebrated exponents of the craft of poetic improvisation. The challenges
and responses are in the format most typical for shairoba: strict eight-syllable lines with
end rhyme between even-numbered lines:

NADIRA
Shamogwxwdi, Gogolauro, [We encountered you, Gogolauran (clan name)
Ert shenats gagaqhneineb. Now I will plow you under, too.]

DEAF GEORGE
Mets k’arga gagibot’it’neb, [I will brace myself against you,
Peqhsats ver mamatsvleineb. You won’t be able to budge me.]

NADIRA
Tsot’as gdzeli gakw nik’ap’i, [Your chin is a little long,
Kvisad sam ts’agak’reineb. I will hit it against a rock somewhere]

DEAF GEORGE
Ts’aval, gichivleb sudshia, [I will go complain to the court (Russian sud),
Tsikheshi dagambeineb; and get you hauled off to jail;
Mag mama-p’ap’is pulebsa, That money you have from your ancestors,
Zed st’olze dagatwleineb. I will make you count it out on the table
(to pay your fine).]

9 For more information about Georgian poetic improvisation, including sketches of celebrated poets and
collections of texts, see Ap’olon Tsanava, Galekseba-gashaireba da pshauri k’apia “Poetic improvisation
and the Pshavian k’apia” (Metsniereba, 1964); Gigi Khornauli, Pshauri k’apia (Sabch’ota Sakartvelo,
1969) ; Jonda Bardavelidze & Ap’olon Tsanava, eds., Kartuli khalkhuri p’oezia,9: saq’opatskhovrebo
leksebi “Georgian folk poetry, vol 9: Poems of daily life” (Metsniereba, 1981).

22
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

The composition of the Anthology and the Manner of Translation

I will confess straight off that my personal preference was one of the major factors in
the selection process. Aside from that I have tried to include representatives of each
major genre, and from most, albeit not all, Georgian provinces.
Of the various types of poem, the most conspicuously underrepresented is the Pshav-
Khevsur warrior epic. These are versified accounts of the exploits of past heroes, who
proved their valor in feats of arms against the tribesmen of Chechen-Ingusheti and
Daghestan. The innumerable skirmishes, cattle raids, and revenge attacks between the
nominally-Christian Georgians and the nominally-Moslem North Caucasians have
provided material for an extensive corpus of epics. Unfortunately, the texts are often
highly elliptical and impossible to interpret without the background knowledge of clan
history that could be presupposed of the intended audience for these ballads.
On the other hand, love poetry, in particular poems connected with the practice of
ts’ats’loba, are somewhat overrepresented, for which the translator’s sensibilities are
solely to blame.
A word about the manner of translation: I have selected what I feel is the closest
equivalent to Georgian syllabic meter that comfortably conforms to the stress-timed
nature of English speech. In most translations the number of stresses (i.e. poetic feet) per
line is kept constant. I have avoided end rhyme, despite its presence in most of the poems
selected, so as not to place excessive constraints upon the translation process. As I intend
this book to be of interest to folklorists as well as the general reading public, I have
attempted to stick closely to the meaning of the originals. My policy has resulted in some
thoroughly non-idiomatic English poems, but it is my hope that the readers will find the
closer contact with the flavor of Georgian folk poetry a sufficient compensation.

23
ia mtazeda

24
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

25
ia mtazeda

26
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

27
ia mtazeda

28
leqsebi
The Poems
ia mtazeda
1. Moq’me da vepkhvi

moq’mem tkva p’irs&is&velama,


s&ibn s&aviaren k’ldisani,
movinadiren, davlaXen,
bilik’ni c&’iuXisani.
s&amamXvdes k’ldisa tavzeda
Xoroni Z&iqhvebisani,
topi vhk’ar Z&iqhvsa berqhensa,
c&’alas Z&aqhn iknes rkisani.
c’amued sas&inaoda,
s&ibn amerivnes k’ldisani.
s&avvardi vepXvsa nac’olsa,
dron iq’vnes s&uaƒmisani.
vepXvi ro c’amomiprinda,
tvalni marisXna Xtisani.
s&aibnes vepXvi moq’mei,
mas&in daiZrnes mic’ani,
k’ldeebi c&amais&alnes,
s&t’on dailec’nes t’q’isani.
parsa uparebs, ver hparavs,
vepXvi c&karia k’ldisani,
dro aƒar dasc&a vas&k’acsa
Xan ro hkoniq’vnes cdisani.
gazit gaartvna k’altani,
Z&ac&’visa Z&avs&anisani.
moq’memac qhels&i iq’arna,
vadani tavis qhmlisani.
mas&in gauc&’ra prangulma,
dron iq’vnes c’akcevisani.
vepXvi k’ldet gadmaek’ida,
t’ot’idan sisXleb mdinari,
taod k’ldis tavze c&amac’va
moq’me sul amamdinari,
kvis&as mihƒebavs c’itlada
sisXli zed c&amamdinari.
vin et’q’vis magis dedasa,
k’ars usXeds kadag-mk’itXavni.
bec&avs c&ems dedas rad unda
kadagi, anda mk’itXavi.
daZebnon c&emeb sc’orebma
q’ure-mareni mtisani.
ageb Zvaln mainc daqhelon

30
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

The young man and the leopard

The bare-cheeked youth told his story:


“I went out hunting and wandered
Steep paths, winding and narrow.
Crossed over high mountain crests.
I came to the head of a cliff and
Found a herd of ibex;
I shot the largest one,
The valley rang with the crash of his horns.
Then I started for home,
But lost my way in the mountains.
I came by a leopard’s den,
By then it was late at night,
When the leopard leapt out
My eyes burned with godly wrath.”
The lad and leopard joined battle,
The earth was trembling beneath them,
They made the cliffs to crumble,
And tore the trees to shivers.
His shield no longer shielded
Him from the nimble beast.
Nor did it give the lad time
To make himself ready to fight.
Its claws tore into the breast
Of the youth’s chain-mail shirt.
Still the lad kept his hand
On the hilt of his sword.
Then the French blade cut home
And both fighters collapsed.
The leopard hung over the cliff,
Blood dripping down from its paws.
At the head of the cliff slumped down
The young man, his life-force now spent.
He too colors the ground
Crimson with blood pouring forth.
Who will tell his mother?
The seers now sit by her door.
“What need has my poor mother
Of oracle or fortune-teller?
Let my companions go searching
In crevices deep in the mountain.
Perhaps they might find the bones

31
ia mtazeda
lamazis vaz&k’acisani.
da debsac s&amit’q’obinet,
nac&’ap’n daic&’ran tmisani,
sc’orebs&i nuƒar gamovlen
mgloviareni Zmisani.
iareboda dedai
t’irilit tvalcremliani:
c&em s&vils gzad vepXvi s&ahq’ria
gaZ&avrebuli, t’iali,
c&ems s&vils qhmlit, imas t’ot’ita
dƒe dauƒamdat mziani.
arc vepXvi iq’o Z&abani,
arc c&em s&vil s&aXvda c&’k’viani,
mat dauXocav erturti,
ar darc&en sircXviliani.
cremlebit c’q’rulebs ulbobda
dapetils vepXvis k’lanc&’ita,
s&vilo, ar mahk’vdi, s&en gZinav,
dakanculi Xar Z&apita,
es s&eni Z&ac&’vis p’erangi
t’ialma rogor dagplita?
s&enc imas saper hq’opilXar,
qhmali knevas&i gagicvda.
mart’uk’a s&aXvdi dac&’rilsa,
mes&veli arvin gq’vania
arc iman magca met’i dro,
aƒarc s&en daacalia,
veƒarc s&en dagiparebav
s&en qhelt nac&’eri paria,
veƒarca vepXvma t’ot’ebit,
qhmalma dak’uc’a Zvalia.
magis met’s aƒar git’ireb,
s&en ar Xar sat’iralia,
salas&krod samek’obroda
ar iq’av sac’unaria.
erti s&vil mainc gagzarde
vepXvebtan meomaria.
ms&vidobit, Z&vari gec’eros,
egec samaris k’aria.
Xan vepXvi, Xan tavis s&vili
elandebodis mZinarsa,
Xan vepXvi vitam imis s&vils
t’anzeita hq’ris rk’inasa,

32
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Of what was a handsome young warrior.


And my sisters — tell them, for my sake
They should cut off their braids,
And not go about with their friends
While mourning for their dead brother.”
The mother wanders about
Keening and shedding tears:
“My son had met with a leopard,
A fearsome, accursed beast.
He with sword, it with claws,
Darkened the day for each other.
The leopard was surely no coward,
Nor did he treat my son mildly,
They met, and each slew the other,
Neither brought shame on himself.”
Weeping, she dressed her son’s wounds,
Torn by the leopard’s claws.
“Son, you’re not dead, only sleeping,
Worn out from your heavy labors;
This, your chain-mail shirt,
How could the beast tear it open?
You were truly his equal,
You wore down your sword in battle.
You met him, one man, alone,
There was none else to save you.
Your foe gave you no time,
Nor did you let him prepare.
The shield you held in your hand
No longer served to protect you,
Nor could the leopard’s claws stave off
The sword that hacked at his bones.
No more will I weep over you,
You are not one to be wept for.
In war, in the front ranks of battle,
You never brought shame on yourself.
Indeed I have raised a son
Fit to do battle with leopards.
Be at peace, with the sign of the cross
That marks the door to the grave.”
The leopard and also her son
Appeared to her as she slept.
Sometimes the animal was ripping
The armor worn by her son,

33
ia mtazeda
Xan k’iden imisi s&vili
vepXvs gadaavlevs q’irasa,
a emag sizmrebs Xedavdis,
gamaeƒviZis mt’iralsa.
Xan ipikrebda: udedod
gazda vina tkva s&vilisa.
ikneba vepXvis dedai
c&emze mc’areda st’irisa,
c’avide, mec ik mivide,
samZimar utXra c&’irisa,
isic miambobs ambebsa,
mec utXra c&emis s&vilisa;
imasac brali eknebis
uc’q’alod qhmlit dac&’rilisa.

2. Akhmet’uri p’at’ardzali

aXmet’uri kali viq’av,


aX net’avi meo,
ocdaXuti c’elic’adi
ost’at’s vebareo.
nemss q’unc’i saita hkonda,
is ver visc’avleo,
sap’at’arZlod momamzades,
es miama meo.
umarili bevri visvi,
peri vic&’arbeo,
c’arbi c’vrilad s&eviƒebe,
tvali visurmeo.
nepioni ro movida,
is miama meo,
dapa-zurna rom dauk’res,
imas ver avq’eo.
Z&oXi rom daarak’unes,
c&amouareo.
kurani cXeni momgvares,
zed gadavZ&ek meo,
uzangs&i rom peXi c&avdgi
gadavalaZ&eo.
saq’dris k’arsa rom mivedi,
ƒvdelsa s&avZaXeo,
aba c&kara, s&e sulZaƒlo,

34
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

And sometimes again her son


Was throwing the beast to the ground.
Each time she saw these dreams
She awoke, wet with tears.
And then she would think: without mother
No child enters this world.
It is likely that this leopard’s mother
Is grieving as sorely as I.
I will go, yes I will see her,
And bring her words of compassion.
She will tell her son’s story
And I will tell her of mine.
For he too is to be mourned
Cut down by a merciless sword.

The bride from Akhmeta

I was a woman from Akhmeta.


Oh, my goodness me,
For twenty-five years to a tailor
They apprenticed me.
Where the eye of the needle is
Remained a mystery.
So they prepared me for marriage.
I said, “this pleases me.”
I put on gobs of make-up
And colors without restraint;
Then I did my eyebrows
With black antimony paint.
The bridal party arrived;
I said “this pleases me.”
They played the shawms and tambours;
I danced abominably.
When I joined the round dance,
They beat time with a stick.
They brought me a fine brown horse:
I mounted it right quick.
I set my foot in the stirrup,
At a gallop I sped away.
I rode up to the church door:
“Bring me the priest, I say!
Hurry up, you dog-souled man,

35
ia mtazeda
k’ari gaaƒeo.
ƒvdelma k’ari ar gaaƒo,
is mec’q’ina meo,
ƒvdelma c’igni ver ik’itXa,
Xels&i c’avgliZ&eo;
diak’vansa gauZ&avrdi,
tavs&i vac’q’vit’eo.
cot’a av gunebad viq’av,
k’arga gavXdi meo.
manam maq’rioni mova,
cXens movaXt’i meo,
gavc’ie da c’in c’avedi,
arvis ucadeo,
maq’rioni momZaXoda,
kal, daicadeo.
me imati t’rak’at’ruk’i
arad c&avagdeo,
s&ua gzas&i rom movedi,
vas&li gavk’bic&eo.
darbazis k’ars rom mivedi,
Zirs c&amovXt’i meo,
c’in t’abla ro mamagebes,
Z&ami gavt’eXeo.
Z&iXvit ƒvino mamit’anes,
is miama meo,
Xeladit gamamit’anes,
q’eli visveleo.
saƒvinit gamamit’anes,
guli viZ&ereo,
dedamtili momegeba,
p’iri varideo,
p’irs&i s&akari c&amido,
titi movk’vnit’eo.
s&igni-s&igan ro s&evedi,
sk’ami s&evzvereo,
zed balis&i avit’ane,
rbilad davZ&ek meo.
dedamtilsa c’avc&urc&ule:
p’uri ms&ian meo.
erti mc’vadi rom s&emic’va,
is mec’q’ina meo.
taroebsa dauare,
erbo movsZebneo,

36
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Come and open the door!”


When he didn’t answer,
This really made me sore.
He couldn’t read the prayer book,
I tore it away from him.
The deacon, too, got on my nerves,
I punched him on the chin.
Soon I quieted down,
I’d been upset, of course.
Before the groomsmen came,
I jumped back on my horse.
I spurred him and galloped off,
I left them in my dust.
The bridegroom hollered after me:
“Hey, lady! Wait for us!”
All of their fuss and yelling,
I paid no heed to it.
Halfway down the road I stopped,
Took out an apple and bit.
I arrived at the palace gates
And jumped down from my horse.
They invited me to the table;
I broke a bowl, of course.
When they brought me a drinking horn
This certainly pleased me.
They brought me wine in a jug:
I slugged it down with glee.
Then they brought out a pitcher,
I drank and slaked my thirst.
My mother-in-law came toward me;
I turned my back on her,
She put some sugar in my mouth.
Too bad her fingers got bit.
Then I went back in the house
And looked for a place to sit.
I placed a pillow on a chair
And plopped down on my seat.
I whispered to my mother-in-law:
“I want something to eat.”
She roasted me a shishkebab.
This insulted me.
I rummaged through the cupboard
For food of quality.

37
ia mtazeda
cecXlzeda t’apa s&emovdgi,
k’vercXi s&evc’vi meo,
zedac tapli ro movasXi,
is miama meo,
asi k’vercXis erbok’vercXi
mart’om s&evc&’ameo.
dedamtili vZ&oXe, vZ&oXe,
muli gavigdeo,
imati tmebis nagleZ&i
banze movpineo.
mamamtilsac Xeli mivq’av,
c’veri vagliZ&eo,
imisi c’veris nap’uc’k’i
ƒobes mivpineo.
nepes c’iXli movaXvedre,
k’arebs vac’q’vit’eo,
oriode muXis k’et’i
mazlsac us&Xivleo,
mazli k’arebs epareba,
ƒmerto, gadavrc&eo.
ori k’viris p’at’arZalma
s&vili vs&obe meo,
mere kalebs&i c’aveli,
kalebs uambeo.

3. Dælil k’ojas khelghwazhale

dQlil k’oZ&as Xelƒwaz&ale,


Xelƒwaz&ale twetna#m k’oZ&as.
gezal isgwi kaw Z&as&q’eda,
kaw Z&as&q’eda k’oZ&as kamen.
c&ukwan tXerol XodaraZ&i,
z&iv XopXic&’a c&ukwan tXerols,
es& laXkarwe mindwer lekwa.
esnQr zagrus& metXwyQr anƒri,
metXwyQr mepsQy an´ƒ´ri,
metXwyQr mepsQyd te Xarek’i;
zagrus&w metXwyQr c&’ur anƒ´ri,
mindrus& tXerol es´ƒ´rda.
c&u loXdarZ&e metXwyQr mepsQyd,
metXwyQr mepsQyd halQg Qgis,
twep Xat’q’wepi nebgwaisga,

38
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

I put the skillet on the fire,


Set butter and eggs to fry.
Then I poured some honey on top.
“This pleases me,” said I.
An omelette of a hundred eggs,
I ate it all, alone.
I kept on beating my mother-in-law,
Drove sister-in-law from the home.
The hair that I tore from the heads
Of my husband’s mother and sisters
I laid it all out on the roof,
Then plucked out his father’s whiskers.
I put his beard-hairs on the fence
For all the neighbors to see.
I met my bridegroom with a kick
And pummeled him awfully.
With an oaken cudgel
I went at my brother-in-law;
“Thank God I’m still alive,” he said
Cowering behind the door.
I gave birth to a baby
Two weeks after my wedding.
I went to the neighbor women
And told them everything.

Dali is giving birth on the cliff

Dali is giving birth on the cliff,


Is giving birth on the white cliff.
The child you bore has fallen down,
It has fallen from the cliff.
Below a wolf is standing watch,
The wolf below has seized the child,
Now it runs off down the field.
A hunter comes from the mountain ridge,
It is the hunter Mepsay who comes,
The hunter Mepsay looked around;
From the ridge the hunter comes.
The wolf was running down the field.
The hunter Mepsay watched for it,
The hunter Mepsay, at the gate.,
In the forehead shot the wolf,

39
ia mtazeda
dQlQs& gezal c&u laXk’warwne.
dQlQs& gezal z&i lQyc&’´tXe,
tXe#remis& t’up poq’s lQyc&iXne.
dQlil k’oZ&as ik’pieli,
Xos&a#m k’oZ&Qr ik’pieleX,
metXwyQr mepsQy sga lamqhedli
sga lQmqhedli twetnam k’oZ&as& Zirate#sga.
dede mis&gwi, ludwigw aXkwic&’!
wodaw dodew si Z&erole,
dedes& mu#kwîsg mi dor miri,
dedes& mu#kwîsg nQdird Qmƒe!
mi Xwiro#le gezal isgwi!
isgwi mas&ed yQr irole?
mis&gwi mas&ed metXwyQr mepsQy.
sam nalwk’wihws alas lalhwedid:
XocXe#ndeds i ladQƒisga
k’wicradaqh´lsi lehwdinid;
he eZ&a mo#dey m´k’aXisga
c&Xara q’wil ƒwas&Qrs lehwdinid;
he eZ&a modey mis&gu lilq’ur.
lilq’urs isgwa mi des& Z&Qs&gde,
c&Xara q’wil ƒwas& lamo!
ka loXgene c&Xara q’wil ƒwas&,
es&Xu wokwres& lumic&’w loXwnQc&de.
metXwyQr wokre lumic&’ws otnQs&ne,
eZ&nem pindiX mama QdXin,
metXwyQrs laXt’iX nebgwaisga,
metXwyQr mepsQy z&i laygurne.

4. Ts’utisopeli

c’utisopeli ra ari?
agorebuli kva ari,
ra c’ams k’i davibadebit,
ikve saplavi mza ari.
saca sopels&i miXvide,
suq’velgan ori gza ari,
s&uas&i ari Xmeleti,
gars&emo didi zƒva ari.
q’vela adamis s&vili vart,
tataric c&veni Zma ari.
c&vensa da someXeb s&ua

40
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

He made it drop Dali's child.


He took the child up in his arms,
He slung the wolf's pelt from his belt.
Dali is keening on the cliff,
Yet even louder the cliffs are keening,
Now the hunter Mepsay comes,
He comes to the foot of the white cliff.
“Mother of mine, let down your braids!”
“May you have a mother’s blessing;
I have none who calls me mother,
The beast bore off the one who did.”
“Here I am, I am your child!”
“Who is the one who rescued you?”
“The hunter Mepsay rescued me.”
“We will grant him these three choices:
If he chooses, then each day
He will catch a male roe-deer;
If not, then every hunting season
Nine ibex will be given him;
Or, if not, he may lie with me.”
“I do not dare lie with you,
Let me have the nine ibex instead.”
She brought out nine head of ibex,
She included a gold horn among them.
The hunter took aim at the gold-horned one,
But his bullet did not hit it,
It rebounded toward his forehead,
It brought down the hunter Mepsay.

The fleeting world

What is the fleeting world?


It is a rolling stone;
The moment we are born
The grave is ready for us.
Wherever you go in the world
There will be two paths,
The dry land in between,
A great sea lies around it.
We are Adam’s children,
Even the Tatar’s our brother;
Between the Armenians and us,

41
ia mtazeda
ganq’opileba ra ari?
tu kali get’q’vis dobasa,
is uk’etesi da ari,
agreti gkondes guneba,
vit moc’mendili ca ari,
tu ar ic’ameb amasa,
muclit nas&obi ra ari?

5. Tavparavneli ch’abuk’i

tavparavneli c&’abuk’i
asp’inZis kalsa hq’varobda,
zƒva hkonda c’inad savali,
gasvlas s&ig ara zarobda.
kali antebda santelsa,
santeli k’elap’t’arobda.
erti avsuli beberi
vaz&istvis avsa lamobda,
sark’melze antebul santels
akrobda, abezarobda,
tan amas eubneboda:
«c’inadac ega gq’varobda.»
vaz&i miangrevs t’alƒebsa,
gul-mk’erdi ara c&karobda.
calXelit dolabi miakvs,
calXelit niavkarobda.
zƒvis gaƒma erti santeli
gamoƒma k’elap’t’arobda.
ƒame c&amodga c’q’vdiadi,
uk’uns ramesa hgvanobda,
t’alƒa t’alƒaze nacemi
vaz&is c&antkmasa lamobda.
dahk’arga poni, s&es&c&’irda,
morevi bobokarobda . . .
gatenda dila lamazi,
k’ek’lucis tvalebs hgvanobda.
c’q’alsa daeXrc&o c&’abuk’i,
asp’inZis p’iras kanobda,
c’iteli movis p’erangi
zevidan dahparparobda.
les&s dasZ&domoda zed orbi,
guls ugleZ&avda, Xarobda.

42
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

What is the difference, really?


If someone pledges you sisterhood,
She’ll be the best of sisters;
So may you be of a mind
Pure as the open sky.
If you do not believe this,
What then is born from the womb?

The lad from Tavparavani

A lad from Tavparavani,


Was loved by a maid of Aspindza.
He had a wide sea to cross,
But in no wise was he daunted.
The woman had lighted a candle;
The candle sent forth its beam.
A certain evil-souled crone
Plotted the young man’s destruction.
The taper that gleamed in the window
She snuffed out, to bring him to grief.
And said to herself as she did so:
“Did not this boy once love you?”
The young man cut through the waves,
His heart and lungs were not strained.
With one hand he held a millstone,
With the other he swam the sea.
From over the water a candle
Shed light to the other side;
By now the night had fallen,
A night dark as blackest pitch.
Wave pounded on wave
And strove to make the lad drown.
He lost his guide-beam, was confounded;
Before him a whirlpool roared . . .
The morning dawned bright and cheery,
Bright as a gay maiden’s eyes.
The waters had drowned the young man.
He drifted ashore at Aspindza.
His red shirt of finest silk
Fluttered in the soft breeze;
An eagle perched on his corpse,
Tore at his heart and was sated.

43
ia mtazeda
6. Nest’an-Darejan

nest’an-dareZ&an, sad ras geZina?


— mindvris bolosa.
zed ra geXura?
— zari-zarbabi.
movel, agXade, sami gak’oce;
samma k’ocnama peri gicvala;
perma nacvalma c’igni dasc’era.
s&ig ra c&asc’era?
— kamXa at’lasi.
vis gaugzavna?
— davit mepesa.
rit gaugzavna?
— Z&or-aklemita.
ra mouvida?
— diba-Xaverdi.
rit c&amoXada?
— asi k’acita.
diba-Xaverdi rita gamosc&’ra?
— mak’rat’lis c’verit.
riti s&ek’era?
— nemsis c’verita, brolis titita.
riti c&aico?
— nazi Xelebit siXarulita.
rit gaiXada?
— cXare cremlita.
riti garecXa?
— cremlmduƒarita.
raze gahpina?
— alvis t’ot’zeda.

7. Avtandil gadinadira

avtandil gadinadira
kedi maƒali, t’q’iani,
verc mohk’la Xari, verc puri,
verca iremi rkiani.
s&velsa hk’ra gamoprenilsa,
isari orbis prtiani,
cXenis t’aXt’aze dahk’ida
t’q’avgauXdeli, mtliani.

44
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Nestan-Darejan

Nestan-Darejan, where did you sleep?


— The end of the meadow.
What was your blanket?
— Golden brocade.
I came and uncovered you, kissed you three times;
These three kisses, they made your face blush.
With blushing face, she wrote a letter.
What was enclosed?
— Bright silks and satin.
Where did she send it?
— To David the King.
How did she send it?
— By mule and camel.
What was sent back?
— Velvet brocade.
Who unloaded it?
— One hundred men.
How did she cut the velvet brocade?
— The point of a scissors.
How did she sew it?
— The point of a needle in cut-crystal fingers.
How did she don it?
— With delicate hands, and full of rejoicing.
How did she doff it?
— Bitterly weeping.
How did she wash it?
— In her hot tears.
On what did she hang it?
— An aloe-tree branch.

Avtandil went hunting

Avtandil went hunting


On a high ridge, in thick forests,
Caught nothing — not buck nor doe,
Nor hart with full-grown horns.
At last his hawk-feathered arrow
Brought down a swift roe-deer;
He hung it down from his saddle,
The whole deer, not yet skinned.

45
ia mtazeda
c&amoXt’a t’q’isa p’irada,
cecXli daanto Zliari,
daZ&da da tala s&ampuri,
mc’vadi aago mcvriani,
sanam mc’vadi s&eic’oda,
cXensa misca saZovari.
cXenma k’aci dainaXa,
s&ori gzidan momavali.
s&eXt’a lurZ&a, s&esc&’iXvina,
rom es k’aci avi ari.
meZ&inebes dauZaXa:
«lurZ&a momgvare c&karada.»
gavaze Xeli gadusva,
zed gadaaXt’a karada,
gzac’vrili gaarbenina,
mindori upro c&karada.
uk’u iXeda, mosdevdnen
is urZ&uloni Z&arada,
asi hk’ra, asi daXk’oda,
erti gadurc&a s&avada,
erti imanac esrola,
sisXli c’avida ƒvarada.
muXasa bec&’i miando,
s&t’o daic’ia parada.
daZ&da da c’igni dasc’era,
mt’redsa s&eaba mXarada.
«es dedac&emsa miartvi,
vegar mogival c&karada.
giq’varda tetri mandili,
c&emze s&eƒebe s&avada,
eg c&emi c&oXa-nabadi
k’arze dahk’ide parada.
eg c&emi kamar-XanZ&ali
ƒvdels miec sac’iravada,
eg c&emi coli p’at’ara
ar gaatXovo c&karada,
tu miscem, iset k’acs mie,
me mZ&obdes tvalad-t’anada,
eg c&emi ciXe-darbazi
tan gaat’ane mzitvada»

46
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

He rode to the edge of the forest,


Lighted a roaring fire,
Sat and whittled a skewer,
Started the meat a-roasting.
While the meat was sizzling
He let his horse roam to graze.
The horse caught sight of a man
Coming toward them from afar.
The dapple-grey reared up and whinnied,
This man is evil, he felt.
Avtandil called his squire:
Bring me my steed straight away.
He patted the horse on the rump,
Mounted, was off like the wind.
He raced down the narrow path,
Across the field even faster,
Looked back — in swift pursuit
An infidel army was coming.
Of a hundred, he struck down each man,
Till one, dressed in black, remained.
This man let fly an arrow,
And Avtandil’s blood gushed forth.
Leaning against an oak-tree,
A branch drawn in front as a shield,
He slumped down and wrote a letter,
Then tied it onto a dove.
Bring this news to my mother:
I’ll come no more to you.
That white veil that you loved,
Now dye it black for me.
My cloak and felt overcoat
Hang on the door as a shield;
My dagger and my belt
Give to the priest as an offering.
And as for my young wife,
Don’t marry her off too soon.
But if you do, to a man
With eyes and strength greater than mine.
My fortress and manor-house
Send them with her as a dowry.

47
ia mtazeda
8. A, is ghrubelni miq’varan

a, is ƒrubelni miq’varan
borbalazed ro diano,
erti meoris s&aq’rasa
Xaroben, meeliano.
s&aiq’rebian ertada,
mananas c&amaq’riano,
rac unda bevri ecadnen,
c&ven erturc ver gagvq’riano.

9. Ts’itel ghvinos migagvane

c’itel ƒvinos migagvane,


c&’ikas&i mdgomiaresa,
sasupeveli rat unda
s&ens mk’lavze mc’oliaresa.
mzeni ar daic&rdileba
mag s&ensa aremaresa.

10. Ts’q’alsa mohkonda napot’i

c’q’alsa mohkonda napot’i,


alvis Xis c&amonatali,
dadek, napot’o, miambe
moq’vrisa s&emonatvali.
— s&eni moq’vare t’anc’vrili,
s&ua gzas vnaXe dac&’rili,
davdek da bevri vit’ire,
zed mivaq’are kva c’vrili.

11. Shens loq’as vardi hq’vaoda

s&ens loq’as vardi hq’vaoda,


gs&venoda ƒia peria,
ƒac’vs mocimcime Xalivit
nami cit monaberia.
s&urit dagprenda niavi,
girXevda dalal-k’avebsa,
c’arbi-c’amc’ami q’ornisa

48
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Ah, how I love those clouds

Ah, how I love those clouds


Spread over Borbala Mountain.
They rejoice so at the prospect
Of being joined with each other.
Now they have come together,
They sprinkle soft drizzle on me.
No matter how much they try
They’ll never part us again.

I’ve likened you to red wine

I’ve likened you to red wine


Standing in a glass;
Who could desire a kingdom
Lying in your arms?
The sun will never be darkened
In the space around you.

The stream bore me a wood chip

The stream bore me a wood chip


Cut from a poplar tree.
Wood chip, say what my lover
Sent as a message for me.
— Your lover of slender frame,
I saw him: cut through the bone.
I rose up and wept for him,
Covered his corpse with small stones.

A rose blossomed upon your cheek

A rose blossomed upon your cheek,


It adorned you with its clear hue,
By your eye, like a beauty spot
Glistened a dewdrop wafted from heaven.
A jealous breeze threw itself at you,
Tousled your finely-braided hair;
Raven-dark brows and eyelashes sheltered

49
ia mtazeda
hXuravda gis&ris tvalebsa.
tvalsa, ra tvalsa, cis mnaca,
c’q’vdiads&i moelvaresa,
movlinebulsa amkveq’nad,
nuges&ad damas&vralebsa.
t’uc&s dahk’vdomoda ƒimili,
alisprad moƒadƒadesa,
k’bil margalit’i aprkvevda
s&ukurs midamos da velsa.
ra tamar! raa ketevan!
vit s&egadaro etersa!
isars dausob guls mnaXvels,
Xelad garbodes t’q’e-velsa.
prangis kveq’nebi davagde,
mivZar-movZari zƒvebia,
versad ver s&evXvdi sit’urpes
magret, rom s&ena gXlebia.

12. Rad ginda kali lamazi

rad ginda kali lamazi,


ra oms&i gamogadgeba,
c&aicvams c’itel-q’vitelsa,
gamova, k’arze dadgeba,
imis s&emXedi vaz&k’aci
k’elap’t’arivit dadneba.

13. Mtieli

mtieli var, mtac&i gazrdili,


guladi, gaut’eXeli,
arc’ivi, zecit mosuli,
sp’ilo var moudrek’eli.
sams&oblos mosiq’varule
var misi dautmobeli,
me mirc&evnia mq’invari,
sul mudam q’inuliani,
sali k’ldeebi q’urosi
da ikve Z&iXvta t’riali.

50
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Eyes of smoothly polished jet.


Eyes? What eyes? No, celestial lights
That once gleamed in the moonless sky,
Then were brought down to this world
As a comfort to weary souls.
A smile had pressed itself to your lips,
Lips that glowed the color of flame;
Pearly teeth were scattering forth
Light beams on the fields around.
What Tamar! Who is Ketevan!
How compare Eteri to you!
You sink your shaft in the gazer’s heart;
Crazed, he runs through woods and fields.
I have wandered the lands of Europe,
Hither and yon o’er distant seas;
Nowhere could I find a beauty
Such as that you possess.

Why do you want a beautiful woman?

Why do you want a beautiful woman?


When you’re at war what good will she be?
She will dress up in reds and yellows,
Come out of the house and stand by the door,
Any man who would gaze upon her
Will melt away like a beeswax candle.

The mountaineer

I was born in the mountains,


Courageous and unyielding:
An eagle flying skyward,
An elephant, unbending.
In my love for my homeland
I will never relent.
I love the mountain Q’azbeg,
Forever covered in ice,
The sheer rock walls of Q’uro,
The ibex prancing there.

51
ia mtazeda
14. Khidistavs shavk’rat p’iroba

Xidistavs s&avk’rat p’iroba,


c&ven gavXdet ƒviZli Zmanio,
c&auXdet muXran bat’onsa,
tavs davangriot banio,
rac roma hkondes, c’avartot
tval-margalit’i, lalio.
s&avidet, gamoviq’vanot,
tval-z&uz&un tetri kalio.
kali, ra kali, kalio
k’oc&’amdis scemdes tmanio,
tmani, ra tmani, tmanio,
s&vidk’eca, s&vidi mXario.
esXas okros saq’ureni,
uz&ƒrialebdes kario.
amas ambobdnen: — net’avi
ar momas&ora tvalnio.
arabul cXenze s&emovsvat,
c’els s&emovak’rat Xmalio,
sac&eXis kudi davXurot,
s&ig c&auk’ecot tmanio.
sami iseti vak’ocot,
loq’as avaZrot t’q’avio,
sagareZ&os&i c&avidet,
ik davic’erot Z&vario,
s&vidi dƒe da s&vidi ƒame
ik movalXinot Z&ario.

15. Lekso, amogtkom

lekso, amogtkom, oXero,


toro ikneba vk’vdebode
da s&en k’i, c&emad saqhsovrad
saakaosa rc&ebode,
gimƒerden c&emebr sc’orebi,
panduris qhmaze hq’vebode,
kveq’ana mXiarulobdes
da me saplavs&i vlp’ebode.
net’avi, c&emo saXelo,
didXanamc iXsenebode,
c&emo natkomo sit’q’vao,

52
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

At Khidistav we will make a pact

At Khidistav we will make a pact:


We will be blood brothers,
We’ll pounce on the Mukhran-Batoni,
Bring down the roof on his head.
Whatever he has, we will take:
Precious stones, pearls, and rubies;
We’ll go inside and lead out
A woman, bright-eyed and fair-skinned.
Woman, what woman? A woman
With hair reaching down to her ankles.
Hair, what hair? With hair that is
Sevenfold long and luxuriant.
She will wear golden earrings
Jingling a tune in the wind.
Others will say — Ah, if only
My eyes could view her forever!
We’ll set her on an Arabian horse,
Tie on a sword to her waist,
We’ll place a cap on her head
And fold her hair up beneath it.
Let us kiss three women like this,
Till the skin on their cheeks rubs off;
Then let us be off to Sagarejo,
Where we will all get married.
For seven days, seven nights,
We will be revelling there.

Poem, I will declaim you

Poem, I will declaim you,


For soon I may be dying;
But, so that I’ll be remembered,
You stay behind in this world.
Young men like me will sing you,
You will join the panduri’s sound;
Let the world have fun
While I rot away in the grave.
My wish for you, my name,
Is that you’ll long be remembered;
My wish for you, my words,

53
ia mtazeda
s&enamc k’i gahkveq’ndebode,
s&en, c&emo samaris k’aro,
s&enamc k’i ahq’vavdebode,
saXlo, ar dais&lebode,
colo, ar gatXovdebode.
ert egec unda vik’itXo,
c&em sik’vdils vin it’irebsa,
vin c&amaabnevs cremlebsa,
sakmes vin gaic&’irvebsa.

amasa vpikrob da gulica


amasve minamdvilebsa:
dedis met’s c&emi sik’vdili
aravis aat’irebsa.
tumc natesavni, da-Zmani
aƒar aisXmen ƒilebsa,
colic Zalian mit’irebs,
kveq’anas gaak’virebsa,
cot’a Xnis s&emdeg isica
sXvisa c&’irs gaalXinebsa,
sul q’velas davavic’q’debi,
q’velas sXva daatirebsa.
me dedis guls&i viknebi,
Zilsac ver daiZinebsa,
venacvle ZuZu gamzrdelsa,
gulit eg damit’irebsa:

dedas vuq’varvart s&vilebi,


deda ar gvaqhson s&vilebsa,
da mit’om c’utisopeli
sul mudam gvacodvilebsa.

16. T’ialo ts’utisopelo

t’ialo c’utisopelo,
s&agc&’ame Xink’alivita,
s&amamep’ara sibere,
mamXara k’irk’alivita.
cal tols&i es&mak’i mamXvda,
dams&us&Xa c&’inc&’arivita;
calas tolasƒa vabz&ut’eb
mibinduli cisk’arivita.

54
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Is that you’ll spread through the land;


And you, the earth on my grave,
May you come alive with flowers.
Household, do not disperse;
Wife, do not marry another.
I want to find out one thing:
Who will be mourning my death?
Who will be shedding tears,
Who will be deeply distressed?

I think of this, and my heart


Brings the truth to my mind:
No one, except for my mother,
Will truly mourn at my death.
Although my sisters and brothers
Will dress in unadorned garments,
And my wife will be weeping
So much that all are amazed,
Still, a short time will go by
And they will be comforting others.
Then everyone will forget me,
Others will console them.
But in mother’s heart I’ll remain,
She will not sleep at night.
A blessing on the breasts that fed me!
With all her heart she will mourn me:

Mothers love their children;


We children soon forget them.
And so, this fleeting world
Fills us with remorse.

Oh wretched, fleeting world

Oh wretched, fleeting world,


I gobbled you up like a khink’al;
Old age crept up, bent me over
Like the rocker on a baby’s cradle.
The devil got me in one eye,
Stung it like a burning nettle;
I squint with the eye I have left:
It seems like the gloom before dawn.

55
ia mtazeda
17. Iavnana

iav nana, vardo nana,


iav naninao,
ak bat’onebi mobrZandnen,
vardo naninao!
mobrZandnen da gagvaXares,
iav naninao,
bat’onebis mamidasa,
iav naninao.
kves& gavus&lit Xalic&asa,
vardo naninao.
imasac ar davaZ&erebt,
iav naninao.
zed gavupent orXosaca,
vardo naninao.
am bat’onebis dedasa,
iav naninao.
udgia okros ak’vani,
vardo naninao.
s&ig uc’evt bat’onis&vili,
iav naninao.
usXiat okros koc&ori,
vardo naninao.
at’lasis sabani Xuravs,
iav naninao.
zar-babtisa art’aXebit,
vardo naninao.
movis p’erangi ucviat,
iav naninao.
mtvare greXilat uvliat,
vardo naninao.
varsk’vlavi ƒilat ubiat,
iav naninao.
lalis c&anc&Xura ubiat,
vardo naninao.
gadahk’vrnen, gadaarc’even,
iav naninao.
amod brZaneben nanasa,
vardo naninao.

56
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Lullaby

The violet and the rose, nana,


O violet naninao,
The lords have honored us with their coming,
O rose naninao!
They came to us and made us glad,
O violet naninao,
Their father’s sister has come here too,
O violet naninao.
We will rollout a carpet for her,
O rose naninao.
We do not think that fine enough,
O violet naninao.
We’ll set a plush rug over it,
O rose naninao.
Here is the mother of the lords,
O violet naninao.
She stands by a cradle made of gold,
O rose naninao.
Inside the cradle a lordling sleeps,
O violet naninao.
They have hair the color of gold,
O rose naninao.
A satin blanket lies over them,
O violet naninao.
Adorned with gold and silver brocade,
O rose naninao.
They are all wearing shirts of silk,
O violet naninao.
Girdled around with the crescent moon,
O rose naninao.
For their buttons they have the stars,
O violet naninao.
Strands of rubies around their necks,
O rose naninao.
Gently rocking back and forth,
O violet naninao.
Singing a tuneful lullaby,
O rose naninao.

57
ia mtazeda
— s&vidi bat’oni da-Zmani
iav naninao.
s&vid sopels movepineto,
vardo naninao.
s&vidganve davcit k’aravi,
iav naninao.
s&vidganve movilXineto,
vardo naninao.
iagundis marans&ia,
iav naninao.
ƒvino dgas da lali sc&’vivis,
vardo naninao.
s&ig alvis Xe amosula,
iav naninao.
t’ot’ebi akvs nargiziso,
vardo naninao.
zed bulbuli s&emomZ&dara,
iav naninao.
s&avardeni prtasa s&liso,
vardo naninao.
— ia vk’ripe, vardi vs&ale,
iav naninao.
c’in bat’onebs gavus&ale.
vardo naninao.

18. Iambe, tsikhis nashalo

iambe, ciXis nas&alo,


ra dro gak gamovlilio,
visi-ra agebuli Xar,
visi-ra c&amos&lilio.
erti stkva ciXis nas&alma
Zalian gasak’virio,
s&alvais agebuli var,
sinisa medga Zirio,
sisXlis ƒvra, s&vildis zuili
bevri mak gamovlilio.
Xevis bers uk’urtXebivar,
mas&in ar iq’o ƒvdelio.
moulocia c&emtvisa,
nurc mogereva mt’erio,
zurabma eristviss&vilma

58
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Seven lordly sisters and brothers,


O violet naninao.
Said “let’s settle in seven towns,
O rose naninao.
In all seven we’ll pitch our tents,
O violet naninao.
In all seven we’ll have great feasts,”
O rose naninao.
In the sapphire storage room,
O violet naninao.
There is wine and the rubies glow,
O rose naninao.
Inside a cypress tree has grown,
O violet naninao.
On its branches are narcissus blooms,
O rose naninao.
A nightingale has perched there too,
O violet naninao.
The peregrine falcon spreads its wings,
O rose naninao.
I picked a violet and spread out a rose,
O violet naninao.
I laid them both before the lords,
O rose naninao.

Speak, o fortress ruins

Speak, o fortress ruins,


Of the times you have seen,
Tell us by whom you were built,
And by whom destroyed.
The fortress ruins told
This remarkable tale:
I was built by Shalva,
I have a foundation of bronze;
Bloodshed and whizzing arrows —
I have seen many such things.
I was blessed by the clan-chief,
There were no priests back then,
He prayed that I would never
Fall to enemy hands.
Zurab Eristavi

59
ia mtazeda
ver s&emicvala perio,
c&emi mk’erdi da k’altebi
sul sisXlit gadasvrilio,
alvis Xec gverdze mdgomia
Xvtisagan molocvilio,
erti q’opila ƒuleli
als&aureli berio,
iman asc’avla k’at’ai,
zed Xeze dasak’vlelio
s&ibi cisak’e gaprinda,
c’ioda rogorc gvelio.

19. Vazhk’atsis sik’vdili

vaz&k’acsa, gulad-mamacsa,
sik’vdili Zili hgonia;
s&in mot’iralis mosvlai
tavis korc’ili hgonia;
samarisak’en c’aƒeba
mas tavis saXli hgonia;
s&avsa k’ubos&i c&ac’vena
tavis otaXi hgonia;
c&’iaƒuebis moXveva
tavis c’vrils&vili hgonia;
q’elze gvelebis daXveva,
colis mk’lavebi hgonia.

20. Bzha dia chkimi

bz&a dia c&kimi,


tuta muma c&kimi,
Xvic&a-Xvic&a muricXepi
da do Z&ima c&kimi.

21. Aguna

aguna, aguna, gameiareo,


baXvi, ask’ana, gadmeiareo,
c&vens sopels&i q’urZenio,
mt’ris mamuls&i purcelio.

60
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Could not bring me down,


Although my breast and loins
Were smeared with warrior blood.
There stood a cypress beside me,
Consecrated to God;
A certain old man of Ghuli
From the clan Alshaureli,
Told them to put a cat
Upon the tree, and kill it.
The chain that bound it to heaven
Retracted, and hissed like a snake.

A man’s death

To a true man, brave of heart,


Death will seem no more than sleep;
The coming of the mourners
Will seem like his wedding day;
The grave into which he is lowered
Will seem to him like his home;
The dark coffin in which he rests
Will seem to him like his room;
The vermin crawling over him
Will seem to him like his children;
The snakes wrapped around his neck
Will seem like the arms of his wife.

The sun is my mother

The sun is my mother,


The moon is my father,
The twinkling stars
Are my sister and brother.

Aguna

Aguna, Aguna, come over here,


Bakhvi, Askana, come on out.
In our village, grapes;
In our foe’s fields, leaves.

61
ia mtazeda
c&vens mamuls&i godritao,
mt’ris mamuls&i gidlitao.
aguna, aguna, wiiio.
c&vens kalebs q’ac&’i da abres&umi,
mt’ris kalebs — t’ari da k’viristavi.

22. Tamar dedopal viq’av

tamar dedopal viq’av,


tavi Zirs aƒar daviƒe,
zƒvas&i c&avq’are samnebi
Xmeleti c&emsk’en movigde.
kaZ&ebsa davde iZ&ara,
isp’aans XarZ&i aviƒe,
st’ambuls Xmali vk’ar, darubands
s&ams sabalaXe aviƒe.
usieri mta gavk’ape,
didi s&ara-gza gaviƒe,
ƒada-ƒuda t’q’e viare,
kvaze saq’dari avige,
amdeni sakmis momkmedma
cXra adli t’ilo c’aviƒe.

23. Omi gumbrzed

mona drooba dagvidga:


mt’erma mogvt’aca k’aria;
aƒarc mosaval mavida,
daic’va mta da baria;
Zmama Zma arvin daindva,
aƒarc vin kali-d zalia;
titon ena akv egeti,
tavs masc&’ris, rogorc Xmalia.
iZaXan reulobasa:
aƒar gokv gasavalio.
Xontkris, amboben, Z&arebma
s&amaandglivna zƒvanio.
akit ma c&vena Xemc’ipe
midis, miudis Z&ario.
midis da midis saldati,
rogorc zapXulze cXvario.

62
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

From our own fields, basketsful;


From our foe’s fields, handbagsful.
Aguna, Aguna, wiiio!
For our own women, fine silken fabric;
For our foe’s women, thimble and distaff.

I was Tamar the Queen

I was Tamar the Queen:


I bowed my head to no one,
I set my boundary-stones in the sea,
The dry land came under my rule.
I laid a tax on the Kajes,
Took tribute from Isfahan,
My sword fell on Stambul and Derbent,
I levied a land-tax in Sham.
I crossed impassable mountains
And opened up great thoroughfares,
Traversed the thickest of forests,
Set churches on the high rocks.
I, who accomplished such deeds,
Took nought but a nine-yard cloth.

The Battle of Gumbri

The time of captivity lay upon us:


The enemy captured our homes and land.
There were no longer crops to harvest,
Mountain and lowland were scarred by flame.
A brother no longer forgave his brother,
Nor his wife, nor sister-in-law;
Each one’s tongue had grown sharp,
It could sever your head like a sword.
They called this a time of chaos.
There is no way out, they said.
They were saying: the Sultan’s armies
Are cutting across the seas toward us.
From here our king has gone to meet them;
He goes, attended by his army.
One after another the soldiers march
Like a herd of sheep in summer.

63
ia mtazeda
q’vela k’ac magas Xk’virobda:
«ar ergebian gzanio.»
omi mouXda gumbrzeda,
sisXlis brunevdes t’banio.
suli dgas t’q’via-c’amlisa,
tops cecXlis ƒebav alio.
cas&iit tav-peX c&amodis,
aisr ro c’vima-c’q’alio.
kalaks&i modis dac&’rili,
mand riq’eda Xq’rav mk’vdario.
amandit ic’erebian:
«Xevsurt gvic&’iret mXario!»
s&aq’rila Xevsurt s&vilebi,
bevr Xkonda saubario.
aik k’i c’aXve, os&k’aco,
sac saXelobdes sXvanio.
zogta tkves: «merdal moua,»
zog-zogebm: sisXlis Z&vario.»
zogebm eegrac iambes:
«zep’ir darc&eba mk’vdario.»

24. Oy Jgëræg-ieha, loygwi-i-she-e-da

oy Z&g´rQgieha,
loygwîs&e#da
iha#y o#y iha oha#y
hay i laygwis&eda,
ihay i, o, iha# o ha#,
ia oa iha iha io Z&g´rQg
si logwes&d i o!

25. Ak’alæ-æd, mak’alæ-æd

ak’alQ#d-mak’alQ#d,
eXsa, peXsa, tanQƒz&ina,
rik’sa, pXik’sa kondarasa,
c&a#msQri b´rdaluq’vi.
k’iri k’irsa, c&’iri c&’irsa,
c&’irsa, pirvsa lapuris&a.
cQ#nis&a dQs&vda dumQy
dumQy l´hne k’erQisga,

64
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Those who saw them were amazed:


There are not roads enough to hold them.
They joined battle by Gumbri fortress,
The blood they spilled formed into lakes.
The smell of lead and powder rose,
Rifles gleamed with tongues of flame.
Sundered heads and feet came down
As though raindrops from the sky.
The wounded men are brought to town,
There, on the riverbank, lay the dead.
From the city they send the word:
Khevsurs, come, we need your help!
The sons of Khevsureti gathered.
They had much to talk about.
You, warrior, must go there too,
Where other men have made their names.
Some said: They will get a medal.
Others said: The Cross of Blood.
And some said: Those who give their lives
Will live on by word of mouth.

Oy Jgëræg [St. George], stand by us

Oy Jgëræg-ieha,
Sta-a-nd by-y us!
Ihaay ooy iha ohaay
Hay i stand by us,
Ihay i, o, ihaa o haa,
Ia oa iha iha io, Jgëræg,
Stand by us i o!

[Svanetian nonsense song]

Ak’alæ-æd, mak’alæ-æd,
Ekhsa, pekhsa, on the mountain-pass,
Rik’sa, pkhik’sa kondarasa,
Cha-amsæri bërdaluq’wi.
Lime on lime, want on want,
On want, on the cow in the stable.
The bear of Tsena’s tail-fat,
Tail-fat melted on the hearth,

65
ia mtazeda
k’a-k’erQy, lQmq’inasa unda,
kuti muƒve ka unaq’a,
z&ibe-c&ube nat’Qpura
k’´rk’înasa, p’´rk’înasa,
zit’q’!

26. Ochop’int’ra

oc&op’int’ra bedniero,
oc&op’int’ra ms&veniero,
mogvec s&eni moc’q’obileba —
s&eni namc’q’emsuri nadiri.

27. Gonja modga k’arebsao

gonZ&a modga k’arebsao,


aq’vrialebs tvalebsao.
rilasa da cXrilasa,
ƒmerti mogvcems c’vimasa,
gagvik’etebs q’anebsao,
simindsa da mc&’adebsao.

28. Tsangala da gogona

cangala da gogona,
dalalale, cangala,
gogona kalaks c’avida,
q’urZeni moit’ana.
me q’urZeni ar mac&’ama,
saq’dars&i s&eit’ana.
saq’darma me ar maloca,
samare gamitXara.
samares&i ver c&amt’ia,
gverdebi c&amitala,
c&emi gverdebis natali
isev zed damaq’ara.
cangala da gogona,
dalalale, cangala.
es bic&’i k’argad tamas&obs,
peXis prc&Xilebze dgeba

66
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

The slate on the hearth, the baking-stone,


I have unbaked cheesebread,
Above and below it are bread-crusts
Gnawing-gnawing,
Zit’q’!

Ochopintra

Ochopintra, happy one,


Ochopintra, comely one,
Grant a favor unto us —
From your herd a beast to hunt.

Gonja came to the door

Gonja came to the door,


He rolled his eyes around.
Melting snow, grain through a sieve,
God will give us rain.
He will make the fields produce
Maize to make our corn-bread.

The mandolin and the girl

The girl and the mandolin,


Dalalale, mandolin.
The girl went to the city,
She brought back some grapes.
She fed no grapes to me,
She took them to the church.
The church gave me no blessing,
They dug me a grave.
I did not fit in it,
They shaved down my sides,
Then they took the shavings,
Strewed them over me.
The girl and the mandolin,
Dalalale, mandolin.
This boy dances well,
He stands upon his toes,

67
ia mtazeda
aman ro peXi it’k’inos,
net’av vis dambraldeba,
cangala da gogona,
dalalale, cangala.

29. Vazhis nat’vra

t’urpa baƒi da c’alk’ot’i


ek’lita vinme s&asara!
rk’inisa k’ari s&eaba,
k’lit’e me momca, s&en ara!
sik’vdilsa s&ensa sanacvlod
tavsa me mivscem, s&en ara.
vah tu zed isic damertos,
me miq’varde da s&en ara!

t’urpa baƒi da c’alk’ot’i


ek’lita vinme s&ehnara!
rk’inis k’arebi s&eaba,
k’lit’e me momca, s&en ara!
sik’vdilsa c&’iris sanacvlod
tavsa me mivscem, s&en ara.
va, tu ese damemartos,
me k’i miq’varde, s&en — ara!

30. Me var Qhel-Samdzimari

me var qhel-samZimario,
me var kaZ&isa kalio;
vaz&iereb c&em ƒil-kamarsao,
okros tmiani da okros kos&ebiani.
amas&i mkonda s&aZlebaio,
qhmeletze viarebodidio,
c&’ima-laXt’aras vzidevdidio,
amas&i mkonda s&aZlebaio.
abuletaurt Xoligasao
kali sacoled mavsc’ondidio;
c&aveXvividi, c&auc’vidio,
ZuZu-mk’erds gamavaXvividio.
kaZ&avet viarebodidio,
naXirs aikit vadendidio.

68
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Should he hurt his feet,


I wonder who he’ll blame.
The girl and the mandolin,
Dalalale, mandolin.

A young man’s wish

This lovely garden and orchard,


Someone has hemmed in with thorns,
Set an iron gate before it,
And gave me the key, not you!
In place of your death I would gladly
Offer my own life instead.
Alas, if it should turn out
That I am in love, but not you!

This lovely garden and orchard,


Someone has planted with thorns,
Set iron doors before it,
And gave me the key, not you!
Rather than you suffer death I would
Offer my own life instead.
Alas, if it should befall me
That I am in love, but not you!

I am Qhel-Samdzimari

I am Qhel-Samdzimari,
I am a woman of Kajeti.
My bracelets and my buckles jingle,
I’ve golden hair and golden slippers.
At that time I had the power:
I sojourned upon the earth,
I fetched chervil and wood-sorrel,
At that time I had the power.
Kholiga Abuletauri
Yearned to have me as his wife;
I embraced him, lay beside him,
I drew him close to my breasts.
I sojourned in Kajeti,
I drove cattle back from there.

69
ia mtazeda
31. Adgilis dedao

adgilis dedao,
dedao Xvtisao,
s&en dagvit’ane baraka,
Xaris naXnavs,
puris nac’vels!

32. Kali khwaramze

aƒmosavletit aƒmoc&nda
tvalad lamazi kalio,
amahq’va saq’ur-bec&’edi,
uz&rialebda kario,
tan moq’me amaiq’ola,
natlad eƒeba pario.
— ak’ocet kalsa Xvaramzes
me var am kalis kmario.
ak’oca bic&’ma regvenma,
tavs gadimt’vria Xmalio.
— rad egre, bic&’o regveno,
razed moik’al tavio?
gac’q’ra, gaZ&avrda Xvaramze,
maƒla c&as&alna tmanio,
s&ak’azma mamis lurZ&ai,
zed tavad s&aZ&da kalio;
sarbenlad ar eq’opian
trialetisa gzanio,
saZovrad ar eq’opian
didi algetis mtanio,
salok’ad ar eq’opian
samni marilis kvanio,
sasmelad ar eq’opian
alazani da mt’k’vario,
movarda gumbris c’q’alzeda,
elvit enata tvalio,
daec’apa da zƒva das&ra,
gagliZ&a mosartavio.
— kaloba daik’veXodis
kalma Xvaramzistanama,
verc gasc&’ra Xmalma prangulma,
verc s&aas&ina danama.

70
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Place-mother

Place-mother,
Mother of God,
Bring us a bountiful yield,
Plowed by the oxen,
Milked from the cows!

The woman Khwaramze

In the East appeared


A woman of resplendent beauty,
Her earrings and her rings
Jangled in the wind;
A vassal came up with her,
His sabre painted red.
— Kiss the woman Khwaramze,
I am the woman’s husband. —
The foolish young man kissed her,
Then split his own head with his sword.
— What means this, foolish youth,
Why did you kill yourself? —
Khwaramze grew angry,
Let down her hair from above,
She saddled her father’s steed
And she herself jumped on.
The roads of Trialeti
Are not enough to run on,
The great Algeti mountains
Are not enough to graze on,
Three stones of solid salt
Are not enough to lick on,
The Alazani and Kura
Are not enough to drink from.
It came to the Gumbri waters,
Eyes ablaze like lightning;
It slurped up the sea till it dried,
It burst its saddle girth.
Any woman like Khwaramze
Would boast of her womanhood;
No sharp sword could cut her,
No knife make her afraid.

71
ia mtazeda
33. Monadire zovis kvesh

sami tve davrc&i zovs kves&a,


mart’i, ap’rili, maisi.
ms&vildi davqhec&e boZaldi,
cecXli davante imisi.
datvi t’q’av qhorcit s&avsc&’ame,
k’i c’amc’q’medsaa me isi?
mauved tavis dedasa,
s&vil veƒar micno tavisi.
s&avesc’ar colis korc’ilsa,
q’ismat tu iq’o aisi.
siq’inules uc&’erivar,
ro gavtbebi, gavis&lebi.
cot’a pul c&amamaq’olet,
nasiait avivsebi.
saikios dukania,
ƒvinos davlev davitvrebi.

34. Mzeo, mzeo, amodi

mzeo, mzeo, amodi,


cXvars dagik’lav mak’esa;
s&egic’vav, s&egimarileb,
c’in dagidgam t’abak’ita.

35. Mze shina da mze gareta

mze s&ina da mze gareta,


mzev, s&in s&emodio!
uq’ivlia mamalsao,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
gatenebulao,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
gatendi tu gatendebi,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
gatenebulXaro,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
Zilo, rasa meZinebi,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
me sabraleosao,

72
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

A hunter trapped under a snowslide

Three months under a snowslide:


March, April, May.
I broke my bow into slivers
And made a fire with it.
I ate a bear, skin and all,
Is it for this I am damned?
I came out and went to my mother,
She did not know her own son.
I went to my wife’s wedding party;
Is this kismet or what?
The ice had held me together —
I warmed up, and I fell apart.
Send me off with some money,
And I will have fun somehow;
In the world beyond there’s a tavern:
I’ll drink up their wine and get drunk.

Sun, sun, come up

Sun, sun, come up,


And I will kill a pregnant sheep,
I will roast and salt it for you,
Set it on a plate before you.

Sun inside and sun outside

Sun inside and sun outside,


O Sun, come on inside!
The rooster has already crowed,
O Sun, come on inside!
It has dawned already,
O Sun, come on inside!
Dawn if you will dawn at all,
O Sun, come on inside!
You have dawned already,
O Sun, come on inside!
Sleep, why do you let me sleep,
O Sun, come on inside!
I am so unhappy,

73
ia mtazeda
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
t’ans, peXs ara ar macvia,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
titist’aro, k’virist’avo,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
c&kara dabrundio,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
male p’erangs s&evik’erav,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
c’itel k’abas s&evik’erav,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
sanat’relsa, prialasa,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!
c&kara dabrundio,
mzev, s&in s&emodio!

36. Suletis leksi

samzeos dak’lebulebi
suleca grovdebiano,
sulec&i aXalgazdani
ert alags iq’rebiano,
santlebs anteben, k’elap’t’rebs,
c’in supras gais&liano.
sulec&i beri-moXucni
supris tavs dasXdebiano,
aXalgazdani, Z&eilni,
su peXzed galobdiano,
lamaz-lamazi kal-rZalni,
santlis s&uks dasXdebiano,
aXlad gaq’rilni col-kmarni,
sulec&i gac&vendniano;
arca akvt tvalta sinatle,
arc baged is&lebiano,
mat mXilvel berni-moXucni
mat codvit ic’vebiano.
sulec&i c’vrili balƒebi
dedebsa eZebdniano,
moat’ans saƒamos Xani,
aka ik ƒondebiano,
ZuZu rom moagondebat,
titebsa ic’oviano,

74
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

O Sun, come on inside!


I’ve no clothes or shoes to wear,
O Sun, come on inside!
My spindle and my distaff,
O Sun, come on inside!
Come back to me quickly,
O Sun, come on inside!
I will sew a shirt now,
O Sun, come on inside!
And I’ll sew a fine red dress,
O Sun, come on inside!
Longed-for, blowing in the wind,
O Sun, come on inside!
Come back to me quickly,
O Sun, come on inside!

The land of souls

Those cut off from the sun’s domain


Gather in the land of souls.
In the land of souls, young people
Come together in one place.
They light candles, beeswax tapers,
Set the table for a banquet.
In the land of souls, old people
Sit down at the table’s head.
The young folks, in prime of life,
All rise to their feet and chant.
Lovely women, wives and sisters,
Sit there in the candlelight.
Newly-sundered wives and husbands
Show up in the land of souls;
There is no light in their eyes,
There comes no sound from their lips.
The old people, gazing on them,
Burn with sorrow for their fate.
Small children in the land of souls
Wander, searching for their mothers;
When the day draws to a close,
They ofttimes become distressed;
They recall their mothers’ breasts,
With nought to suck on but their thumbs.

75
ia mtazeda
c&aeXvevian sXvita muXlt:
dedao, p’uri gvs&iano;
Xelsa hk’ren, gadaagdeben,
c&ven gana dedeb gvkviano?
samzeos dedis t’irili
s&vils c’vimad gac&endniano,
dadian dasvelebuleb,
samos ver gais&riano,
visac hq’avs beri ded-mama,
k’altas kves& ipariano,
visac ded-mama ara hq’avs,
c&um-c&umad cremlebs sdiano,
met’ismet’ t’irilisagan
suls veƒar ibruniano,
mat mXilvel berni-moXucni
mat codvit ic’vebiano.
sulec&i berni-moXucni
q’avarZ&nebs eZebdniano,
q’ovel bednier dƒeebs&i
sak’lavebs moeliano,
visac momXseni ara hq’avt
p’iruk’uƒm dasXdebiano,
vinac imat moiXseniebs,
sulitac cXondebiano,
me magis mos&airesa,
c&ak’oant k’obe mkviano.

37. Mirangula

ot’, sabrela mirangula,


dedes isgva si gar XordQs,
naunXolos& murq’vams XordQs,
ec&av Z&iqhdaX sQdil-vaXs&Qms.
pisev Xaba Z&ims&is& nQbozs:
mirangulas vaXs&Qm otqhidX,
mirangula des e#sXviddaX:
esnQr Qmc&ed lQymaXva#lte sQvyares&i
laXasgidna dede mic&a:
mQc&XpQr zagQr beZ&gvenila.
— o, dede#s&i mirangula,
lec&wme-uc&wma mQg Z&ic&wmina,
gzavrob Z&eri ves&gimp’ilyQs&!

76
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

They will hug the knees of strangers,


Crying “Mother, we are hungry.”
They push them away, replying
“Do you think we are your mothers?”
The tears of mothers left behind
Fall like raindrops on the children;
Dampened to the skin, the children
Cannot dry their clothing out.
Those little ones with aged parents
Are sheltered underneath their garments;
Those little ones who have no parents
Wander mutely shedding tears.
They have wept and sobbed so much
They no longer can draw breath.
The old people, gazing on them,
Burn with sorrow for their fate.
In the land of souls old people
Search for canes and walking sticks.
On each day of celebration
They have hope of sacrifices;
Those with none to pray for them
Must sit with their backs toward the table.
If someone should pray for them
It brings blessing on their souls.
I, the one who made this poem,
Am called K’obe Chak’oani.

Mirangula

Ot’! Alas, poor Mirangula,


You, your mother’s only child,
She had spoiled you in the tower,
They brought up your meals to you.
May Wednesday night be smeared with pitch!
They brought Mirangula’s supper,
Mirangula was not there:
He had gone to fight the Savs.
Mother looked out from the window:
There he stood, on Machkhpar mountain.
“Oh, your mother’s Mirangula,
All that could be done you’ve done,
This will be your final journey!”

77
ia mtazeda
Xaq’erulda sgimyQs& meZ&wgas,
am le#t, nQboz c&u laybure,
sgimyQs& meZ&wga c&u Xoqhaca,
c&Xara q’vil qhQn ka Xokvita,
eZ&i sQvyQrs c&u Xobaz&aX.
pa#dQ#s aXƒwic&’da sQvyares&.
ara-c&Xara ka Xok’vara,
ara-ƒet sQvyQr Xodgara,
pa#dQ#ss ves&gmav ka laXc&’onne.
as& Xobina liz-lic&edi,
pa#dQ#s aXƒwic&’da zura#lQs&.
«eZ& pintare zuralare,
pa#dQ#s imz&i mins XaXle#naX,
mQg ars&lurQy, mQg lac&kurQy!»
alyQrs ves&gmav ka#d laXc&’onne.
as& Xobina lîz lic&edi,
tanQƒ-zagarid anƒ´ri,
c&Xara q’vil sgvebin Xork’ala.
eZ& pisrQil vezdenila!

esnQr vezdens gQn loXkvica,


c&u XodraZ&da tanaƒ-zagQr.
her atƒane k’utXvas mic&a,
mirangula z&i laygurne.
z&i lQyc&okve t´mi-garZ&us&:
«voy ƒerbet i voy sam´rtal,
tXvim uc’wrad nom[a] amcvirna!»
her atƒanda k’utXvas mic&a,
vezdens Xaqhid muc&’odisga,
vezdenila c&ud Xodgara.
«hat’, l´k’c&ev li bedi mis&gvi!
hQdurd uc’wra ma#ma Xviri:
c&Xara sQvyQr c&u midgaraX,
c&Xara q’vil qhQn kav mikvita.
at’, sabrela mirangula,
lec&wme-uc&wma mQg mic&wmina,
gzavrob me#ri ves&gimp’ilis&!»

q’varq’vali mic&a patvare


s&dugvQrs XuƒweX lasbudarad,
tXvimis&e isgwi haq’Qri
uZ&Qrs XuƒweX lQc’´nc’ilad,
lesgis&e isgve k´p’are

78
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

At the spring he watched a herdsman.


That night, when it had grown dark,
He killed the herdsman at the spring,
Led away nine head of oxen.
This the Savs had soon found out.
A group of Savs came after him.
He shot eight times, he shot nine times,
He killed eight Savs, maybe more,
Forced the chasers to turn back.
He continued on his way.
A group of women too pursued him.
“These are good-for-nothing women,
How could such as they catch me,
Without underwear or veils!”
These as well he made turn back.
He continued on his way.
He came to the mountain pass,
Driving the nine head of oxen.
But for that accursed Vezden!

Vezden took a shorter path,


He was watching at the pass.
Vezden made his rifle shout:
It rolled Mirangula over.
He rose to his knees, dismayed:
“O God, judge of what is right,
Do not leave me unavenged!”
Mirangula’s rifle screamed:
He shot Vezden in the chest.
Now he has killed Vezden, too.
“Hat’! may my fate stand upright!
I will not be unavenged:
I have gunned down nine Sav tribesmen,
Led away nine head of oxen.
At’! Alas, poor Mirangula,
All that could be done I’ve done,
This will be my final journey!”

The curly hairs upon your head,


Mice will use them for their nests;
The skull that is inside your head,
Snakes will use to lay their eggs;
The ribs that are inside your chest,

79
ia mtazeda
orbQls Xa#daX ƒirib-karkQs&d,
temis&e isgvi girgvdale
ƒwamlQrs Xa#daX las´rk’aled.
ot’, sabrela mirangula,
nQymaXva#l isgvi qhanare
ka Z&acXip’daX giris& m´rgvald.

Xos&a#d sabral us&gwlQs& bap’Qr,


eZ&yQr laƒwc&’ard malq’Q#rs ardaX,
eZ&yQr sQvyQrs c&ot´rmalaX,
vQrQ#ls k’ac&us& Xac’aburaX;
Xos&a#d sabral us&gwlQs& XeXvQr,
ars&vlQrs k’ac&us& Xak’ad´#raX.
didQb otqhQd lamryas us&gwlQs&!
bap’Qr sQvyQrs c&u Xac&edaX;
mirangulas s&uk’wd Xalak’aX.
nQymaXva#l mic&a qhanare
us&gwlQs& bap’Qr lelXwer Xa#daX
didQb otqhQd lamryas us&gwlQs&!

us&guls luXoris Xas&dabaX.


— sepsk’verd mic&a im alnQq’id?
— k’vecens Qlqhded l´l´nZ&Qrus.
ec&ka lam´ryas XosgoZ&a:
— kirsQ#s& sepsk’vers des& Xwis&gede!
k’wecen Xas&gwmin iursalmis&.
lak’lQv Xa#daX at’k’wer zagQr,
lac’wrem-lQnyav — mus&ur zagQr,
lapra-lagoh — twetnuldQs& tXum.
didQb otqhQd lamryas us&gwlQs&!
sepsk’verd mic&a ec&is lanq’ed.
mes&Xa Zuƒwas berQl XezgeX,
ƒwinal-zedQs& ec&XQn is&gvmin.
ƒertem Zuƒrus& qhQn oXz´ze,
muc&’wQrs Xuƒwe Z&vid i sak’mel.
us&gulQs& matXwmi pankvesya#n lQsw,
us&guls luXor z&i lQybineX.
qhevis& lQs&tXas muXvrüc&’ya#na,
eZ&nQr luXor c&u XoqhvamaX.
mok’rQb bap’Qrs darbQz otq’vQc&X,
ec&ka luXor c&vQmq’vele#li.

80
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Hawks will use to line their nests;


And the whites around your eyes,
Will be mirrors for the crows.
Ot’! Alas, poor Mirangula,
The oxen you seized from the foe
They stood in a ring around you.

Pity, too, the priests of Ushgul,


They had gone for trade to Malq’ar;
They were captured by the Savs,
Who shaved off their beards while standing.
Pity, too, the wives of Ushgul;
They stripped off their underwear.
Praised be Ushgul’s St. Lamaria!
Then the priests escaped from Malq’ar,
On the road found Mirangula.
The nine oxen he had captured
They took for a lukhor feast.
Praised be Ushgul’s St. Lamaria!

The lukhor feast is held in Ushgul.


— What will we bake for his sepsk’wer?
— We will bring Lenjerian wheat.
Then Lamaria spoke to them:
“I will not have lentil sepsk’wer!»
She asked for Jerusalem wheat.
The threshing-place is At’k’wer mountain,
The winnowing-place is Mushur pass,
The drying and grinding at Twetnuld’s peak.
“Praised be Ushgul’s St. Lamaria!
We will bake this for his sepsk’wer.»
Monks are dwelling by the Black Sea:
Holy wine was brought from there.
From the sea God sent an ox,
Tapers, incense on its horns.
Ushgul’s chief was Pankwesyan,
At Ushgul the lukhor started.
Mukhruchyan from the valley’s end,
He was toasted at the lukhor.
The floor broke under the gathered priests,
Then they went their separate ways.

81
ia mtazeda
38. Dideb, dideb tarigdzelas

dideb, dideb tarigZelas,


lelqh´raled lis&eds gus&gve,
mas&ed gus&gve Z&ey sgoZ&ile!
Zƒudi murgvaldi XacXep’a,
svet’i vokres&i Xagena,
isgan dideban gos&i li,
c&Xeryalay mic&a tasare,
tas i avZ&ariws& gos&ile,
l´s&k’ade mic&a avZ&are,
l´nkec&’a mic&a murq’vame,
Zirvas rioni Xogenda,
s&dulvas s&aurden XacXep’a,
lesgas ƒvas&ari Xoq’urda,
sark’i lasgidis Xoc&a#nda.

lalgena mic&a qhanare,


muc&’var l´s&k’adil XarenaX,
supil met’q’vepil Xarena,
zagnis& zagarn ibirƒwyeleX,
lalcXat’ay mic&a gicrale
zagnis& zagarn ibackvyeleX.

39. Survili

mindors&i sisXlis t’ba brunavs,


gadasagdebi sad ari;
s&iga c’evs c’iteli gveli,
tavsa Zravs, bolo sad ari;
bevrsa hk’lavs bevris survili,
magram gageba sad ari!

40. Aleksi Bidzashvili

aleksi biZas&vili
soplis boloze damdgari,
rad gamac&ine, dedao,
rad arc’e c&emi ak’vani?!
miq’varda s&roma, cXovreba,
miq’varda satib samk’ali;

82
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Glory to the Archangel

Glory, glory, O Archangel!


We are praying for our welfare,
For you are the one who saves us!
There was a barrier built around it,
A barrier wall with golden pillars,
Inside, it was filled with glory,
His chalices were gleaming brightly;
It was filled with cups and armor,
His armor was of hammered metal;
His tower was adorned with frescoes,
At its base a river flowed,
Its embrasures ringed with falcons,
Ibexes lay at its sides:
A vision brighter than a mirror.

The oxen sacrificed to him


Have horns bedecked with hammered metal,
They plowed up the central square,
On every ridge they paw and bellow;
The rams offered up to him
On every ridge fight with their horns.

Wish

A lake of blood swirls in the meadow,


Where is the stream flowing out?
Within lies a crimson serpent,
Its head moves; where is its tail?
Loving too much brings doom to many,
But has anyone understood?

Cousin Aleksi

Cousin Aleksi stood and asked,


At the edge of the village:
Mother, was I born for this,
Is this why you rocked my crib?
I loved my work and loved my life,
I loved to mow the hay and corn;

83
ia mtazeda
qhelmc’ipis gamogzavnili
tavs c’amamadga c&apari.
«unda c’aXvide Z&ars&ia,
k’enc&’i gakv amosat’ani.»
avdeg da menac gavsc’ie,
met’i ra mkonda saqhsari.
s&in Z&alapt davems&vidobe,
dedam c&amidva sagZali.
nuras idardeb, dedao,
bevr c&emistana sXvac ari,
bevria bZolis velzeda
q’ornebis sadil-samXari.

sadaXar net’ar aleksi,


daZ&angda s&eni namgali,
colic gƒalat’obs lamazi,
gaXda osebis c’ac’ali.

41. Sheq’varebulis guli

nislo, rad giq’vars t’ialo,


mtebisad gadmopenao,
an ertad s&aq’ra ƒrubelta
k’urumad gadmodenao!
guli makv nac&’reviani,
arc mamirc&eba Z&erao,
ar tu ra ari c’amali,
ar tu ram icis s&velao.
gulo, ra giq’ia t’ialo,
bork’iliano enao,
sadra miimƒer net’ara
vaz&k’aco svilis perao.

net’ian c&it’ad makcia,


net’av vicode prenao,
movprindebodi s&entana,
Xo ici c&it’is enao!

84
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

But the Tsar had sent for me,


His policeman stood before me:
— You must go and join the army,
It’s your number that they picked. —
I set off to do my duty;
There was no way out of this.
I bid farewell to my family,
Mother packed some food for me.
Mother, there’s no point in grieving,
There are many just like me,
Many on the field of battle,
Lunch and dinner for the crows.

Dear Aleksi, where’ve you gone?


Your sickle’s turned to rust, I fear.
Your lovely wife is cheating on you,
She’s become the Ossetes’ playmate.

A lover’s heart

O wretched mist, how you love


To cling to the mountain tops,
Or join up with the clouds
And float with them in groups.
My heart is scarred and wounded,
It has yet to heal.
What medicine could cure it,
What could bring relief?
Wretched heart, what have you done?
What about you, fettered tongue?
Rye-colored boy, you were singing,
Then left — I wish I knew where.

If I could turn into a bird,


If I could learn how to fly,
I would come flying to you,
You know the birds’ language, I’m sure!

85
ia mtazeda
42. T’ilebis korts’ili

vahme, ra Zneli hq’opilXar,


siƒaribeo t’ialo,
mesam-meotXe c’elia
ert aXaloXni mcviano,
s&ig mamik’ruXdnen t’ilebi;
c’ic’ileebsa zdiano . . .
sak’virvel nas&enoba akvt,
ert tormet’ peqhni sXiano!

t’ilebsa akvis korc’ili,


perqhisas iZaXiano.
bat’arZal s&amaiq’vanes,
k’vernais t’q’avni scviano.
samc’deos udgan bak’anni,
zed k’elap’t’arni hk’riano.
uq’uret ema t’ilebsa,
rarig Z&iqhvebsay scliano!

43. T’rpiali

t’q’uilad gavsc&ndi am kveq’nad,


k’acimc ar gaizrdeboda,
arc Z&avri gaatetrebda,
arc ndomit daic’veboda,
arcras ra daidardebda,
guli ar daesZ&eboda.
net’ain gulis pikrebi
tvalitamc inaXveboda,
k’acis ertguli, orguli,
suq’vela gaigeboda,
c’esadamc iq’os, ro guli
t’rpialit gaivseboda,
sul-gulit gaks&erebuli,
sagZladamc c&aideboda,

Zvelimca maasp’o droeba,


aXalimc daic’q’eboda,
ro mudam s&entan q’opnita
arvisgan s&amXatrdeboda:
net’ain c&emi saplavi

86
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

The wedding party of the lice

Wah, how hard you have been,


Wretched poverty!
I have worn this same shirt
For about three or four years.
Inside it lice are brooding,
Bringing up their chicks.
They are remarkable creatures:
Each one has twelve feet.

The lice are having a wedding,


They’re calling to start the round dance.
Now they have brought out the bride,
Dressed in marten furs.
They have got barrels of beer,
And plates with candles on them;
Just look at how these lice
Empty their drinking horns!

Love

In vain I came into this world.


A man should never grow up,
Never turn white from fury,
Never burn with passion,
Never be pained by worry,
Never be wracked by his heart.
If only the thoughts of the heart
Could be seen with the eyes,
If a man has one heart or two,
All of this be understood;
It should be a law, that the heart
Be always full with love.
If you are wholehearted toward others,
Goodwill will go with you always.

May the old ways be destroyed


And a new order begin,
So that to be with you always
Will be no occasion for scandal:
I wish that I would be buried

87
ia mtazeda
s&en gulzemc gaitXreboda,
c&emi mqhrebi da mk’lavebi
s&en gulzemc c&amodneboda,
s&entanit ar avdgebodi,
sicocXle gamit’k’beboda.
ver c’amartomden s&en tavsa,
c’in Z&ari c&amisXdeboda.

44. Ra bevri mit’irebia

ra bevri mit’irebia,
ra bevri cremli mdenia,
arc guli gamomicvlia,
arc amiƒia Xelia.
rodesac momagondebi,
medeba cecXlis genia!
saXsovrat damrc&a tval-c’arbi,
okros ulvas&i s&enia,
s&eni ulvas&is c&rdilebi
s&ens saXezeda hpenia.
irmebisa Xar st’umari,
mesam-meotXe c’elia;
aƒar ergebat t’q’viai,
Zmao, nasroli s&enia.
tu samartali ver giq’on,
amosc’q’des ps&avis Xevia,
Ziritamc amovardeba
mgonia tormet’ temia.
mogik’lav colis c’amq’vani,
s&en sXva ra c’agiXdenia?

damic’eria barati,
zed mamic’erav Xelia,
gamamigzavne malvita,
Zmao, barati c&’relia,
aravin dagiƒalat’os,
arvin mogk’idos Xelia,
saXelad tamari mkvian,
egre — tik’unad lelia,
otX c’elsa ggoneb s&orita,
siq’varul met’ad Znelia!
t’q’es&i ver vicni s&en saXlni,

88
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

In a grave over your heart,


So that my shoulders and arms
Would melt down onto your heart;
I would not rise from you ever,
And so my life would be sweet.
They could not take you from me
Should even an army come at me.

How long I have been weeping

How long I have been weeping,


How many tears I have shed,
Still, my heart has not changed,
Nor have I given up hope.
When I am thinking about you
I am seared by the fires of Gehenna!
Your eyes and brows live in my memory,
That golden moustache of yours,
And how your moustache’s shadow
Spreads its black line on your face.
You are a guest of the wild deer
For the past three or four years;
Brother, the bullets you shot
Have brought them nothing but harm.
If they cannot do you justice,
May all Pshavi fall into ruin,
May the twelve clans of the province
Disperse and vanish away!
You killed your wife’s abductor,
What other wrong have you done?

I have written a letter,


Signed my name at the bottom;
Send me, brother, in secret,
An answer with all of your news.
No one shall betray you,
None lay a hand upon you.
The name that they call me is Tamar,
And my nickname is Lelia;
For four years I’ve held from afar
This love for you, though it’s so hard!
I know not your home in the woods,

89
ia mtazeda
ara makvs mosavlelia,
gamamegzavna p’erangi,
s&ens t’anzed c&asacmelia,
s&entanamc mamca sicocXle,
s&entanamc mamc&’ra q’elia.

45. Chari-rama

c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, mananao,
kalo, s&enma siq’varulma
me sicocXle mananao.
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, magdanelo,
gaivse da gaiXare
c&emo damc’vel-damdagvelo.
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, gulkanao,
modi, erti mak’ocnine,
tetr-punc&ula, sukanao,
s&enma maq’vala tval-c’arbma
c&aat’ana gultanao.
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, magdanao,
net’avi s&emaZlebina,
momiq’vana madanao.
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, mat’ronao,
net’avi c&vensa saXls da k’ars
c&venve dagvap’at’ronao.
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, bicolao,
c&ven s&ims&ilit viXocebit,
ara gamogvicXo rao.
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, mamidao,
net’av mogvca is Zal-ƒone,
rogorc eXla c&ven gvindao.
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, biZiao,
Xmal-XanZ&ali c&agvz&angvia,
veƒar amogviZvriao.

90
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Nor have I a chance to come there.


I would send you a shirt
For you to wear on your chest.
If only I could live with you,
Or else by slain by your side.

Chari-rama

Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, O Manana!
Woman, for the love of you
I’ve come to rue my life itself!
Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, O Magdanel,
You can puff up and be happy,
You who burn and torment me!
Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, O Gulkana,
Come and let me kiss you once,
White and fluffy, plump and sassy.
Your blackberry eyes and eyebrows
Take my very heart away!
Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, O Magdana,
Oh, if only there were some way
I could be with you right now!
Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, O Matrona,
If only we could live together,
Lord and lady of our household.
Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, uncle’s wife,
We are dying from starvation,
Won’t you even bake us something?
Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, father’s sister,
If only we’d the strength and power,
Such as we have need of now.
Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, father’s brother,
Our sword and dagger turned to rust,
We’ll never take them up again.

91
ia mtazeda
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, babuao,
kartul tutuns ver gis&ovni,
maXork’ama gabruao.
c&ar-c&ar c&ari-rama,
c&ari-rama, Zamiao,
c&veni ase gac&ereba
Zimc’are da s&Xamiao.

46. Gasatkhovari kali var

gasatXovari kali var,


nena ar mip’irdeba,
lamaz bic&’ebs rom s&evXedav,
guli amit’irdeba.

satamas&o vas&li mkonda,


s&ensk’en gadmomivarda,
s&en tu c&emi ar gaXdebi,
pesvic amogivarda.

47. Sapeikro: jarav, jarav, bzio

Z&arav, Z&arav, bzio,


narti damirtio,
dedamtilis sap’erangev,
oXrad damirc&io.

48. Sapeikro: Araru, Darejanasa

araru dareZ&anasa,
garet gamosdgams Z&arasa,
s&in ro q’mac’vili t’irodes,
garedan et’q’vis nanasa.

92
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, O grandfather,
I can’t find Georgian tobacco,
And makhorka drove you crazy.
Char-char, chari-rama,
Chari-rama, my dear brother,
If we go on living like this,
It is bitter herbs and poison.

I am an unmarried woman

I am an unmarried woman;
My mother is no help to me.
When beautiful boys catch my eye,
My heart wants to burst into tears.

I have an apple to play with,


I dropped it, it’s rolling toward you;
If you will not be mine,
May you be cut off at the roots!

Spinning song: Spinning wheel, bzio

Spinning wheel, bzio, bzi,


Won’t you spin some thread for me;
Mother-in-law’s shirt to be,
May you turn out awfully!

Spinning song: Araru, Darejan

Araru, araru, Darejan


Set up her spinning wheel outside;
If her child starts crying inside,
She’ll sing a lullaby outside.

93
ia mtazeda
49. Melekhishe si reki

meleXis&e si reki do
moleXis&e ma sac’q’ali,
ma si kemgeXolueni,
komuc&uni tis&i Zali,
mara Xurgi didi ore,
s&k’as megurZ&uns Xobis& c’q’ari,
do s&oris&e giZ&ineki,
c&ilamurit, ma sac’q’ali.

50. Ana, bana, gana, dona

ana, bana, gana, dona,


ertma kalma damaƒona,
ena, vina, zena, tana,
guls&i dardi c&amat’ana.
ina, k’ana, lasa, mana,
s&emiq’varda mart’o ana.
nara, z&ana, rae, p’ara,
ana uceb gamep’ara.
sana, una, para, t’ara,
kuc&a-kuc&a damat’ara.
kana, q’ara, s&ina, ƒana,
inam Zlier damaƒona.
s&ina, c&ina, Zina, cina,
XalXi c&emze gaacina.
c’ala, c&’ala, rae, Xara,
anam uceb gamaXara.
Z&ana, xana, hae, hie,
modi q’elze momeXvie.

51. Net’avi ratme maktsia

net’avi ratme makcia,


bulbulad gadamakcia,
bulbulis ena masc’avla,
baƒebs&i s&emomac&via,
davk’ono okros k’onebi,
davpero vercXlis c’q’als&ia,
saƒamo Xanze giaXlo,

94
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

There you are, on the other side

There you are, on the other side


And I, alas, am over here,
I would surely come to you,
If only I could find some way;
The obstacle is large indeed:
The river Khobi churns between us —
From afar I gaze on you,
Unhappy me, eyes full of tears.

Ana, bana, gana, dona (Alphabet song)

Ana, bana, gana, dona,


Once a woman caused me sorrow,
Ena, vina, zena, tana,
She brought care into my heart.
Ina, k’ana, lasa, mana,
I had love for only Ana.
Nara, zhana, rae, p’ara,
Ana up and left on me.
Sana, una, para, t’ara,
She led me from street to street,
Kana, q’ara, shina, ghana,
Ana brought me lots of trouble.
Shina, china, dzina, tsina,
She made people laugh at me.
Ts’ala, ch’ala, rae, khara,
Then at once she made me happy.
Jana, khana, hae, hie,
Come and wrap your arms around me.

I wish I could turn into something

I wish I could turn into something:


Turn into a nightingale,
And learn the nightingales’ language;
I’d come to dwell in the garden.
I’d gather up golden bouquets,
Dip them in liquid silver,
I’d come to you in the evening,

95
ia mtazeda
c&amogiq’aro bans&ia,
dilit ro gamosuliq’ve,
s&ig gageXvios k’avs&ia.

52. Tvali sheni

tvali s&eni osetad ƒirs


da c’amc’ami arabetad,
tma — c&oc&Xatad, c’arbi — lesad,
c’in s&emoq’ra — ozurgetad.
s&entan q’opna da tamas&i —
saikios natlis svet’ad,
radgan gat’q’ob ar giq’varvar,
aƒar gakeb amis met’ad.

Saperkhulo simgherebi

53. Tvalzhuzhuna kalo

kalo, z&uz&una da
[+ II] z&uz&una-ooda . . .
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
z&uz&unao da z&uz&unao da
tvalz&uz&una kalo

kalo, maƒlidgan gad-


[+ II] -momdariq’o,
tvalz&uz&una kalo
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
maƒlidgan gadmomdariq’o,
da tvalz&uz&una kalo.

tvalz&uz&una te-
[+ II] -tri kalio,
tvalz&uz&una tetri kali,
tvalz&uz&una kalo!

kalo, Xels gviknevda da


[+ II] ak modi-oda,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,

96
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

And lay them out on your roof.


When you come out in the morning,
May they be entwined in your curls!

Your eyes

Your eyes are worth all Ossetia,


And your lashes — Arabia;
Your hair — Chochkhati, eyebrows — Lesa,
The point where they meet — Ozurgeti;
Being and playing with you —
The pillar of light in heaven;
But as it seems you do not love me,
I shall praise you like this no more.

Round-Dance Songs

Bright-eyed woman

Woman, bright-eyed one [2nd voice joins in (+II)]


bright-eyed one ooh-da . . .
Bright-eyed woman,
bright-eyed, bright-eyed, and
Bright-eyed woman.

Woman, from above she


[+ II] had come down here,
Bright-eyed woman.
Bright-eyed woman,
from above she had come down here,
Bright-eyed woman.

Bright-eyed white-
[+ II]-skinned woman,
Bright-eyed white-skinned woman,
Bright-eyed woman.

Woman, she waved her hand at us and


[+ II] came over here,
Bright-eyed woman,

97
ia mtazeda
Xels gviknevda da iak modi,
tvalz&uz&una kalo!

kalo, s&in ara c&e-


[+ II] -mi kmario,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
s&in ara c&emi kmario,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

kalo, c’asrula ci-


[+ II] -Xis sadgursa,
c’asrula ciXis sadgursao,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

kalo, zed dasce-


[+ II] -mia kvanio,
zed dascemian kvanio,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

kalo, maXarobe-
[+ II] -li movida,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
maXarobeli movida,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

kalo, mogi-
[+ II] -k’les kmario,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
mogik’les kmario,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

net’avi k’i
[+ II] angre iknen,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
net’avi k’i angre iknen,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

s&en dagrc&en c&e-


[+ II]-mi tavio,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
zed dagrc&en c&emi tavio,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

98
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

she waved her hand at us and came over here,


Bright-eyed woman.

Woman, my husband is
[+ II] not at home,
Bright-eyed woman,
my husband is not at home,
Bright-eyed woman.

Woman, he has gone to


[+ II] build a fortress,
He has gone to build a fortress,
Bright-eyed woman.

Woman, rocks have fall-


[+ II]-en down on him,
Rocks have fallen down on him,
Bright-eyed woman.

Woman, the bringer of


[+ II] news has come,
Bright-eyed woman,
the bringer of news has come,
Bright-eyed woman.

Woman, they have killed


[+ II] your husband,
Bright-eyed woman,
they have killed your husband,
Bright-eyed woman.

May it truly
[+ II] have happened so,
Bright-eyed woman,
may it truly have happened so,
Bright-eyed woman.

So may I be
[+ II] left with you,
Bright-eyed woman,
so may I be left with you,
Bright-eyed woman.

99
ia mtazeda
samaXarob-
[+ II]-los gaviƒeb,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
samaXaroblos gaviƒeb,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

tavtetri ni-
[+ II]-s&a Xario,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
tavtetri nis&a Xario,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

Xeze gaval
[+ II] q’vavivita,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
Xeze gaval q’vavivita,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

c&emi kmari
[+ II] s&eminaXavs,
tvalz&uz&una kalo,
c&emi kmari s&eminaXavs,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

margalit’is
[+ II] tvalivita,
tvalz&uz&una kalo.

54. Ia mtazeda

ia mtazeda, tovlianzeda,
ia davtese, vardi mosula,
ia k’oc&’amde, vardi muXlamde,
irmisa Z&ogi s&emoc&veula.
net’amc eZovnat, ar gaekelat.
siZe-simamri mtas c’amosulan.
s&eXvdat iremi korbudiani, —
st’q’orcna sasiZom: mohk’la iremi.
st’q’orcna simamrma: mohk’la sasiZo.
— s&vilo barbare, me ra gaXaro,
sakmro mogik’al, tavs nu moik’lav.
— s&en mama c&emo, darbaiselo,

100
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

I will give the


[+ II] messenger a gift,
Bright-eyed woman,
I will give the messenger a gift,
Bright-eyed woman.

A bull with a white


[+ II] spot on its forehead,
Bright-eyed woman,
a bull with a white spot on its forehead,
Bright-eyed woman.

Like a black crow


[+ II] I go out to the tree,
Bright-eyed woman,
like a black crow I go out to the tree,
Bright-eyed woman.

My husband will
[+ II] take care of me,
Bright-eyed woman,
my husband will take care of me,
Bright-eyed woman.

Like a
[+ II] precious pearl,
Bright-eyed woman.

Violet on the mountain

Violet on the mountain, on the snowy mountain,


I planted a violet, up came a rose,
Violets to my ankles, roses to my neck,
A herd of deer came over this way.
May they graze freely, but trample them not.
The groom went out with his father-in-law,
They met on the mountain a large-antlered buck.
The son-in-law shot — he killed the buck.
The father-in-law shot — he killed the groom.
— “Barbara, my child, what can I tell you?
I killed your husband, don’t kill yourself.”
— “May you, my father, my father so noble

101
ia mtazeda
— s&en c&emi codvit ar moisveno,
roca gitXari, ar gamatXove,
aXla matXoveb — momik’al kmari.

momeci c’aldi, gza gavik’apo,


momec santeli, gza gavinato!
ahq’e ƒelesa, dahq’e ƒelesa,
ik s&eeq’rebi s&ens saq’varelsa.
avq’e ƒelesa, davq’e ƒelesa,
ik s&eveq’are c&em saq’varelsa.
aZ&da q’orani, gleZ&da tvalebsa ...
— aks&a, q’orano, s&e gauXarelo,
nu gleZ& tvalebsa:
ertXelac aris, naXednimc aris.
aZ&da q’orani, gleZ&da mk’lavebsa ...
— aks&a, q’orano, s&e gauXarelo,
nu gleZ& mk’lavebsa:
ertXelac aris, naXvevnimc ari.
aZ&da q’orani, gleZ&da t’uc&ebsa ...
— aks&a, q’orano, s&e gauXarelo,
nu gleZ& t’uc&ebsa:
ertXelac aris, nak’ocnimc ari.

55. Perqhisa

gvibrZana las&aris Z&varma,


cas vebi okros s&ibita,
qhmels gorze ber muXa medga,
zed avdiodi k’ibita.
c&em q’mati s&amonazdƒveni
upaltan s&amakv ikita,
sul k’rulma apciaurma
amamibruna Zirita.
s&amoqhda galavanzeda
gacinebulis p’irita,
uk’uƒm c&audev saq’ele,
vamq’ope codva-c&’irita,
Z&er s&vilis&vilit davlie,
memre kal-kalis s&vilita.

102
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Never find rest from the sin you have done.


When I asked to marry, you would not let me,
Now I am married — you killed my husband.”

Give me a hatchet, to cut me a path,


Give me a candle, to light me the way!
— Go up the valley and go down the valley
There you will find the one you had loved.
I went up the valley and went down the valley
And there I found him, the one I had loved.
A raven perched on him, tore at his eyes . . .
— Scram, raven, scram, insatiable one!
Tear not his eyes:
There was a time he saw me with them.
A raven perched on him, tore at his arms . . .
— Scram, raven, scram, insatiable one!
Tear not his arms:
There was a time he embraced me with them.
A raven perched on him, tore at his lips . . .
— Scram, raven, scram, insatiable one!
Tear not his lips:
There was a time he kissed me with them.

Round dance

The Cross of Lashara spoke:


A golden chain linked me to heaven,
The Qhmelgora oak stood beside me;
There I ascended to heaven.
My vassals’ praises and gifts
I brought up to the Lord;
The cursed one, Aptsiauri,
Tore out my tree at the roots.
When he entered the outer gate
He wore a smile on his lips;
I turned his collar around
I filled him with woe and distress,
Then I consumed his grandchildren
And those of his womenfolk.

103
ia mtazeda
Xvtis k’arze s&aviq’arenit
Xvtis nabadebni dilita.
brZaneba gamogvivida
dambadebulis p’irita,
gvibrZana dambadebulma:
— me davdgi mic’a-mq’aria,
su tavis mortulobita
s&amXdari mta da baria.
murgvliv sami zƒva moavle:
tetri, c’iteli, s&avia.
zed gadavXure zecai
sina, c&’ika da rvalia.
dunia gamic&enia
rZ&ulad atasi gvaria,
s&ig gavac&ine mze, mtvare,
mravali dƒe da ƒamea.
samoc sam c’minda giorgi
otXsav k’utXeze bZania,
krist’iant salocavada
gamoXat’uli Z&varia.
Xtis s&vilni, Xtis nabadebni
krist’iant salocavia,
Xtis s&vilta hq’avis c’mindai
tamari dedupalia.
ikna Xtisagan bZaneba,
c’elze s&aert’q’a qhmalia,
mamis sanepo daigdo,
titon brZandeba kalia;
s&ua zƒvas c&adga samani,
samani rk’inis k’aria,
qhmelet tavisak’ maigdo,
imtveni hkonda Zalia,
sat’aXt’o sabrZanebuli
titon qhmel gorze bZania.
p’irdap’ir udga gorzeda
laƒi las&aris Z&varia,
gverds udga nislis perai,
t’redis perni hkon mqharnia.
zed okros unagir udga
okros c’q’lit lagmis t’aria.
s&aZlebul, gamzadebula
gapant’ulni mq’av q’mania.
s&amauara saq’mosa,

104
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

We gathered in God’s court


At morning, we, God’s offspring.
A message came to us
From the Creator’s mouth,
The Creator spoke unto us:
— I formed the solid land
With all its ornaments,
Adorning mountains and plains.
Around it I set three seas:
The white, the red, the black.
Above I covered the sky
With copper, glass, and bronze.
I have made the world
With a thousand faiths;
I placed the sun and moon,
And many days and nights.
Three score and three St. Georges
Reside in the world’s four corners
To hear the prayers of Christians,
Marked with the sign of the cross.
The children, the offspring of God,
To hear the prayers of Christians,
The children of God have one
Saint Tamar the Queen.
There came a command from God,
She belted a sword at her waist,
Took over her father’s kingdom
Though herself a woman;
In the sea’s midst she set
Iron boundary gates,
Took the dry land for herself,
For she had such power.
Tamar set her throne
At the Qhmelgora shrine.
Directly across, on the hill,
Stood proud Lashara’s Cross;
Beside him, a mist-grey steed
With wings of bright dove-blue,
A golden saddle on top
And reins of liquid gold.
Potent and prepared,
His vassals were spread around.
He journeyed through his fief,

105
ia mtazeda
mZime s&aq’ara Z&aria,
visac natkomi ec’q’ina
imis dak’ruli mc’aria.
ertguls k’i mies&veleba,
ar hkondes misvlis Xania,
bat’onis gamarZ&vebita
q’velas gec’erot Z&varia.

56. Betgil

bail betgil sabral, betgil lez&ri!


bail ilba, ilba, bail,
bail, m´laX-m´z&al inzorale,
bail ilba, ilba, bail,
bail, z&av XagenaX lelt’Xas& murgvQls
bail ilba, ilba, bail,
bail, as& Xosk’ina tvetnam k’vicras,
bail ilba, ilba, bail,
bail, as& Xosk’ina betgis& nabrQqhs,
bail ilba, ilba, bail,
bail, ali betgis& misQn iri!
bail ilba, ilba, bail,
— amis& mec&’em yQrƒal iri?
bail ilba, ilba, bail,
— amis& mec&’em betgil iri.
bail ilba, ilba, bail.

betgil Z&abarQrs ik’arzale.


Xec&’minale nazvQrs mic&a:
sgvebin nazvQr m´c&’Qb Xera,
ƒves&gmav laXsgi nazvQrs mic&a,
nazvar mic&a demeg teraX.
ali betgis& misQn iri.
sgav mec&edli mes&Xam k’oZ&te,
dQli pusdQs& lardatesga.
— Xoc&a ladeƒ dali pusdas!
— magvQr Xoc&a daleƒ Z&eri,
eZ&is mia si laZ&tonisg!
imƒa Xo ƒlQt’ p’irobs mis&gva?
mis&gu nahod høs&mild m’adu?
— eZ&i laq’vra tXurmQs& Qmsad.
magvQr laq’vra tXurmQs& QZ&sad,

106
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Gathered a mighty army.


Whoever dislikes these words,
His downfall will be harsh.
But he will aid the faithful,
Be at his side at once.
With the Lord’s victory
May you be signed with the cross.

Betgil

Poor Betgil, unhappy Betgil!


Ba-il, il-ba, il-ba, ba-il.
Mulakh-Muzhal have assembled,
Ba-il, il-ba, il-ba, ba-il.
They stood for the Lentekh round dance
Ba-il, il-ba, il-ba, ba-il.
A white roe-deer jumped out toward them,
Ba-il, il-ba, il-ba, ba-il.
It ran right through Betgil’s legs,
Ba-il, il-ba, il-ba, ba-il.
This indeed is Betgil’s fate.
Ba-il, il-ba, il-ba, ba-il.
— Who will go chase after it?
Ba-il, il-ba, il-ba, ba-il.
— Betgil will chase after it.
Ba-il, il-ba, il-ba, ba-il.

Betgil straps on his bast sandals,


He sets off to track the deer.
In front of him he sees the hoofprints;
When he turns around, behind him
There are no tracks to be seen.
This indeed is Betgil’s fate.
They head up onto the black cliff,
To the place where Dali reigns.
— A pleasant day to Lady Dali!
— The sort of day that you will have
I will show you straight away!
Why did you betray your promise,
Where’d you put the beads I gave you?
— I left them beneath my pillow.
— You left them beneath your pillow,

107
ia mtazeda
eZ&gvQr lit’Xals mi si Z&ec&o?
dali pusda sga laXtøpa,
betgil k’oZ&as sga Xaseda:
lersgvan s&imis& lab´rg lQXsad,
lertan c&’is&Xmis& lQgna lQXsad.
betgil sabra betgil lez&ri!

«ma#i lit’Xal mi merole?


laclas mis&gva Xon´baved:
betgils c&u noma Xis&d´ned!
dedes mis&gva Xon´nbaved:
mic&a nanaq’ kut i c&’is&dvQrs
let i ladeƒn mipanades,
XeXvis mis&gva Xon´mbaved:
merme mis&gvan nor QncXonas!»
betgil k’oZ&as kav s&q’edeni,
c&ukvan lacla z&iv ik’´deX.

57. Dghesam dgheoba visia?

dƒesam dƒeoba visia?


c’mindisa giorgisia.
Z&var-Z&varis dros&a visia?
c’mindisa giorgisia.

giorgi galavanzeda
usart’q’lo iareboda,
giorgis gadmonavalze
Xe alvad amodioda,
magis s&emcode kal-vaz&i
udrood das&avdeboda.

58. Samaia

samaia samtagana
— ra t’urpa ram Xaro;
samaias tavi miq’varda
— ra t’urpa ram Xaro;
liso, liso, kari kriso
— lisim dalaleo;
s&avardeni prtasa s&liso

108
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Why should I let you return?


Dali vanished from his sight,
Stranding Betgil on the cliff.
He held on by his right hand,
He held on by his left foot,
Poor Betgil, unhappy Betgil!

There is no chance I’ll return.


Give this message to my friends:
May you never forget Betgil.
Give this message to my mother:
For my soul bake kut and ch’ishdwar
To be offered day and night.
Give this message to my wife:
Don’t replace me with another.
Betgil fell down from the cliff.
His companions fetched his body.

Today is whose festival?

Today is whose festival?


St. George’s festival.
Where is this banner from?
St. George’s shrine.

St. George, without his belt,


Walked around the wall,
On the ground where he had tread
A cypress tree came forth.
The woman or man who sinned against it
Straightway came to ruin.

Samaia

Samaia, one of three


— Oh, how lovely you are;
I was in love with Samaia
— Oh, how lovely you are;
Liso, Liso, so the wind sings
— Lisim dalaleo;
The peregrine falcon spreads its wings

109
ia mtazeda
— lisim dalaleo;
arigebul, c&arigebul
— ra t’urpa ram Xaro;
dauvlidi, dahq’vebodi
— ra t’urpa ram Xaro.
liso, liso, kari kriso
— lisim dalaleo;
s&avardeni prtasa s&liso
— lisim dalaleo.

Samgloviaro simgherebi

59. Darishk’anit momk’wdari

sad iZaXan mat’iralsa?


sad iq’rebis kal-zalia?
Xuts&abats aƒar mavida,
mtvare gus&in c’uXr c&amqhdaria:
zecisak’e c’aiq’vanes
kali dabal-dabalia.
maƒla-maƒla, taiao,
sadac aXalgazdania!

60. Zhamis naqhots kalebze

kalebo, z&amis naqhocebo,


kvis&isas ar idenetaeo?
c&’is&velsa ar gaXenetaeo?
c&’is&vel mtiblebi ar tibdaeo?
celebi ar unatobdaeo?
simƒeres ar iZaXdesaeo?

61. Net’avi mok’la marjek’ali

net’avi mok’la marZ&ek’ali,


c&emi Xos&aras gamtXuebi,
me Xom Xos&aras ver vicXovreb,
p’ursa vera vc&’am kerisasa,
c’mindisasa var dac&veuli,

110
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

— Lisim dalaleo.
The line moves up, the line moves down
— Oh, how lovely you are;
Form a ring, and follow round
— Oh, how lovely you are.
Liso, Liso, so the wind sings
— Lisim dalaleo;
The peregrine falcon spreads its wings
— Lisim dalaleo.

Funerary Poems

Dead from poison

Where are they summoning the mourners?


Where are the womenfolk gathering?
She did not come on Thursday night;
Yesterday evening the moon went down.
She has been carried off to heaven,
A woman as low as can be.
Higher and higher, the cord winding up,
Up where the young people are.

Women slaughtered by the plague

Women slaughtered by the plague,


Didn’t you go to Kvishisa?
At Ch’ishvel did you see them all?
Weren’t they mowing hay at Ch’ishvel?
Didn’t their sickles gleam in the sun?
Weren’t they calling out the song?

Woe betide the matchmaker

Woe betide the matchmaker


Who set up my marriage in Khoshara;
I cannot live there anymore . . .
I can no longer eat barley bread,
I am accustomed to unhulled grain;

111
ia mtazeda
c’q’alsa vera vsom gubisasa,
mdinaresa var dac&veuli,
samk’alis ver vili balƒiani,
brac’ze ver vabam ak’avansa;
moXdeba t’ial mic’isZvra da
bac’arsa gagleZ&s ak’avani.
damigordeba, c&’alas c’ava,
c&avdgebi s&vilis codvas&ia.

rosnamde viq’o t’irilita,


rosnamde vk’ripne balƒis qhorcni,
rosnamde vXvio k’alats&ia,
rosnamde vac’q’e erturtzeda.
c&amkolet, c&emo mot’iralno,
amis met’s get’q’vit veƒarasa.

Sat’rpo leksebi

62. Bat’arik’a kalai var

bat’arik’a kalai var,


nu maƒoneb, codva ari,
saikios dagt’anZ&aven,
tu sad sulis q’opna ari.

63. Net’avi kalo Ninao

net’avi kalo ninao,


ertadamc dagvac’vinao.
migvXura pardag, t’q’avebi,
da opli mogvadinao.

miveli, s&entan viZine


magram Zalian grilao.
me ak veƒar momec’one
tan c’amomq’evi s&inao.

112
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

I can no longer drink from a cistern,


I am accustomed to river water.
I will not go with my child to the fields,
I will not lash the crib to a bush;
For the earth will shake, the string
Holding the cradle will snap.
Down it will roll, down into the gorge,
Leaving me bereft.

How long must I be in mourning?


How long must I pick up my baby’s flesh?
How long must I gather it up in my dress?
How long must I set the pieces together?
Strike me down with stones, fellow mourners,
I have nothing more to tell you.

Love Poems

I am a very young woman

I am a very young woman,


Don’t make me sad, it’s a sin;
They will torment you “over there,”
If there is a place where souls live.

Nina woman

Nina woman, if there were some way


We could lie at each other’s side,
Cover ourselves with carpets and furs,
And work up a mighty sweat!

So I went and lay with you,


But it is much too chilly here.
I could never enjoy you like this,
Why don’t you come inside with me?

113
ia mtazeda
64. Eter shen silamazita

eter, s&en silamazita


mzes eubnebi: c&amodi,
ver gavZeƒ siq’varulita,
mtavaro sulo, amodi.

65. Aksha aksha mamalo

aks&a, aks&a, mamalo,


ar mamdis s&eni q’ivili,
s&en bevrebi gq’av c’ac’lebi,
men k’i mk’lavs gulis t’k’ivili.

66. Zghvashi shatsurda k’urdgheli

zƒvas&i s&acurda k’urdƒeli,


tan mela misdevs t’ivita,
kalav, eg s&eni survili
mabrunebs c’iskvilivita.

67. Net’ain mamk’la mtashia

net’ain mamk’la mtas&ia,


dammarXa bunebas&ia,
net’ain gamagebina
ra giZe gunebas&ia.

68. Tval k’i mich’irav shenzeda

tval k’i mic&’erav s&enzeda,


rogorc miminos mc’q’erzeda.
net’ain gamagebina
s&en ra gul giZe c&emzeda.
rodisra gamitendeba,
ro geXveode q’elzeda.

114
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Eter, with your beauty

Eter, with your beauty


You tell the sun: come down —
I could not slake myself with love,
Chief of the spirits, come up.

Aksha, aksha, rooster, scram!

Aksha, aksha, rooster, scram!


I can’t listen to your crowing;
You have so many lovers,
And I’m being killed by heartbreak.

A rabbit swam into the sea

A rabbit swam into the sea,


A fox follows it on a raft;
Woman, my desire for you
Spins me around like a mill-wheel.

May I die in the mountains

May I die in the mountains,


Be buried in nature’s midst;
May I find out somehow
What thoughts you have on your mind.

I have an eye on you

I have an eye on you


Like a hawk watching a quail.
May I find out somehow
What your heart feels toward me.
Some day, may the dawn find me
With your neck on my arm.

115
ia mtazeda
69. Nadobis k’abas vapere

s&irakis tavs&i cXvar midga,


uk’uƒm mabrunebs karia,
s&amoc&nda sulta p’ep’ela,
c’itlit c&’relni hkon mqharnia.
saps&aod gadmaemarta,
gadmuaq’olen tvalnia,
didXan q’ureba mec’ada,
ar miq’enebda karia.
nadobis k’abas vapere,
ƒmerto, damc’ere Z&varia,
c’adi da isac uambe,
k’argada hq’avis cXvaria!

70. Dghe tu ghame

dƒei sZ&obav tu ƒamei?


XalXno, me gk’itXav amasa.
ƒame niade k’argia,
dƒei sinatit sZalavsa.
Xmeletze manatobeli
mzei maudis tanaca,
cXvar-ZroXa maepineba,
maƒla mtas, dabla c&’alasa,
maas&robs dilis cvar-namsa,
mc’q’er q’anas et’q’vis salamsa.

magram ro ƒame ar iq’os,


isi ƒmertm daiparasa!
ra dadges ƒamis c’q’vdiadi,
bevrsa uXaris kalasa.
Zmobiltan c’asvla ƒgulavis,
Znela ro daes&alasa.
vaz&asac molodini akv,
ar ucdis p’uris c&’amasa,
c’ava, gaigebs loginsa,
gaibunbulebs c&alasa.
guls&ia gulis misnada,
tana k’i pikrobs amasa:
«k’i ara mamivides, ra,
rom rait dais&alasa?»

116
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

I likened it to my sister-spouse’s dress

My sheep were standing on Shirak’s crest,


The wind was blowing straight back at me,
A butterfly came from the land of the souls,
Its body bright with splashes of red.
It was heading north toward Pshavi,
I followed its flight with my eyes;
I would have watched it even longer
But the wind did not let me.
Its color reminded me of her dress,
My sister-spouse — O God, save me from this!
Go now, and bring her a message:
My sheep are doing well.

Day or night

Which is better, day or night?


People, I am asking you.
The night of course is very good
But day will outdo night in brightness.
It brings light to all the land;
When the sun climbs in the sky,
The cattle and the sheep spread out;
In mountains above and meadows below,
It dries up the morning dew,
In the cornfield the quail greets it.

But yet, if there would be no night,


May God save us from such a thing!
When the dark of night has come
A woman rejoices in her heart.
She longs to see her “brother-spouse,”
It would be hard to keep her away.
The lad as well, full of eagerness,
Cannot take time to eat his meal.
He goes and readies the bed for her,
Lays the sheets, fluffs up the straw.
Heart is working its magic on heart;
At the same time, he is thinking
“Could it be, she will not come,
Or that something has gone awry?”

117
ia mtazeda
kal midis c’q’nari biZ&ita,
ar ac&uc&unebs c&alasa,
amoit’olebs botlasa,
Z&alaptad manap’aravsa.
«ra q’inc&ad damZinebia!»
moq’me daic’q’ebs zarvasa.
kal male gamaaƒviZebs,
arc aleviebs Xanasa.

q’ba ro q’bas gameet’olas,


mk’erdi mk’erds s&aaXalasa.
uc’indel nacnauria,
nadobs aƒaras malavsa, —
memr daic’q’eben k’ocnasa,
p’iridan nerc’q’vis p’arvasa.

dƒe tu ƒam, romeli Z&obnis?


XalXno, me gk’itXav amasa.
t’urpa kveq’ana tvalit c&ins,
sik’etit dƒei Zalavsa,
mus&ais samus&aveblad,
sarc&os s&in mosat’anada,
cXvar-ZroXa maepinebis,
balaXs sZovs mtasd da barada,
manatobeli kveq’nisa
mzei amua tanaca,
gaas&robs dilis cvar-namsa,
mc’q’er nanas et’q’vis q’anasa.

118
VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

The woman approaches, with quiet steps,


She draws not a rustle from the straw.
In her hand she carries a bottle
Of vodka, taken from her home.
The man pretends to be asleep,
Toying with his sister-spouse.
The woman quickly rouses him;
Neither wants to waste much time.

The jaw of one meets the other’s jaw,


Chest is pushed up against chest.
Their relation has long been known,
She no longer needs to hide it.
Then they begin to kiss each other,
Sharing slaver from each other’s mouth.

Day or night, which is better?


People, I am asking you.
Our eyes can see the beauteous land,
Day thus outdoes night in kindness.
It gives the workers the chance to work,
To bring the food their households need.
The cattle and the sheep spread out,
Grazing on mountain and lowland alike.
It brings light to all the world,
When the sun ascends the sky
It dries up the morning dew,
The quail in the field sings a lullaby.

119
ia mtazeda
Notes to the Poems
1. Moq’me da vepkhvi (“The young man and the leopard”). Sources: PKh 132-134; Ko 104-106; Go
5-7; ShKh 208-209; FY 78-79. The variant in PKh was recited by N. Khornauli in 1924, in the
Pshavian village K’ats’alkhevi. The version given in Ko and Go was transcribed by Vakh.
Razik’ashvili in the Pshavian village Chargali. The text printed here mostly follows the first-
mentioned version. This is an extremely popular poem, and almost every Georgian schoolchild can
recite it from memory. The motif of a hero proving himself in single combat against a ferocious
feline is an important element of the epic poem considered by Georgians to be the finest expression
of their virtues and world-view: Shota Rustaveli’s Vepkhist’q’aosani “The knight in the leopard’s
skin” (written ca. 1200). The striking conclusion to the poem, in which the mother of the slain
warrior goes to commiserate with the leopard’s mother, is the creation of Giorgi Jabushanuri of
Arkhot’i, a Khevsur bard active at the turn of the century [see the note in ShKh 559-565]. The idea,
however, did not originate with him; several ethnographic accounts refer to the practice of
“mourning” a leopard killed by a hunter (vepkhvis dat’ireba), a ritual accompanied by the perkhuli
round dance [DGF I, 161]. Among the Khevsurs, the leopard was given a warrior’s funeral, with
armor and weapons placed by its body [GOM 31]. The legendary Svan hunter Tabi Goshteliani, as
recounted in a poem collected by Elene Virsaladze, killed a leopard that had slain several of his
fellow villagers. But instead of rejoicing, Tabi intoned the following lament over the animal’s body:
“Rather than kill you, would that I had killed one of my own children! Rather than kill you, would
that I had set fire to my home! Rather than kill you, would that I had killed myself!” [GOM 303].
The humanlike status of the leopard is reflected as well in Rustaveli’s epic. One of his principal
characters, the hero Tariel, relates how he saw a lion and leopard together. They appeared to be
“lovers” (hgvandes ratme moq’varulta), and the sight pleased him. The lion, however, began to
quarrel with its companion and put it to flight. Tariel, outraged by this behavior, attacked the lion
with drawn sword, and killed it. Going over to the wounded leopard: “I tossed aside my sword,
reached over, and took the leopard in my arms. I wished to kiss it, because of her who burns me with
hot flames. It roared at me, and hurt me with its blood-shedding claws. I could bear it no longer: my
heart enraged, I killed it also.” [VT 908]. In any event, the lion and the leopard are probably the most
frequently-evoked animal tropes in Georgian poetry. They are associated with manly prowess, but
also can be utilized as symbols of a woman’s strength of character. The one “who burns me with hot
flames” is Tariel’s beloved, Nestan-Darejan, whom he likens elsewhere in the poem to a “beautiful
leopard” [VT 654; also VT 520]. Two remarks on lexical meaning: (1) Some readers familiar with
Georgian literature in translation may wonder why vepkhvi — rendered as “panther” or “tiger” in the
English versions of Rustaveli’s epic — is here translated as “leopard.” Georgian scholars as well
have held different opinions concerning the original reference of this word, which denotes “tiger” in
the modern literary language. I have decided to follow the interpretation offered by a series of
experts, from Davit Chubinashvili and Nikolai Marr to Sargis Caishvili and Tamaz Gamq’relidze,
that the original vepkhvi was a variety of leopard (Russian bars), a spotted beast weighing up to 300
pounds, known to have prowled the Caucasus mountains as recently as the 1920’s [ShKh 559-565].
(2) The expression “French blade” (pranguli), by which Georgian mountaineers denote an especially
fine sword, whatever its origin, probably dates back to medieval times, when Georgians fought
alongside Frankish soldiers in the Byzantine army.

2. Akhmet’uri p’at’ardzali (“The bride from Akhmeta”). Sources: Ko 62-5; Go 192-4. Transcribed
by Iv. K’akhadze in the Kakhetian village Napareuli. The town of Akhmeta is in the northern part of
the province of Kakheti. The humor in this poem, of course, is the mayhem wreaked by the title
character on her new husband’s family: the bride from Akhmeta is a Georgian mother-in-law’s worst
nightmare. In the Caucasus, newlyweds customarily moved into the husband’s parents’ home, and
the new bride, being — in a social sense — an outsider, must accommodate herself to her new
situation. While the strictures imposed on the bride are hardly as severe as those obtaining in many
countries, she is still expected to defer to her in-laws, especially her mother-in-law (on the position
of wives in traditional Caucasian cultures see Louis Luzbetak Marriage and the family in Caucasia
[Vienna: St. Gabriel’s Mission Press, 1951], chapters X and XI). On the other hand, it should be

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noted that the Georgian ideal of womanhood, to whom the bride from Akhmeta would be contrasted,
is along the lines of Tamar the King (see the notes to poem #22) and not a subservient homemaker.
She is proud and strong-willed, with a fiery and vivid personality. As was mentioned above, the
image of a leopard is applied in Georgian poetry to women as well as men. The bride from Akhmeta
has a leopard’s temperament indeed, but she is a leopard run amok.

3. Dælil k’ojas khelghwazhale (“Dali is giving birth on the cliff”). Source: SvP 268. Transcribed in
1936 in the Upper Svan village of Muzhali (Mulakhi community). The title character is probably the
most widely-known personage in Svanetian mythology. In many stories and invocations she is
represented as a sort of hunter-goddess, and protector of the wildlife dwelling in the high mountains.
Although often referred to in the singular, some texts make mention of a community of Dalis
inhabiting the inaccessible peaks and cliffs of the Caucasus, who can aid or destroy a hunter,
depending on his behavior (e.g. the poem “The hunter Chorla,” SvP 288-296). Several variants of
the poem presented here are found in MP 89-91, 194-208. In one (pp. 201-2), Dali’s child is
identified as a girl; the others make no mention of gender. Other Svanetian legends credit her with
giving birth to Amiran, the Georgian Prometheus [PC 26, 57, 165-7]. Dali offers to reward Mepsay
with animals from her herd, or, if he chooses, to share her bed with him. The latter alternative seems
hard to refuse, on the face of it: Dali is frequently described as a woman of ravishing beauty, with
long hair and glistening bright skin. Her lovers are assured of superhuman success in the hunt. But
they are doomed as well. Dali is jealous, and her favorites are subject to numerous restrictions — in
particular, they are barred from consorting with human females [GOM 71]. In every case recorded in
Georgian folklore, the hunters taken as lovers by Dali eventually incite her jealousy, with fatal
consequences. So what happens to Mepsay? In most variants of the poem Dali accepts the hunter’s
refusal to sleep with her with magnanimity, and sends him off with a blessing and a promise of
success in hunting. In the version given here, Mepsay’s downfall results directly from his decision to
shoot at the gold-horned ibex. It was believed that the goddess herself often took the form of a
specially marked animal within the herd she protected, and mountaineers would avoid shooting an
animal with unusual coloration. Violation of this taboo, it was thought, would bring disaster upon the
hunter [GOM 33, 75]. Lexical note: Throughout the anthology, the word “ibex” translates Georgian
jikhvi and Svan ghwæsh, which denote the Caucasian mountain goat (Capris caucasica).

4. Ts’utisopeli (“The fleeting world”). Sources: Ko 25; Go 13-14. The poem was recited by Kh.
Merabashvili in the Kartlian village Dighomi. Variant in GMD 137. The compound word ts’uti(s)-
sopeli (literally “village of a minute”) is used to describe the temporality of earthly existence. This
popular poem embodies the Christian notion of “two paths” (toward heaven or toward hell) upon
which one can travel in the course of one’s life, as well as the fundamental equality of all
humankind. This point is driven home by the assertion that “even the Tatar [Turk or Azerbaidjani] is
our brother,” and that “between us and the Armenians” there is no difference in God’s eyes. The
poem includes a reference to the pledge of “sisterhood” (doba), that is, a bond of friendship between
a woman and a man which, although emotionally fulfilling, must not terminate in marriage. The
relationship of ts’ats’loba referred to elsewhere in this book may be thought of as a particularly
intense realization of the sister/brotherhood pledge. The assurance that bonding oneself to a woman
in this way will give one “a mind pure as the open sky” does not seem to have been enough for at
least one anonymous poet. These lines were recorded in Kartli in 1870 [OL 40, #35]:

In the month of Mary [August],


I caught a fish in high waters;
Woman, you are much too beautiful:
I can never pledge sisterhood with you.

5. Tavparavneli ch’abuk’i (“The lad from Tavparavani”). Sources: Ko 29; Go 5-7. Transcribed by M.
Kh. Merabishvili in the Kartlian village K’avtiskhevi. Variants in LP 147-148, 350-353. The villages
Tavparavani and Aspindza are located in southern Georgia. The word “Tavparavani” means “at the
head (tav) of Lake Paravani, a large lake in Javakheti (100 km WSW of Tbilisi). According to an

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Armenian legend [cited in Ko 332], this lake was formed from the tears of a woman whose lover
died while trying to bring her an “undying fire.” The theme of the poem is well known in European
literature, most notably in the Greek legend of Hero and Leander. In that legend, as told by Ovid, it
is the sea — and not a jealous woman — that extinguishes the candle guiding Leander across the
Hellespont. A closer parallel to our Georgian poem is found in Arnim and Brentano’s collection of
German folksongs Des Knaben Wunderhorn [“Die Edelkönigs-Kinder,” II:252]:

Es waren zwei Edelkönigs-Kinder,


Die beiden die hatten sich lieb,
Beisammen konten sie dir nit kommen,
Das Wasser war viel zu tief.
Ach Liebchen köntest du schwimmen,
So schwimme doch her zu mir,
Drey Kerzlein wollt ich dir anstecken,
Die solten auch leuchten dir.
Da saß ein loses Nönnechen,
Das that, als wenn es schlief,
Es that die Kerzlein aufblasen,
Der Jünglein vertrank so tief …

The young man wears a silk shirt — a frequently employed trope indicating wealth or nobility —
which is dyed red. Evidence from Svan texts implies that in ancient Georgia, red (rather than black)
was the color of mourning. (In one of the variants of the poem “Betgil,” a hero about to die tells his
wife: ts’ërnid ighapis lachaki “Dye your veil red” [SvP 284]).

6. Nest’an-darejan (“Nestan-Darejan”). Source: Ko 221-222. Recorded by T’er. St’epanishvili,


“Iveria” #115, 1886. This and the following poem employ characters that — in name at least — can
be linked with Rustaveli’s “The knight in the leopard’s skin.” Rustaveli’s Nestan-Darejan is a
princess who has been kidnapped by the Kajes, a people with superhuman powers. Her distraught
fiance Tariel (the leopard-skin-wearing knight in the title) is befriended by the warriors Avtandil and
Pridon; after various adventures they succeed in rescuing the princess. While in captivity Nestan-
Darejan does in fact write a number of letters, but aside from that superficial resemblance there is no
other connection between her story and that of her namesake in this poem.

7. Avtandil gadinadira (“Avtandil went a-hunting”). Sources: Ko 116-117; Go 10-12. Recited by G.


Khut’ashvili in the Kartlian village Nichbisi. Musical settings: GFS (Kakhetian; three voices, 4/4
meter); MFS #23 (three variants, all homophonic, in 4/4 or 7/4 meter; sung as accompaniment to
dance). This is another of the many verses, stories, and songs from all parts of Georgia which feature
characters from “The knight in the leopard’s skin.” The beginning of this poem bears a slight
resemblance to the scene preceding Avtandil’s discovery of the cave where Tariel and Asmat live:
“Though Avtandil was become wild with heart-groaning and sighing, yet he wished to eat, after the
wont of Adam’s race; he killed game with his arrow, with arm longer than Rostom’s [a Persian hero
— KT]. He alighted on the edge of the reedy ground and kindled a fire with a steel. “He let his horse
pasture while he roasted the meat. He saw six horseman coming towards him. He said, ‘They look
like brigands; else what good is to be found? No other human being has ever been here.’” [VT 192-
193 (Wardrop’s trans.)] As it turns out, these men are hunters, who describe to Avtandil their
unexpected encounter with Tariel: “Suddenly there appeared a knight, morose and gloomy of visage,
seated on a black horse, black as Pegasus” [VT 201 (Wardrop’s trans.)]. The youngest of them
challenges Tariel, but is struck down, his head cleft open. The poem we have here may represent a
reworking (or garbling) of this material, with Tariel recast as the black knight who wounds Avtandil.
The ending is similar to those of other folk poems concerning warriors killed in battle: the giving of
instructions to one’s mother and other relations to insure that one’s death is properly mourned
(compare, for example, poem #15 Lekso, amogtkom “Poem, I will declaim you”).

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8. A, is ghrubelni miq’varan (“Ah, how I love those clouds”). Sources: LP 132; Ko 31; Go 19.
Recorded by Tedo Razik’ashvili in the province Pshavi, ca. 1910. Mount Borbalo (or Borbala) is a
3300 meter mountain at the head of the Alazani and Iori rivers, about 80 km north of Tbilisi. The
poem’s meaning hinges on a play on words: The word manana is used in the sixth line (mananas
chamaq’riano) to denote a fine summer drizzle. It is also a common female given name, and this sets
up the interpretation of the “us” of the final line as “(my girlfriend) Manana and me.”

9. Ts’itel ghvinos migagvane (“I’ve likened you to red wine”). Sources: Ko 34; Go 25. Recited by S.
Gachechiladze in the Imeretian village Shorap’ani. Variants in LP 46, 163-164.

10. Ts’q’alsa mohkonda napot’i (“The stream bore me a wood chip”). Source: LP 149. Recited by
Gvaramadze in the Meskhetian village Khizabavra in 1884. Longer variant in Ko 37; Go 19-20.
Musical settings: GFS (three voices, 4/4 meter); HGF #77 (Kartlian-Kakhetian; solo with three-voice
choir, in 4/4 meter). Throughout most of its recorded history, Georgia has either been under foreign
domination, and struggling to free itself; or independent, and fighting to maintain its freedom. Times
of peace have been few and far between. These circumstances have given rise to a series of songs
detailing the attempts of women to receive word concerning their menfolk gone off to war.
Invariably the news they receive is bad. The best known example of this genre is the song Gaprindi
shavo mertskhalo, one of the jewels of Georgian polyphonic folk music. (“Fly away, black swallow,
follow the course of the Alazani; Bring back news of my brother who has gone off to war”). The
theme of the floating wood chip as a bearer of news about an absent lover is also employed in the
tale of Tristan and Iseult [Ko 345].

11. Shens loq’as vardi hq’vaoda (“A rose blossomed upon your cheek”). Sources: LP 50-51, Ko 42;
Go 25-26. This poem, from the Kartlian village Ertats’minda was recorded by I. K’argareteli, ca.
1913. Variant in LP 176. The inventory of feminine beauty given here makes use of a lexicon of
similes common to most Georgian love poems. Some of these expressions can also describe
masculine beauty (for example in “The knight in the leopard’s skin”: Tariel and Avtandil’s light-
shedding teeth [VT 279], Avtandil’s eyelashes of jet [VT 1250]). The women whom the addressee of
the poem outshines are: Tamar (see poem #22); (?) Queen Ketevan, mother of King Teimuraz I and
a martyr for the Christian faith (17th century); and the legendary beauty Eteri, a shepherdess whose
ill-starred relationship with a prince (Abesalom) is the topic of a well-known poem .

12. Rad ginda kali lamazi (“Why do you want a beautiful woman?). Sources: Ko 42; Go 28.
Transcribed by Mikh. K’avsadze. This song is from eastern Georgia (Kartli and Kakheti), and is
performed as follows: The soloist declaims, in a sort of recitative, a line of the poem, in alternation
with the chorus (which sings the nonsense syllables “He-e-e va-ra-lo”). As the song progresses, the
tempo becomes faster and faster [Ko 352] .

13. Mtieli (“The mountaineer”). Source: Go 57. Recorded in the province of Khevi. Q’azbeg is a
celebrated 5000-meter mountain in Khevi, along the Georgian Military Highway. The mountain
Q’uro forms part of the border between Khevi and the North Caucasian province of Kist’eti. The
sentiments expressed in this poem are echoed in a variety of poems and stories written by patriotic
mountaineers, such as the following lines by the poet and ethnographer Raphael Eristavi:

I prefer the black cliff,


Covered with snow and ice,
Where the hawk nests, and where
The crystalline waterfall thunders:
Where ibex and chamois abound;
Their salty meat suits me just fine.
I would not trade these sheer cliffs
For the tree of eternal life;
I would not trade my homeland
For another land’s paradise!

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14. Khidistavs shavk’rat p’iroba (“At Khidistav we’ll make a pact”). Sources: Ko 60; Go 67.
Recorded in the Kakhetian village Shashiani. Variant in LP 149 #612. Khidistav (lit. “bridge-head”)
is a village near Gori in central Kartli. The Mukhran-Bat’onebi (“Lords of Mukhran”) were a branch
of the Georgian royal family, the Bagrations. They took their name from the seat of their domain:
Mukhran, a village on the Ksani river about 30 km NW of Tbilisi. They reached the zenith of their
power during the period from 1650 to 1722, when they ruled all of eastern Georgia and had great
influence at the Persian court in Isfahan [see HGP pp 174-180]. Sagarejo, where the three raiders
marry their beautiful captives, is in western Kakheti, about 50 km east of Tbilisi. The rest of the
poem is readily interpretable, though one detects echoes of the Mzekala (“Sun-woman”) legend in
the description of the woman liberated from the Mukhran-Bat’oni’s court. The detail of earrings
jingling in the wind also occurs in “The woman Khwaramze” (poem #32). The seating of the
captive, disguised as a man, on an Arabian horse — which seems unmotivated in our poem —
resembles an episode in the folktale “Mzekala and Mzevarda” [GNS 331-338] in which Sun-woman,
in order to escape from her undesirable husband, dressed herself as a man, folded up her hair inside a
cap, and rode off on her faithful horse Mzevarda (“Sun-rose”). Finally, the rather violent kissing to
which the women in “Khidistavi” are subjected by their captors (loq’as avadzrot t’q’avi “let us peel
off the hide from their cheeks”) echoes a phrase in “Lurjasi,” which is also a Sun-woman tale in
K’ot’et’ishvili’s opinion. A talking horse instructs its female rider: “Mount me, hit me with the whip
three times, so that three pieces of my hide come off” (sami p’iri t’q’avi amdzvres) [cited by Ko
357] .

15. Lekso, amogtkom (“Poem, I will declaim you”). Sources: Ko 21; Go 77-78; IWRP 200. Composed
by the Pshavian Mikha Khelashvili; transcribed by V. Khornauli in the Pshavian village
K’ats’alkhevi. This poem expresses with especial clarity the particular intensity of a mother’s love
for her children, a notion finding expression in almost every corner of Georgian linguistic culture.
Looking in the dictionary under the word deda “mother,” one finds, in addition to familiar idioms
such as “mother tongue” and “mother earth,” the expressions deda-azri “mother idea,” a key or
fundamental principle; deda-bodzi “mother pillar,” the column supporting the roof in a traditional
Georgian house; deda-kalaki “mother city,” the capital of a country. According to traditional belief,
each village, stream, valley and forest was under the protection of a local spirit known as adgilis-
deda, “place-mother” (see poem #31). By contrast, mama “father” is almost never used in a
metaphoric sense. All of this gives one the impression that deep in the Georgian national
consciousness motherhood is linked with the notion of support, of being the center and base, of
nurturing and protecting. It should not be seen as unusual, then, that the dying Avtandil dispatches a
carrier pigeon to his mother, not his father or wife (poem #7). The young warrior in the poem
expresses the hope that his name will be remembered each time the ballad he left behind is sung. It is
a sadly ironic fact that the powers that ruled over Georgia for many years would not allow this wish
to be honored. Mikha Khelashvili, born in 1900 in the Pshavian village Akhadi, participated in the
anti-Communist revolt led by Kakutsa Choloq’ashvili in 1924. After the uprising was crushed by the
Soviet Georgian government, Khelashvili went into hiding in the mountains. In January of 1925 the
young poet was betrayed and killed. Until recently his name could not be mentioned in print, even
though some of the poems he composed were widely anthologized (biographical information
provided by Z. K’ik’nadze).

16. T’ialo ts’utisopelo (“Oh wretched, fleeting world”). Source: IWRP 204. Composed by the Pshavian
poet Bat’ark’ats Bekauri. Folk poetry is still a living tradition in Georgia, and many mountaineers
continue to compose poetry within the tradition of their ancestors. Vakhusht’i K’ot’et’ishvili
included a dozen recently composed poems in his anthology of folk poetry, including this one. The
poet declares that he has eaten up his life “like a khink’ali.” This is one of the staples of Pshavian
cuisine: spiced meat encased in a bag of dough, then boiled or fried. (One can easily put away a
dozen or more at a sitting, washed down with beer). Old age has bent him over like a k’irk’ali, a
curved piece of wood, especially one fashioned as a rocker for a cradle.

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17. Iavnana (“Lullaby”). Sources: Ko 26; Go 79-81. Recited in the Kartlian village K’arbi by Ek’.
Bidzinashvili. Musical settings: GFS (two variants for women’s chorus, both in 3/8 meter); HGF #2
(solo and two-voice chorus, in 4/4 meter, accompanied by the panduri, a three-stringed lute). The
women’s vocal ensemble Mzetamze has recorded no fewer than ten variants of the Iavnana on their
first two CDs. In its basic form this lullaby comprised the melody, rhythmic pattern, refrain, and
certain of the verses; the rest was improvised on the spot. The two flowers, violet and rose,
frequently appear together in Georgian folk literature. In “The knight in the leopard’s skin” they are
symbols of happiness and fulfillment (sometimes opposed to the saffron, a sign of sorrow). Only
once are the two flowers mentioned with contrastive senses: ornive mikhvdet ts’adilsa, igi
vardobdes, shen ie “May you both attain your desire; may he [Tariel] be a rose and thou [Nestan-
Darejan] a violet” [VT 1267, Wardrop’s translation]. K’ot’et’ishvili notes that in a certain folk tale
[cited in Ko 324], the violet is associated with the “queen of the underworld,” and the rose with its
king. In both cases, the violet is linked with a woman and the rose with a man. The Western reader
would never imagine that this charming lullaby, with its sumptuous images of satin, gold, and rubies,
was addressed to the supernatural beings that the traditional Caucasians dreaded more than any
others. The word “lords” (bat’onebi) is a euphemism for those contagious diseases, measles and
smallpox, which until recently exacted a horrible toll of death and disfigurement among the children
of the Caucasus. As portrayed by the Svans of a century ago, “Smallpox and Measles are brothers.
They have a mother who lives atop a high cliff by the sea shore … In the center of their home stands
a pillar encrusted with human eyes. [The mother said:] ‘My child Smallpox brings all of the eyes he
has ruined, and we fasten them to this pillar.’” [HEE I, 147-148]. The “lords” strike where they will,
and can only be warded off by being persuading, in the most deferential terms, to leave. The
Ossetians, an Indo-Iranian people of the central Caucasus, would put on great month-long feasts to
appease the spirit of smallpox [MIE 48-60], and among the Georgians not so long ago the Iavnana
was sung as part of a ritual for curing sick children. A detailed description of this practice is given in
the story Bat’onebma ar daits’unes, “The lords were not displeased,” by the 19th-century writer
Anastasia Eristav-Khosht’aria, from which I quote this excerpt: “A chair covered with a red cloth
was placed before the sick children. On the cloth were little pastries, sweets, cloth scraps in various
colors, dolls, flags, red-dyed eggs, and so forth. This was a banquet set for the lords. In a low voice
Melana recited the Iavnana to the children:

The violet and the rose, nana,


O violet, naninao,
O you lords, o you merciful ones,
O violet, naninao,
I pluck a violet, I spread out a rose,
O violet, naninao,
Bring relief to our little ones,
O violet, naninao!

“Melana rose to her feet and circled around them, dancing and waving her hands (khelebis k’vants’it
chamouara):

The lords are out in the garden,


O violet, naninao,
A white mulberry is bearing fruit,
O violet, naninao,
I was in a grove of trees,
O violet, naninao,
The aspen tree wrapped around an aspen,
O violet, naninao,
We came here from the white sea
O violet, naninao,
Seven brothers and seven sisters,

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O violet, naninao!
You spread out to seven towns,
O violet, naninao,
We’ll pitch our tents in seven towns,
O violet, naninao,
As your arrival has made us glad
May your parting do likewise,
Nana, nana, to the lords,
O violet, naninao!

“Melana finished dancing, sat down by the children and said: ‘Lords, may the path before you bring
happiness, and in the same measure may you bring relief to my little Ila, Pepa, and Daro, do not
deprive them of comfort!’” [cited in Ko 326-327; my translation]. K’ot’et’ishvili draws a parallel
between the “seven lordly brothers and sisters” of the Iavnana and the “seven evil spirits” which, in
ancient Babylonian belief, brought illness and other misfortunes [Ko 325-326; cp. Volkert Haas,
Magie und Mythen in Babylonien: von Dämonen, Hexen und Beschwörungspriestern (Lüneburg:
Merlin, 1986), pp. 133-138]. The departure of the seven brothers and sisters would be interpreted as
the hoped-for departure of the cause of illness.

18. Iambe, tsikhis nashalo (“Speak, o fortress ruins”). Sources: Ko 100; Go 106-7. Recorded in
Khevsureti by Tamar Mach’avariani. Another Khevsur variant was collected by Tedoradze (FY
201). The variant in PKh 74-75, recorded in 1931 in the village Biso, is essentially identical for the
first 18 lines. The description of battle that follows, however, contains no mention of the tree-felling
incident. The fortress in the title is believed to have stood in the village Barisakho, along the Aragvi
River in southern Khevsureti. Alongside it, according to legend, stood a tree of special significance.
The text given here specifies a cypress (alvis-khe), often employed in poetry as a symbol of beauty.
Other versions mention an oak tree, by means of which the highly elliptical account of Alshaureli
and the cat can be linked with the tale of the cutting down of an ancient sacred oak (bermukha),
variants of which have been collected throughout the mountainous districts of northeast Georgia
[DGF I, 74]. The best-known and best-studied version is that of the sacred oak of Qhmelgora, in
Pshavi [see M. Chikovani “Demetres ts’minda mukha” (Demetrius’ sacred oak) in QGG 47-50 and
the discussion in SR 659-678]. The story of the oak of Qhmelgora associates elements of Georgian
mythology with the history of the Georgian nobleman Zurab Eristavi [1591-1629; eristavi is a title
roughly corresponding to “Duke”]. Zurab led an army into the mountainous region along the Aragvi
River north of Tbilisi, in an attempt to subjugate the local population, which has rarely submitted to
the rule of lowland authorities. The desperate skirmishes fought by the mountaineers against Zurab’s
army have provided material for an enormous number of Pshavian and Khevsur poems. The oak tree
of Qhmelgora was consecrated to the deity Lashari, an important figure in the pre-Christian
Georgian pantheon (more about him in the notes to poem #55). It was linked to heaven by a golden
chain, upon which its guardian spirit moved up and down. As long as the oak stood, the shrine of
Lashari and the community of mountaineers in the vicinity remained invincible. Zurab’s invasion
was stymied outside of Qhmelgora, until a local villager betrayed the secret of the sacred oak. It
could be chopped down only if one killed a cat and spilled its blood on the tree. (Cats and dogs were
regarded as unclean by the Pshavs and Khevsurs; threatening to sacrifice the blood of a cat or dog
over the graves of an enemy’s ancestors is an extremely serious threat [CD 55]). To avoid pollution
by the cat’s blood, the golden chain retracted upward to heaven, the now-defenseless oak was cut
down, and the Pshavians were defeated in battle .

19. Vazhk’atsis sik’vdili (“A man’s death”). Sources: Ko 292; Go 78. Recorded in the Tianetian village
Didi Toneti by V. Ghonghadze. The Georgians had no equivalent of Valhalla with which to reward
their slain warriors. The dead, with some exceptions, dined together in the “land of souls,” usually
described as a dreary shadow-world (see poem #36 and the accompanying notes). In the following
excerpt from a ballad collected in the mountains north of Tbilisi in 1913 [GMD 167], those

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mourning the deceased hero Jabana are comforted with the thought that a bit of sunlight will follow
him to the banquet in the underworld:

His womenfolk were weeping, their faces bathed in tears.


Do not weep for him, womenfolk: Jabana will not fare badly.
Jabana went down to the land of souls, a ray of sunshine followed him;
There he found the feasting-table spread with food and wine.

20. Bzha dia chkimi (“The sun is my mother”). Source: MP 81. Recorded in Mingrelia by K’.
Tatarishvili, ca. 1910. Note that, pace Francis of Assisi and his “Brother Sun and Sister Moon”,
Georgian folklore identifies the sun as female and the moon as male. The pattern recurs in poem
#32, “The woman Khwaramze.”

21. Aguna (“Aguna”). Source: MP 113. Recorded in Ach’ara by T. Sakhok’ia in 1898. Aguna is the
Georgian Bacchus, the deity of viticulture. His cult is observed throughout the grape-growing
regions of West Georgia. This poem is to be recited in the vineyards or wine cellar on the first or
second day of the new year. The accompanying rituals vary from one locality to another. In Guria,
the family’s first guest of the year brings bread and the head of the pig served at the New Year’s
dinner out to the vineyard. While striking the pig’s head with a stick, he intones the poem to Aguna
[DGF I, 22]. In the province of Lechkhumi, the elder of the household calls on Aguna while pouring
wine onto the base of a grapevine [MP 265]. Bakhvi and Ask’ana (second line) are neighboring
villages in southern Guria, near the province of Achara .

22. Tamar dedopal viq’av (“I was Tamar the Queen”). Sources: Ko 144; Go 135. Variants: Ko 257-
258; PKh 61, RFl 259-267. Songs and legends about Tamar, who ruled from 1184-1218, abound in
all parts of Georgia. It is not difficult to understand why. The reign of the woman the chroniclers
called Tamar Mepe (“Tamar the King”) saw the culmination of her nation’s Golden Era. The
Georgian crown exercised authority over a territory reaching from Samsun to Baku and south to the
Araks River, including much of the North Caucasus, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Turkey. Tamar’s
subjects may have numbered ten million or more. “The knight in the leopard’s skin,” considered by
Georgians to be the finest work ever written in their language, was composed in her honor. Within
two decades after Tamar’s death, Mongol armies were sweeping through eastern Georgia, and so
began a long period of decline and foreign occupation, leading up to the annexation of Georgia by
the Russian Empire in 1801. While the exploits of Tamar the King, coupled with an understandable
nostalgia for the cultural and political glories of her time, are sufficient to guarantee her a special
place in the hearts of her people, there is another factor as well. The Tamar of folklore has the
attributes of a deity, probably the result of an amalgamation of the historical Tamar and a pre-
Christian celestial goddess [see SR 679-700]. The poem is in the form of an epitaph, in which the
deceased monarch summarizes her achievements (no actual epitaph has come down to us, and
Tamar’s grave has never been found). In addition to collecting tribute from human cities, she is
credited with the conquest of the “Kajes,” a race of demons with magical powers frequently
mentioned in Georgian folklore. Tamar is believed to have ordered the building of churches and
castles throughout Georgia, and in every part of the country stand ancient edifices which, according
to the local population, were built at her command. Many of these shrines and towers are located
atop steep ridges. According to an account recorded in the province of Kartli, “at Tamar’s command
the swallows brought sand and the cranes brought stones, and in this way she erected churches,
monasteries, and fortresses on inaccessible mountains and cliffs” [Ko 375]. Numerous variants of
this “epitaph” have been collected throughout Georgia [see RFl 259-267]. In some, Tamar is credited
with the construction of particular churches (for example, the cathedrals of Ubisi and Manglisi,
which in fact were built long before her time), and the list of cities she is said to have subjugated
varies somewhat. Almost all versions mention her placing of boundary markers in the sea and
drawing the dry land toward her (placing the land and sea under her dominion), and conclude with
the lines “I, who accomplished such deeds, took nought but a nine-yard cloth” [that is, I took nothing
nothing with me into the grave save my burial shroud]. Two versions specify that she drew her last

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breath at Vardzia, a city built into the cliff overlooking the Mt’k’vari (Kura) River near the Turkish
border.

23. Omi gumbrzed (“The Battle of Gumbri”). Source: ShKh 178-179; Go 114-115. Recited by Nadira
Arabuli in the Khevsur village Chirdili in 1911. The fortress of Gumbri is in central-southern
Georgia. According to Shanidze, the battle described here took place during the Russo-Turkish wars
of 1877-78. The expression “Cross of Blood” (siskhlis jvari) refers to an honorable death in battle.

24. Oy Jgëræg-ieha, loygwi-i-she-e-da (“Oy Jgëræg, stand by us”). Source: SvP 312. Svanetian hymn
recorded by Ak’ak’i Shanidze in 1932. The use of nonsense syllables is rather common in Georgian
songs, especially in refrains (rather like the fa-la-la-la ’s and hey-diddle-diddle ’s of English folk
tunes). In the province of Svaneti, where the style of singing and the harmonic structure of the songs
are markedly different from what is found elsewhere in Georgia, a number of hymns, laments, and
dance tunes have “texts” that are largely or entirely uninterpretable. There are, in fact, two types of
such texts. In the first type, of which this song is a typical case, a small number of simple, open
syllables is employed (other examples in SvP 266-7). For a song of the second type, see #25.

25. Ak’alæ-æd, mak’alæ-æd ([Svanetian nonsense song]). Source: SvP 356. Recited by Khabji
Chkhet’iani in the Upper Svan village of Lenjer, ca. 1939. As can be easily seen, the nonsense
syllables in this song have a more complex phonological structure, resembling actual words. Mixed
in with the completely uninterpretable sounds are Svan sentences and phrases (for example
tsæ:nisha dæshwd “the bear of Tsena,” from a humorous song about the misadventures of a bear
wandering from one Svanetian village to another). There are also a few classical Georgian words
(k’iri k’irsa, ch’iri ch’irsa “lime on (to?) lime, want on want”). More-or-less mangled fragments of
classical Georgian, the language of the Orthodox liturgy, are particularly common in Svanetian
prayers and spells. Nonsense lyrics of differing degrees of wordlikeness have also been noted in the
songs of the Havasupai Indians of the southwestern United States; see Leanne Hinton Havasupai
song [Tubingen: Gunter Narr, 1982] .

26. Ochop’int’ra (“Ochopintra”). Source: MP 107-8. Recited by G. Lobzhanidze in the Rachan village
Ghebi. Georgian hunters traditionally believed that the wild animals they killed for food and fur
were under the protection of a divinity, who insured that only those hunters who maintained
themselves in a state of rectitude and observed the taboos would be allowed to take their prey. The
Svans, as we have seen, represented their deity of the hunt as a woman (Dali). By contrast,
Georgians of the eastern provinces (Khevsureti, Kakheti) and of the upland districts of Racha
invoked a male figure, Ochopintra, for success in hunting [see MP 247-8]. Interestingly, the
Circassians of the North Caucasus are likewise of divided opinion concerning the gender of their
hunter deity, Mezythe: S/he is female for the East Circassian Kabardians, but male for the West
Circassians [GOM 43, 108-9; PC 171 note 1]. Before setting out, the mountaineer hunter will ask
Ochopintra to spare an ibex from his herd. If he succeeds in killing one, he pauses to give thanks to
the deity. If the hunter should kill too many animals, however, he risks incurring Ochopintra’s wrath.
(Dali likewise was believed to punish those who overkilled).

27. Gonja modga k’arebsao (“Gonja came to the door”). Source: MP 111. The poem was recorded by
N. Bregadze in the Rachan village Ts’edisi in 1964. A variant is sung by the ensemble Mzetamze on
their first CD. The figure of Gonja was invoked during times of drought in western Georgia (Imereti,
Lechkhumi, Racha). The poem was chanted while a ritual such as the following, which was observed
in Lower Racha, took place: A group of young men from the village chose one of their number to
play the part of “Gonja.” This man stripped down to the waist, and was smeared with lampblack.
Holding a long, thorny branch in his hand, he and his companions went from door to door, singing
this song [MP 259]. The eastern Georgian equivalent is called “Lazaroba,” during which young
women go about the village barefoot and call upon a personage named “Lazare” to bring rain [DGF
I, 224-5].

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28. Tsangala da gogona (“The mandolin and the girl”). Sources: Ko 85; Go 159. The poem was recited
by M. Biminashvili in the Kartlian village K’arbi. Musical setting: GFS (Kakhetian; three-voice
chorus, in 2/4 meter). The tsangala is a plucked stringed instrument, similar to the Georgian
chonguri, a type of four-stringed lute. In the song, the tsangala itself is represented as speaking,
complaining about ill treatment and being blamed when a dancer makes a mistake .

29. Vazhis nat’vra (“A young man’s wish”). Sources: Ko 136; Go 157. Recorded by T. Razik’ashvili in
the province of Kartli. Variants: LP 70-1, 216-17.

30. Me var Qhel-Samdzimari (“I am Qhel-Samdzimari”). Source: MP 105, 107. The first section was
recited by Jukha Gogoch’uri in the Khevsur village Buchuk’urta in 1964; the second part was
recorded by T. Ochiauri in the Khevsur village Shat’ili. Qhel-Samdzimari (or simply Samdzimari,
Samdzivari) was one of three women said to have been brought back by the deity St. George after
his military expedition in Kajeti, a land inhabited by metal-working demons with wondrous powers.
Her name derives from the beads and bangles (mdzivi) with which she adorns herself. Among her
magical powers is the capability of changing her shape, so that she appears to mortals in the guise of
a human female. While sojourning upon the earth, she becomes the object of desire of various
semilegendary priests and oracles. Their cohabitation with the deity Samdzimari symbolizes their
powers of communication with the gods [SR 570]. The Khevsur Kholiga Abuletauri, according to
one account, was not given permission to marry by the powerful deity Qhaqhmat’i. He was to live as
a monk (beri) in the service of Qhaqhmat’i’s shrine. One day, Samdzimari came to Kholiga at the
shrine in human form, and consented to live with him as his wife [MP 246-7]. Her divine nature was
not discovered until one day her mother-in-law saw her magically fashioning a golden ring in a pot
of molten butter. Samdzimari then resumed her true form and flew off [SR 569, 577]. Khevsur
hunters have been known to invoke Samdzimari’s name in praying for luck in hunting, and, if
successful, to offer the horns of a deer or ibex at her shrine in gratitude. This fact, combined with the
legends concerning Samdzimari’s amorous affairs with mortals, has led the folklorist M. Chikovani
to consider her, and not Ochopintra (poem #26), the original northeast Georgian counterpart to the
Svanetian goddess Dali [MP pp 243-8]. According to the poem she gathers ch’ima, the name of a
local variety of chervil [Chaerophyllum caucasicum] and lakht’ara, an herb similar to wood sorrel
(GMD 349). Charachidzé notes that the Khevsurs prepare an “extremely nourishing” dish from the
leaves of the ch’ima, which only women are allowed to eat [SR 579-80, 613-14] .

31. Adgilis-dedao (“Place-mother”). Source: MP #103, p 140. Recorded by A. Ch’inch’arauli in


Khevsureti in 1939. In traditional times the Georgians believed, in the words of the poet and
ethnographer Vazha-Pshavela, “that each place — mountain, hill, ravine — has a mother, which they
call the ‘place-mother.’ A hunter camping in the mountains or in a ravine will commend himself to
the local place-mother: ‘Mother of this place, I entrust myself to you; grant me your favor and
bounty.’” (Collected works vol V, p. 11). The cult of the place-mother has been closely associated
with that of the Virgin Mary (note that the place-mother is addressed as “mother of God” in our
poem). One common feature of rituals in honor of either the place-mother or Mary is the offering,
typically in springtime, of small cakes, and the smearing of butter on the shrine, a small tower of
stones. The participants in the ritual are women and children. The place-mother is asked to provide
bounty to the household, especially in dairy products and grains (MP 352-3; DGF I, 23; Natia
Jalabadze “Adgilis dedastan dak’avshirebuli zogierti rit’ualis shesakheb” [Concerning some rituals
associated with the Place-mother] Ist’oriul-Etnograpiuli Sht’udiebi II, 1985). The place-mother may
also function as a portent of doom, as in the following quatrain [cited in ShKh 569] entitled Adgilis-
deda chioda (“The place-mother moaned”):

The place-mother moaned,


The village elder’s dying,
Do not kill him, Lord Creator,
We too will be ruined.

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32. Kali khwaramze (“The woman Khwaramze”). Sources: Go 17-18; Ko 69-70; variant in PKh 87-88.
Recorded in Pshavi by Tedo Razik’ashvili. The word khwaramze appears to be a compound of the
Persian and Georgian words for “sun” (Persian hwara + Georgian mze), and indeed this poem can be
linked with the Mzekala (“Sun-woman”) cycle of Georgian mythological texts. K’ot’et’ishvili offers
the following interpretation: Khwaramze is the rising sun. The “foolish young man” is her consort,
the moon. (Although this identification is not always strictly maintained, in Georgian folklore the
sun is female, and the moon male). The moon takes a sword to his own head, and so he usually
appears in the sky with less than a full head. A Lithuanian legend noted by K’ot’et’ishvili contains a
similar account: Husband Moon cheats on his wife, the Sun, and makes love to Aushrine, the
Morning Star. On finding this out the Sun unsheathes her sword and splits her husband’s head in
twain [Ko 357-358]. Khwaramze saddles her horse and rides off. For this mighty steed, “the roads of
Trialeti (the southern part of Kartli, west of Tbilisi) are not enough to run on, the great Algeti
mountains (just west of Tbilisi) are not enough to graze on,” etc. The horse also has a phenomenal
thirst. Not satisfied with the Alazani (the major river in eastern Kakheti) and Kura (Georgian
Mt’k’vari, the chief river of northern Transcaucasia), it drank up the “Gumbri waters” (presumably
one of several lakes near the Georgian-Armenian border) until the cinch binding its saddle burst. We
note, first of all, that Sun-woman is frequently accompanied by a horse of prodigious abilities. A
good example is the horse Mzevarda, “Sun-rose,” in the folk tale “Mzekala and Mzevarda” [GNS
331-338]. Among other things, this remarkable animal can talk, hunt, build a shelter, and traverse
large distances in the wink of an eye to save its mistress, Sun-woman, from harm. As for the horse’s
thirst, this may be the remnant of a just-so story accounting for the drying up of creeks and ponds
during hot sunny weather.

33. Monadire zovis kvesh (“A hunter trapped under a snowslide”). Source: PKh 139. Narrated by
Ch’reli K’och’lishvili in 1945 in the Pshavian village Udzilaurta. Variants in GMD 129, 162.
Avalanches are by no means a rare occurrence in the Caucasus mountains. As recently as the winter
of 1986-87, several entire villages in the province of Svaneti were destroyed by snowslides, and
dozens of people lost their lives. In this poem, a hunter manages to survive beneath the snow, using
his bow for firewood, and eating a bear “skin and all.” As one would expect of people engaged in an
activity where luck plays an important role, Georgian hunters were extremely superstitious. In eating
the bear whole, our hunter would have violated any of a number of rules governing the skinning and
cutting-up of the corpse, the offering of certain portions to the deity who “allowed” the hunter’s
arrow to hit the mark, etc. The consequences could be anything from poor luck in hunting to death
(see the notes to #56, “Betgil”). One also notes some correspondences with the legend of the hunter
Ivane of Kvartsikhe, who was stranded on a mountain. To avoid starvation, he makes a fire with his
bow and arrows, and roasts his faithful dog Q’ursha, after which he exclaims “This is why I have
been cursed” [PC 146-147]. Three months later the snow melts, freeing the hunter from his icy
prison. But in his village, everyone assumes he has died. His own mother does not recognize him,
and his wife is getting married to someone else. The black humor in these lines can be better
understood by comparing them to what was said above (notes to poem #15) about the special quality
of a mother’s love for her children. Compare also poems #7 and #56, in which the doomed
protagonists specifically request that their wives not remarry too soon, presumably so that they will
be available to mourn and offer sacrifices for the well-being of their late husbands’ souls in the
afterlife. On discovering just how little impact his “death” has had on his loved ones, our poor hunter
decides that maybe saikio (literally, “the place over there”) would not be so bad after all. At least he
can get drunk over there (this may be an oblique reference to the libations of wine offered to the
souls of departed relatives at Georgian feasts).

34. Mzeo, mzeo, amodi (“Sun, sun, come up”). Source: MP 79. Recorded by P’. Umik’ashvili in
Imereti, ca. 1900. This song was performed (sometimes accompanied by round-dancing) in the cold
days of early spring, when the sun is hidden behind clouds. In some variants a goat is offered instead
of a sheep [MP 168-69] .

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35. Mze shina da mze gareta (“Sun inside and sun outside”). Source: MP 80-81. Recorded by Sev.
Gachechiladze in Imereti. Musical setting: MFS #43 (monophonic lullaby, in 6/8 meter). This is one
of the best known Georgian folksongs, and numerous versions have been collected and published
[notes and variants in MP 170-6]. Most variants, unlike the one printed in this anthology, celebrate
the birth of a male child:

Sun inside and sun outside, O Sun come on inside!


The rooster has already crowed, O Sun come on inside!
Rise if you will rise at all, “ “
The sun lay down and bore the moon, “ “
A baby boy has been born to us, “ “
Our enemy thinks it is a girl, “ “
The boy’s father is not at home, “ “
He has gone to town to get a cradle, “ “
etc. etc. [Ko 25-6]

In Chikovani’s opinion [MP 171-2; see also DGF II, 25], this poem was originally a hymn to the
sun-goddess, later reworked as either a lullaby or a spinning song, as in the version given here .

36. Suletis leksi (“The land of souls”). Source: Ko 289-90; variant in MT 189-90. Recited by S.
Tsisk’arashvili in the Tushetian village Alaznis Tavi. The traditional Georgian belief concerning the
afterlife is not greatly different from that of the Greeks of Homer’s time. Suleti, “the land of souls,”
is a dank, cheerless place, illuminated by a dim light, similar to the last rays of the sun at dusk, called
“the sun of the dead” (mk’wdris mze). Entering souls must pass over a giant cauldron of boiling
water on a tightrope made of hair. The souls of sinful persons are heavier, and thus more likely to
fall into the cauldron [CD 58-62; DGF 94; note the similarity to the Chinwad bridge of ancient
Iranian religion, which widens or narrows depending on the sinfulness of the soul entering the
afterlife]. The souls of the deceased retain many of the characteristics they had at the time of death
(age and infirmity, for example), but at the same time are shadows of their former selves. They
speak, if at all, very softly. A large banquet is spread before them, but they do not actually eat the
food, merely gaze at it. Nonetheless food and drink are essential for the souls’ well-being, and it can
be supplied only through sacrifices and libations made by their living relatives. Souls that are not
provided for in this way cannot participate in the banquet, and must “sit with their backs toward the
table.”

37. Mirangula (“Mirangula”). Source: SvP 6-13; variant in SbMat XVIII. Narrated by Giorgi Kharziani
in 1927 in the Upper Svan village K’ala. Transcribed by V. Topuria. Musical setting: HGF #34
(three-voice male chorus accompanied by the harp (changi) and viol (ch’uniri), in 4/4 meter).
Mirangula has been kept by his mother in the defense tower (murq’wam) that adjoins almost every
Upper Svan homestead. The variant in SbMat states that he was keeping watch, while the later text
in SvP says that his mother “spoiled” him (naunkholosh khordæs) by making him stay there.
Whatever the case may be, Mirangula leaves the tower to go on a raid in Balkaria (in Svan,
Malq’ar), the province on the other (north) side of the main ridge of the Caucasus. He crosses the
pass on Machkhpar (“waterfall”) Mountain, which links Ushgul, the easternmost and uppermost
Svan village, with Balkaria. Mirangula kills a herdsman and captures his oxen. He is pursued by the
“Savs” (sævær), a Svan corruption of a word meaning “Ossetian,” but which is applied
indiscriminately to Balkarians and other North Caucasians. The North Caucasians are nominally
Muslims, and the Svans, like most other Georgians, are nominally Orthodox Christian. After he
shoots a party of men, a group of Sav women comes after him. Mirangula finds them offensive. In
the SbMat variant he terms them “unclean and unbelievers”; in the version translated here he
specifies that they do not wear the lachæk, the wimple-like headdress traditionally worn by Georgian
women, nor underwear (arshwil). This latter remark probably reflects the special fear male that
Caucasian mountaineers have of being “contaminated” by menstrual blood [ONS 140]. A certain
Sav named Vezden heads off Mirangula at the pass and guns him down (literally, “rolls him over”

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with a bullet). The code of blood-price and vendetta was very much alive in Svaneti until recent
times, and the dying Mirangula’s principal fear is that his death will be unavenged. He prays to God
for one last shot, his wish is granted, and he kills Vezden. In his final speech Mirangula totals up the
score, and — satisfied that he came out ahead — breathes his last. The episode ends with a macabre
description of the uses to which his corpse will be put by various animals. At this point the scene
returns to Balkaria, where some Ushgulian “priests” (bap’ær) have been taken captive. The SbMat
variant states that the Savs shaved the priests’ beards off and forced them to eat k’erjin, Balkarian
sourdough bread. This is regarded as a serious outrage: the wearing of a beard is a sign of the
priesthood, and k’erjin is seen as an infidel substitute for sepsk’wer, the “communion bread”
consumed in Svan rituals. The SvP (but not SbMat) text further mentions the humiliation of
Ushgulian wives by having their underwear stripped off. The priests escape their captors and head
back to Georgia. At the pass they find Mirangula’s body, and also the nine oxen he stole. They lead
the animals to Ushgul to be offered at a lukhor. This word literally means “gathering,” that is, a
meeting of the clan elders. The SbMat text specifies that a funeral feast (lagwæn) is held. The older
version further states that invitations are sent “as far as Chubeqhev,” that is, representatives from all
of Upper Svaneti attend the feast. To further mark the occasion, “wheat from Jerusalem” is used to
make the sepsk’wer, and wine is brought from the Black Sea coast. (Because of the high altitude,
grapes do not grow in most of Upper Svaneti). The wheat is processed at three sites in the vicinity of
Ushgul, mentioned in both versions of the poem. Twetnuld is a 5000-meter peak near the border
with Balkaria; At’k’wer is an alpine pasture, and the mountain named Mushur is part of the ridge
separating Upper and Lower Svaneti (information from Ambak’o Ch’k’adua, Svanur t’op’onimta
saleksik’ono masala [ms.]). In addition, God (in the SbMat variant, St. George of Ilor) sends an ox
adorned with candles and incense as an offering. The image of an ox sent by a divinity for sacrifice
recalls an incident which is reported to have occurred annually on the feastday of of St. George at
the celebrated shrine in his name at Ilor (near the Black Sea coastal town of Ochamchira). The saint
was believed to lead an ox to the church at night, and miraculously leave it inside the locked church.
The next day, the priests opened the church doors and discovered the animal. It was then slaughtered
and pieces of its meat, believed to have curative powers, were distributed to the faithful (Sergi
Mak’alatia, Samegrelos ist’oria da etnograpia. Tbilisi: Sakartvelos mxaretmcodneobis sazogadoeba,
1941, pp. 354-358.) Both versions have the same rather odd conclusion: The priests are gathered in
the darbæz, the upper floor of a Svanetian house, and the floor collapses under them. According to
the SbMat text, “many men were injured.” The lukhor breaks up, and thus it ends. It is not known
whether this account is based on an actual incident, or serves as a hyperbolic means of indicating the
large number of people who attended the funeral. The deity periodically invoked in the poem is
Lamrya Ushgwlæsh “(St.) Lamaria of Ushgul.” The name is ultimately derived from Mary, the
mother of Jesus. The shrine dedicated in her name — an ancient stone church encircled by a wall —
is located outside of Zhibiani, one of the four hamlets within the Ushgul community.

38. Dideb, dideb tarigdzelas (“Glory to the Archangel”). Source: SvP 316-317; variant in SbMat
XXXI:4, pp 4-7. Recorded by Arsen Oniani in 1917 in the Lower Svan province of Lashkheti.
Tarigdzela (variants include Tærglezer, Taaringzel) is the Svanified rendering of medieval Georgian
Mtavarangelozi, “Archangel.” In the religious system of 19th-century Svaneti, the Archangel was
one of the four chief deities, along with Khosha Gherbet, “Supreme God”; Jgëræg, “St. George”;
and Lamaria. According to Charachidzé, he “functions as ‘grand vizier’ to the supreme god,
exercising authority in his name, representing the power of the ‘celestial sovereign’ in the terrestial
realm” [SR 286]. As is characteristic of pre-Christian Georgian hymns, praise is addressed to both
the deity and the shrine dedicated to him. It is not clear which shrine inspired this poem, since there
are so many (two dozen in Upper Svaneti alone) that bear the Archangel’s name. In any event, the
description is probably not greatly exaggerated. First, quite a few Svanetian churches, like the one in
the poem, are adjoined to a defense tower and surrounded by a stone wall. Second, no visitor to
Svaneti can help being awestruck by the stunning collection of gold and silver artifacts, crosses,
illuminated manuscripts, and icons that some churches have accumulated over the centuries. For the
most part, these items were presented to the shrine, and hence the deity, by individuals who sought
or had received some favor, or to appease the deity if — in the opinion of a seer — some disaster

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which had befallen them was an expression of divine wrath. Besides gifts of precious metals,
Georgian shrines received animal sacrifices. Two different types of sacrificed animal are mentioned
in the hymn to the Archangel: wild and domestic. Should a hunter kill an ibex or other important
prey, he would give thanks to the gods for delivering the animal to him and sacrifice its horns to the
shrine. Domestic animals (oxen, sheep, goats) were slaughtered in the shrine precincts, and a portion
of their meat presented to the deity. The variant of this hymn in SbMat specifies that the sacrificed
oxen were uskhway. This means that they were specially fattened by their owners and never used for
farm work. These pampered animals were slaughtered on special occasions. The text of the hymn to
the Archangel is closely related to that of the well-known Svanetian liturgical song Lile. Lile (the
meaning of this word or name is no longer known) is believed by some to have been a hymn to the
sun, which was later redone as, or combined with, an invocation of the Archangel (MP 177-183).
Because of this hymn’s importance in the field of Georgian folklore studies, I will give here a
translation of the complete text of a version of Lile collected by A. Shanidze in the Upper Svan
village of Tskhumar in 1923:

Oi, Lile, You are filled with glory, oi, Lile!


Oi, Lile, Glory, glory, O Archangel, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, We are praying for our welfare, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, May his power stand beside us, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, You have offerings inside (your shrine), oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, You have offerings of oxen, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, They have horns bedecked with gold, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, You have offerings of rams, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, They have long and twisted horns, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, On every ridge they paw and bellow, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, Deer are lying at your base, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, Your embrasures ringed with falcons, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, A golden ring-wall lies around you, oi, Lile!
Oi, Lile, A flawless house was built for you, oi, Lile!

39. Survili (“Wish”). Source: PKh 192. Recited by M. Gusharashvili in 1937 in the Pshavian village
Tvalivi. Variants in OL 44 #63; GMD 243. This is a poem about unrequited love, dammed up within
the singer like a lake, as deep as the crimson snake is long. There is, alas, no outlet: the young
woman does not — or will not — acknowledge his love. The intense image of a lake of blood
(siskhlis t’ba) does occur elsewhere in Georgian folklore. The warrior-hero Amirani and, in a quite
different context, the deity Iaqhsar are nearly drowned in blood after slaughtering a family of ogres.
Charachidzé [PC 43-46] sees in these accounts the echoes of a ritual purification, part of the
initiation of a shaman or warrior. Whether anything in the wistful love poem presented here can be
explained in the light of Charachidzé’s findings is a question best left for future research .

40. Aleksi Bidzashvili (“Cousin Aleksi”). Source: PKh 187-188. Recited by Giorgi Mart’iashvili in
1942 in the Pshavian village Gudarakhi.

41. Sheq’varebulis guli (“A lover’s heart”). Source: PKh 192-193. Recited by G. Ts’ik’lauri in 1941 in
the village Ingeti. The term “rye-colored boy” (vazhk’atso svilis perao) does not sound as silly in
Georgian as in English. It denotes a light-brown, sun-tanned complexion .

42. T’ilebis korts’ili (“The wedding party of the lice”). Sources: GMD 140, 247; Ko 214. The poem as
presented here is an amalgam of two closely related versions: one recited by Giorgi Dadalauri and
Memtskhware Archemashvili in the Pshavian village Magharosk’ari in 1913, and the other by M.
Ogaidze in the province of Tianeti.

43. T’rpiali (“Love”). Source: PKh 200; variant Ko 216-7. Recited in 1936 in the Pshavian village
Shuapkho by Elisbar Elisbarashvili. It is probably the case that the “old ways” against which the

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speaker in this poem rebels are those forbidding a man to marry his “sister-spouse.” Since he cannot
remain with his beloved while alive, he hopes to be united with her in a quite literal sense in the
grave (see the notes on ts’ats’loba in the Introduction, and poem #59) .

44. Ra bevri mit’irebia (“How long I have been weeping”). Sources: LP 97-98, Ko 219-220. Recited
by Babale Mindodauri in Pshavi. The object of the intense young woman’s love appears to be a
fugitive, who has fled the village after killing a man for what he (and she) believe to be a just reason.
He has taken refuge in the woods. The woman does not where he is, and has presumably given the
message expressed in the poem to one of his companions. In addition to giving her Christian name,
Tamar, she mentions her tik’uni (translated here as “nickname”), an additional name used by family
members and close friends (see Sh. Apridonidze “Das System der georgischen Personennamen”
Georgica #7 [1984], pp. 21-26).

45. Chari-rama (“Chari-rama”). Source: Ko 249-250. Collected by Al. Mirakashvili in Guria (Sak.
Mus. #1924). Makhorka is a Russian word for cheap, poor-quality tobacco.

46. Gasatkhovari kali var (“I am an unmarried woman”). Source: Ko 253. Recited by Duduna Geladze
in the Gurian village Ozurgeti.

47. Sapeikro: jarav, jarav, bzio (Spinning song: “Spinning wheel, bzio”). Source: Ko 194. Recited by
L. Okrop’iridze in the Kartlian village Disevi.
Georgian spinning songs, such as the two given here, typically contain nonsense syllables (bzio,
chari-rama). The rhythm pattern of the first song is 6+6+8+6, the same as that of the Mingrelian
poem “The sun is my mother” (#20). The phrase “shirt to be” is an attempt to render the force of the
derived word sa=p’erang=e “material to be made into a shirt.”

48. Sapeikro: araru darejanasa (Spinning song: “Araru, Darejan”). Source: Ko 194. Recited by L.
Okrop’iridze in the Kartlian village Disevi.

49. Melekhishe si reki (“There you are on the other side”). Source: LP 142 #593. Recited by Agr.
Tsomaia-Iosava in the Mingrelian village Tskhak’aia in 1965. The theme of lovers separated by a
river has also been treated in a celebrated poem by Vazha-Pshavela [1860-1911] entitled Gamoghmit
me var, gaghma shen (“I am on this side, you’re on that side”). The first stanza reads:

I am on this side, you’re on that side,


A river runs between us;
We have no bridge over the water,
Impatient thoughts are killing us.
I want to kiss you, and you to kiss me,
I see you smiling over there;
But there’s no way I can cross over
This damned river.

50. Ana, bana, gana, dona (“Ana, bana, gana, dona”). Source: LP 120 #420. Recorded by Giorgi
Natadze, ca. 1940 (site not noted). “Ana, bana, gana,” and so on, are the names of the letters in the
Georgian alphabet. Many poems of this type, termed anbant-keba (“praise of the alphabet”), have
been used throughout Georgia to help children learn their letters [DGF I, 41].

51. Net’avi ratme maktsia (“May I turn into something”). Source: Ko 241; notes pp. 397-9. Recited by
M. L. Bidzinashvili in the Kartlian village K’arbi. Variant in OL 38 #20 .

52. Tvali sheni (“Your eyes”). Source: Ko 253-4. Recited by Duduna Geladze in the Gurian village
Ozurgeti. The three villages used to estimate the worth of the beloved’s features — Chonchkhati,
Lesa and Ozurgeti — are located in the province of Guria .

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53-58. Round dance songs. The round dance (Georgian perqhisa or perkhuli) is an integral element in
traditional religious celebrations. In Charachidzé’s analysis [SR 703ff], one of the fundamental
oppositions in traditional Georgian cosmology is that between continuity and discontinuity. Human
society, woven together by kinship relations, is thought of as coherent, cut from whole cloth, and as
such is opposed to the world of nature, which is filled with discrete entities not linked by any
comparable system. This distinction between society and nature is reflected in the symbols
associated with them in Georgian culture. The perkhuli, the most solemn of Georgian dances,
performed by an unbroken ring of dancers linked arm to arm, can be seen as a symbolic
representation of the continuity underlying Georgian pagan society [SR 710-2].

53. Tvalzhuzhuna kalo (“Bright-eyed woman”). Source: LP 366-368. Recited by Eprosine Bak’uradze
and Tek’le Giorgashvili in the Upper Rachan village Glola in 1960. Variants in LP 354-370, Ko 65-
66. Variants of this poem, also known as Maghlidan gadmomdgariq’o (“She had come down from
above”), have been recorded in almost every Georgian province. In the lowland regions it is
performed as a choral song, or by an individual singer accompanied by the panduri. The version
given here is believed to represent its most ancient form: a round dance performed by women.
According to informants from Upper Racha, the dance was performed in February, at the conclusion
of the festival P’iriurts’q’oba. Throughout the day the villagers abstained from all food and drink. In
the evening, after breaking their fast, the women dressed up like men and the men like women. They
played games, had a snowball fight, and then the women went about the village dancing and singing
the Tvalzhuzhuna kalo. In performing the song, Eprosine Bak’uradze led off with the first four to six
syllables of each line, and was joined by Tek’le Giorgashvili. I have tried to convey something of
this manner of singing in the English translation.

54. Ia mtazeda (“Violet on the mountain”). Source: LP 146-147. Recited by M. Murjik’neli in the
Javakhetian village Baraleti in 1930. Variants in Ko 58, LP 341-349. Musical settings: GFS (two
versions in 3/8 meter: one monophonic, the other — “a women’s round dance song” — for solo with
three-voice choir); MFS #44 (monophonic, in 8/8 [2+3+3] meter). In the exogamous and virilocal
societies of the South Caucasus, a young woman traditionally left her village in order to marry. At
the same time, outsiders were regarded with a measure of suspicion, and consent to marriage was
only obtained from the woman’s parents after lengthy negotiations and the exchanges of gifts. One
way out of this predicament was marriage by abduction, and in fact this was once a common
occurrence in the Caucasus. In most cases, the “abduction” was agreed to in advance by both
families. Still, the form, if not the spirit, of the practice had to be observed, and a squad of the
groom’s friends (maq’rebi) were dispatched to the bride’s village to escort her to the church. Along
the way, the maq’rebi shouted and fired their rifles into the air, a vestige of their original function. In
the event of an actual hostile abduction, the male relatives of the captured bride were expected to
take up arms and fight to get her back. The killing of the newly-married young man by his father-in-
law in the poem harks back to this practice. But the bride, who no longer wants to be treated as her
father’s chattel, protests her predicament. The opening of the poem, I believe, tells the same story in
symbolic language. Evidence from other texts shows that the violet has female connotations, and the
rose is its masculine counterpart (see the notes to poem #17 above). The parents sow a violet (the
bride, their offspring), but a rose (the groom) appears. The male deer represents the bride’s father;
she implores him not to trample her beloved, the rose. The opening and middle sections of the poem
are bridged in a way that shows so well the special genius of folk literature. In killing a buck, the
bridegroom is symbolically killing the father-in-law. To the anonymous creators of this poem, he is
as much a party as the father-in-law is to the hostility that once accompanied the transfer of a woman
from one clan to another. Charachidzé has pointed out another factor that would exacerbate the
relation between bridegroom and father-in-law [PC 203]. Seen against the background of Georgian
mythology, the hunter — in particular, the hunter who pursues his vocation to excess — stands in
opposition to the principles of the settled agrarian life of the village, to wife, home, and hearth. In his
words “l’idéologie géorgienne conçoit le chasseur excessif comme un anti-gendre [emphasis mine
— KT] … La libre activité du prédateur absolu … implique la destruction du foyer et du mariage, la
vanité de tous les travaux quotidiens, la négation du groupe social tel qu’il est, dans sa structure et

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ses enterprises” [PC 203, 206]. Finally, in her discussion of “Violet on the mountain” and its
variants, Virsaladze offers the interpretation that — in the original form of the myth at least — the
father-in-law did not intentionally shoot the bridegroom. The guilty party is the goddess-protector of
wild beasts, who caused the father-in-law’s arrow to go astray and kill the young man, in revenge for
the buck the latter had just slain. In some variants the bereft bride washes the hunter’s body with
deer’s milk (egeb gavretskho irmis rdzitao), which is believed to be a means of counteracting Dali’s
power [GOM 174-180].

55. Perqhisa (“Round dance”). Source: PKh 62-63. Recited in 1925 by D. Gianashvili, in the Pshavian
village T’ushurebi. Variant in Ko 259-260. This poem and its accompanying dance are associated
with Lasharis jvari “Lashari’s Cross.” The name Lashari comes from the epithet for Tamar’s son
and successor Giorgi IV Lasha (1194-1223). In the religious system of the Georgian mountaineers
Lashari is the male counterpart of the deity which bears Tamar’s name (for an extensive discussion
of this topic see SR §8). Lashari’s shrine in the Pshav community of Qhmelgora is regarded as
especially powerful by the Georgian mountaineers. Unlike the other shrines, which pertain to
individual family groups, Lashari’s Cross presides over all of the twelve Pshavian clans. In
Charachidzé’s words “the sanctuary of Lashari, paired with that of Tamar nearby, is the political and
religious center of the entire Pshav territory” [SR 639]. Its major festival, called Lasharoba, not only
draws worshippers from all of the provinces of northeast Georgia, but even the nominally-Muslim
Kist’is will set aside their perpetual feuds with the Georgians in order to ask the protection of this
powerful deity [DGF I, 229]. The opening line attributes what follows to the mouth of “Lashari’s
Cross.” It may well be that this text originated in the words of a kadagi (oracle), who saw a
manifestation of Lashari in a vision. (Readers interested in Georgian oracular practice, reminiscent
of shamanism in some respects, will find a wealth of information in SR §2). There follows a
recounting of the tree-felling incident already discussed in the notes to poem #18 (“Speak, o fortress
ruins”). This version places particular emphasis on the vengeance exacted by the deity on a certain
Aptsiauri, who is said to have given away the secret of how to destroy the tree. Lashari “consumed”
the descendants of Aptsiauri, and the clan died out. (Some versions omit this section, and begin with
the lines “We gathered in God’s court”). In the second section of the poem, Dambadebuli, “the
Creator,” speaks. This personage is credited with the creation of the universe — land, seas, and sky
— and also is the progenitor of the deities known as the “offspring of God.” Among them we have
“three score and three St. Georges,” that is, sixty-three shrines of that name with their guardian
spirits. (Other mythological texts give the number as “three hundred three score and three,” so that
each day of the year a St. George is commemorated somewhere in Georgia). Tamar is also numbered
among the divine offspring. Some of the exploits recounted in poem #22 (“I was Tamar the Queen”)
are echoed here: placing boundary-markers in the sea, bringing the dry land under her rule. There is
a shrine dedicated to her (Tamar-Ghele) not far from Lashari’s Cross. In the final section Lashari’s
horse and army are mentioned. The term q’ma “vassal, serf, servant” here denotes the community —
specifically, its menfolk — who are said to be the “vassals” or “subjects” of their patron deity.
Pshavi itself is referred to as Lashari’s saq’mo, “fief.” Like a good feudal lord, Lashari will come to
the aid of a vassal who remains faithful to him .

56. Betgil (“Betgil”). Source: MP 95-97. Narrated by Tengiz Dadishkeliani in 1923 in the Upper Svan
village Becho. Transcribed by A. Shanidze. Variants in SbMat XXXI:4, pp 40-43; SvP 282-285, and
MP 209-227. The ballad of the Svan hunter variously known as Betkil, Betken, or Metki is in fact a
mythological poem, and it is sung while dancing the solemn round dance known as the samti
ch’ishkhæsh [GOM 113-14]. The text presents a number of problems, not only for the general reader
but for experts on Georgian folklore as well. Fortunately, in the first volume of his collection of
Georgian folk poetry Chikovani has published seven variants of the Betgil poem, and comparison
among them does much to clarify many obscure passages. I will walk the reader through the text,
and provide as succinctly as possible the information necessary to render the poem comprehensible.
Betgil (or Betkan) is one of several fabled Svan hunters who met an unhappy end in pursuit of his
livelihood (for a selection of poems on this theme, see MP 195-243). We have already encountered
Mepsay, who was killed by his own bullet after he refused to share the bed of the hunter-deity Dali

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(poem #3). Another hunter, Chorla, was punished for killing too many game animals [SvP 288-296].
The cause of Betgil’s demise will be discussed presently.
SCENE I. The villagers of Mulakh and Muzhal, two neighboring communities of Upper Svaneti,
have assembled to dance a round dance, the murgwæl or ch’ishkhæsh. This dance is an important
component of certain Svanetian festivals. The roe deer (in other versions, a chamois or an ibex) is
said to be white, and it runs through Betgil’s legs into the circle. The disruption of the round dance
by a wild animal is a powerful symbol: The deer, a representative of the world of nature, has
intruded on the realm of human society, symbolized by the circle of dancers. (All versions specify
that the beast ran between Betgil’s legs. This has led at least some to the implication that he was
castrated by the animal’s horns [Howard Aronson, private comunication] — a not implausible
reading given the sexual nature of Betgil’s “offense” against Dali.)
SCENE II. In pursuit of the deer, Betgil heads toward the top of a mountain, specified in one version
as Mt. Totan, a 3000-meter mountain about 10 km south of Mulakh. Although Betgil can see the
tracks of the animal before him, when he turns around there are no tracks visible behind him. This is
clearly no ordinary deer. In one version it is said to be a black demon, which turns into a white roe
deer after Betgil takes off after it; others imply that it is Dali herself. According to some variants the
path behind Betgil is “becoming ruined” (khedomeni): there is no way back.
SCENE III. Betgil is confronted by the goddess Dali, who is frequently portrayed as the secret lover
of successful hunters. She asks him for a trinket she had given him as a token of their love after an
earlier tryst. He has left the string of beads under his pillow, in the bed he shares with his wife, of
whom Dali is jealous. (The appearance of this particular prop is further evidence that Dali and the
eastern Georgian deity Samdzimari [“the bead-wearing one”] have a common origin. See the notes
to poem #30). She decides that Betgil has been unfaithful to her and abandons him on the cliff,
hanging by one foot and one hand. Other versions lay the blame on an affair between Betgil and his
telaghra (son’s or brother’s wife) Tamar. In any event, Betgil has violated the taboo against contact
with mortal women before going hunting [GOM 74].
SCENE IV. Betgil realizes he is doomed. For the sake of his soul in the afterlife, Betgil asks his
mother to bake kut and ch’ishdwar, flat round loaves with cheese in the middle. These two types of
bread have a particular association with the Svanetian rites for the commemoration of the dead. In
one version, Betgil’s wife is asked to dye her headdress red, the traditional funerary color.
SCENE V. Some versions, but not this one, describe the efforts of the villagers to rescue Betgil. In
one particularly difficult version [SvP 282-285], the rock-tower on which he is trapped magically
rises to keep him out of reach of the ladders brought by a rescue party (chukwan k’ichkhærs
migæmalakh, murq’wam zhibav brets’enila). Finally, Betgil falls (shq’edeni) to his death. Three
other variants, including the oldest one, state that Betgil jumps (khosk’ida) from the cliff. I will not
venture into the treacherous domain of interpreting the Betgil poems, but I can refer the curious
reader to two monographs that deal with Betgil and the other doomed-Svan-hunter poems in
considerable detail: Virsaladze’s GOM, and Charachidzé’s PC (especially pp.131-172). According
to the latter, traditional Georgian ideology opposed the life of the hunter or warrior — who prefers
the wide-open spaces far from human habitations, and who kills at will — to that of the peasant,
bound to home, hearth, and village (as mentioned in the notes to poem #54). The conflict is resolved
in mythological language by literally inverting (hanging from a cliff) the hunter who overkills.

57. Dghesam dgheoba visia? (“Today is whose festival?”). Source: MP 114. Recorded by S. Mak’alatia
in the Tushetian village Chigho in 1933. The song was accompanied by an elaborate two-tiered
round dance known as the kor-beghela, “tower-granary,” which was performed at the annual festival
of Lashari [= Giorgi Lasha (see #55 above)] in Tusheti. Mak’alatia provided the following
description of this fascinating dance: “The men formed a mighty ring, each man’s arm around the
shoulder of his neighbor. A second ring formed on top of the first, and this two-tiered circle moved
toward the shrine (khat’i) while singing ‘Today is whose festival? — St. George’s festival …’ The
people all participated in the kor-beghela, because, in their belief, those who did not join in would be
jinxed by the shrine. The kor-beghela must proceed in a direct line toward the doors of the shrine
without collapsing, no matter how long or difficult the path might be. Outside the shrine doors the
kor-beghela rotates three times while calling: ‘May Lashari’s jvari have mercy on you,’ and then

137
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breaks up” [MT 213; cp. MP 267-68]. The dancing of the kor-beghela is also a means of foretelling
the future: Should the “tower-granary” collapse, or the song be badly sung, it is an omen that
humans and livestock will suffer misfortune [SR 650-1]. V. Bardavelidze included a photograph of
men dancing the kor-beghela in her survey of the shrines of Tusheti [TCM Vol II, Pt 2, p. 135]. The
photo dates from 1965, and shows four men in the top ring, supported on the shoulders of about
eight to ten men in the lower ring. That evening, after the singing and dancing have concluded, the
young people of the locality are expected to pair off with their “brother-spouse” or “sister-spouse,”
and indulge in the pleasures of ts’ats’loba. They may do this in the vicinity of the shrine or even
inside it. For the Georgian mountaineer, according to Vazha Pshavela, “ts’ats’loba is a sacred and
religious activity. They say that ts’ats’loba is obligatory for the vassals of Lashari [i.e., the
Pshavians (see the notes to #55 above)] … That is why these amorous practices are permitted and
indeed recommended within the interior of the sanctuary” [cited in SR 651-2]. The banner (drosha)
mentioned in the third line is an important item found in most shrines in the mountain districts. It is
carried at the head of the procession on feast days. According to Zurab K’ik’nadze (pers. comm.),
the symbol of the cypress tree (alva) is to be interpreted in the light of the “Knight in the leopard’s
skin,” in which the cypress is referred to as “the tree of Eden” [VT 77:4; also 51:1 and 522:1]. The
reference to “the woman and man who sinned against it” then becomes obvious.

58. Samaia (“Samaia”). Sources: Ko 59; Go 23-4. Recorded in Kartli. This song accompanies a round
dance that is danced by women only. It is believed to be very ancient: A fresco in the 900-year-old
Cathedral of the Living Column in Mtskheta, which bears the name “Samaia,” depicts three women
dancing in a ring. Unfortunately, the dancing of the Samaia has all but disappeared in lowland
Georgia, though it is said to be still performed at weddings in the mountain provinces [Ko 355] .

59-61. Funerary poems. The three poems presented here represent two closely related genres: poems
intoned in the memory of the deceased (khmit nat’irali), and hay-mowing songs (mtibluri). The
khmit nat’irali was often performed responsorially, with a local woman noted for her singing ability
— sometimes a professional hired for this purpose — singing a phrase, after which the body of
mourners replies with a refrain (see the collection of texts, with photos and musical transcriptions, in
CD 91-158). The soloist will weave information about the deceased into the text of the khmit
nat’irali, which may go on for some time. There are strong similarities between the musical and
textual structure of the khmit nat’irali and that of the mtibluri. According to a singer from the
province of Rach’a, the hay-mowing song “is like mourning or lamentation [motkma-t’irilivit ], but
more brisk” [WP 506]. Furthermore, in Khevsureti the villagers will participate in a commemorative
banquet for the recently deceased before commencing the hay harvest in late July [DGF I, 184]. This
curious conjunction of hay-mowing and the dead is discussed at some length by Charachidzé in SR.
According to his analysis, traditional Georgian religion was structured by a matrix of binary
oppositions, which extended to almost all aspects of the human, animal, and vegetable domains.
Women, vodka, and hay, for example, are aligned with the underworld; and men, beer, and meat are
linked with the gods. The chanting of funerary songs while mowing hay is one reflection of the
underlying structure of ancient Georgian cosmology.

59. Darishk’anit momk’wdari (“Dead from poison”). Source: ShKh #522. Collected in Khevsureti by
Tedo Razik’ashvili. This is a lamentation for a young woman who killed herself by drinking rat
poison while in seclusion in the menstruation hut (samrelo). The mention of “Thursday night” in the
third line makes it clear that the woman was a ts’ats’ali (young Khevsur women customarily spent
Thursday and Saturday nights with their “brother-spouses”). The reason for her suicide is not stated,
but it has been noted that when the time came to break with their ts’ats’ali in order to marry, many
young women in Pshavi and Khevsureti preferred death. Charachidzé [SR 102] states that the
suicides usually occurred in the menstruation hut, a place viewed with horror and disgust by men
(the words “a woman as low as can be” may reflect this attitude); see also CD 52-3, FY 129-130.

60. Zhamis naqhots kalebze (“To the women slaughtered by the plague”). Source: RP #72. Recited by
Ashekal Ch’inch’arauli in the Khevsur village Shat’ili. “Many years ago,” according to Chikovani

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and Shamanadze, “there was an outbreak of the plague in Khevsureti, and many died. Whole groups
of infected people would go to the mausoleum (ak’ldama), located outside of the village. They
sheltered themselves there and awaited the end.” The mausoleums are still to be seen near Shat’ili
(FY 66-76).

61. Net’avi mok’la marjek’ali (“Woe betide the matchmaker”). Source: WP #701. Recited by Kh.
Kist’auri in the province of Pshavi. According to the commentary accompanying the poem, a woman
from the village Khoshara took her child with her out to the fields at harvest time. In mountainous
districts such as Pshavi, where arable land is at a premium, every bit of earth that can feasibly be
worked is under cultivation, even where the terrain is quite steep. Presumably for this reason the
protagonist of the poem hitched the cradle containing her child to a bush (specified as a brats’i, a
decorative bush with white flowers of the family Spirea). The earth began to tremble, not a rare
occurrence in the Caucasus, and the cord binding the cradle to the bush snapped. The cradle rolled
down into the ravine, killing the infant. As represented in the poem, the bereaved mother cannot bear
to return to her husband’s village, and is wandering disconsolately in the ravine collecting the pieces
of her child’s body. The version given here is a hay-mowing song, based on the woman’s lament for
her dead child.

62-70. Love poems. Much has been said in the Introduction to this anthology (Section 4) and in the Notes
concerning the institution of ts’ats’loba in pre-Christian Georgian society: its sacred aspect, its
nature as an “antimarriage.” It seems appropriate to conclude the anthology with a selection of the
delightful love poems inspired by ts’ats’loba. Most are short, a simple quatrain improvised by a
love-smitten mountain lad or lass, either to be recited or sung to the accompaniment of the three-
stringed panduri. Some poems impressed their hearers enough to be memorized and handed down,
and a few dozen have made it into folklore chrestomathies, or ethnographic accounts such as SKh
174-82 or FY 133-40, 166-7. One well-known example was quoted by Vazha-Pshavela in a 1914
essay on the image of women in Pshav folklore (P£avlebi, etnograpiuli masala: dedak’aci):

You, my great hope,


Sun, spreading forth in the morning
Source of immortality,
You flow through a pipe of gold,
May I be sated at your side,
Lying and sleeping beside you.
May I be a field for your sickle,
That I be mown by its blade —
Or may I become your sworn sister
To feel pangs in my heart for you,
Or may I be a golden cup,
That I be filled with wine for you,
May I be tinted in red,
Drink me — I will refresh you,
May I be a silken shirt,
That I might melt on your heart.

Most of the following verses come from the anthology of Pshavian and Khevsur poetry edited by I.
Khornauli.

62. Bat’arik’a kalai var (“I am a very young woman”). Source: PKh 195. Recited by G. Khornauli in
the Pshavian village Grdzelch’ala in 1939.

63. Net’avi kalo ninao (“Nina woman”). Source: LP 69. Recited by D. Gurgenidze in the Kartlian
village Ertats’minda in 1930. Variants in LP 214-215, PKh 207.

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64. Eter, shen silamazita (“Eter, with your beauty”). Source: PKh 208. Recited by N. Khornauli in the
Pshavian village Magraneti in 1939 .

65. Aksha, aksha, mamalo (“Aksha, aksha, rooster, scram”). Source: PKh 208. Recited by N.
Khornauli in Magraneti in 1939 .

66. Zghvashi shatsurda k’urdgheli (“A rabbit swam into the sea”). Source: PKh 209. Recited by El.
Elisbarashvili in the Pshavian village Shuapkho in 1946. Variants in OL 45 #65 and 63 #167.
According to the Kartlian variants in OL (collected ca. 1880), the poet is spun around “like a
whetstone” (kharat’ivita).

67. Net’ain mamk’la mtashia (“May I die in the mountains”). Source: PKh 216. Recited by Ioseb
Udzilauri in the Khevsur village Kvemo Kedi in 1946 .

68. Tval k’i mich’erav shenzeda (“I have an eye on you”). Source: PKh 216. Recited by N.
Elisbarashvili in the Pshavian village Shuapkho in 1940. Variants in LP 49, 174 .

69. Nadobis k’abas vapere (“I likened it to my sister-spouse’s dress”). Source: PKh 206. Narrated by
K’ok’o Udzilauri in 1938 in the Kakhetian village P’ank’isi. Variants in LP 129, 300. The central
idea of the poem is conveyed by an omen, which Z. K’ik’nadze unravelled for me as follows: The
shepherd is tending his flocks in the summer grazing lands. A butterfly appears, a messenger from
the land of souls. The butterfly’s coloration reminds him of the dress worn by the woman with whom
he had contracted a bond of ts’ats’loba, which can be read as an omen that she has died. The
shepherd begs God that the omen not be true, and tells the butterfly to pass on some good news (his
sheep are doing well) to his sister-spouse, wherever she is.

70. Dghe tu ghame (“Day or night”). Source: Go 144-6. Variants in ShKh 143-144, 518-520; FY 139-
140; SR 97-8 (in French). I will just touch on two details in the poem that require amplification:
First, the straw upon which the young couple are enjoying themselves is probably inside a stable.
The Caucasian mountain tribes used to have the practice, found in many parts of the world, of
secluding women from the rest of the family during times of blood flow: childbirth and menstruation
[ONS 140]. In some areas (for example Khevsureti) the women retreated to a special hut (samrelo);
in Pshavi the stable fulfilled this role. Given the extremely grave consequences that an illegitimate
child would bring crashing down on their heads, the young ts’ats’lebi usually confined their love-
making to this time of the month, when the risk of pregnancy was at a minimum. The poem also
contains a reference to a bottle of vodka, which the woman brings with her to the tryst in the stable.
This calls to mind a ritual observed in Svaneti at the end of the last century: The couple forming a
bond of lintural (the Svanetian equivalent of ts’ats’loba) seal their new relationship by invoking
God’s blessing and drinking cups of vodka, as a sign that this bond was sanctioned by heaven as
well as the community.

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VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN

Abbreviations of Works Cited


Poetry Collections
GMD Ak’ak’i Shanidze, ed. Kartuli k’iloebi mtashi “Georgian mountain dialects.” (Collected
works, volume I). Tbilisi: Metsniereba, 1984.
Go Aleksandre Gomiashvili, ed. Kartuli khalkhuri p’oezia “Georgian folk poetry.” Tbilisi:
Merani, 1975.
IWRP Vakhusht’i K’ot’et’ishvili, ed. Leksis tkma mts’adis ertisa “I want to recite a poem.” Tbilisi:
Nak’aduli, 1987.
Ko Vakht’ang K’ot’et’ishvili, ed. Khalkhuri p’oezia “Folk poetry” (2nd edition). Tbilisi:
Sabch’ota Mts’erali, 1961.
LP Elene Virsaladze, ed. Kartuli khalkhuri p’oezia, 6: sat’rpialo leksebi “Georgian folk poetry,
volume 6: Love poems.” Tbilisi: Metsniereba, 1978.
MP Mikhail Chikovani, ed. Kartuli khalkhuri p’oezia, 1: mitologiuri leksebi “Georgian folk
poetry, volume 1: Mythological poems.” Tbilisi: Metsniereba, 1972.
OL P’et’re Umik’ashvili, ed. Khalkhuri sit’q’viereba, 2 “Oral literature, volume 2.” Tbilisi:
Lit’erat’ura da Khelovneba, 1964.
PKh Ivane Khornauli, ed. Pshav-khevsuruli p’oezia “Pshav-Khevsur poetry.” Tbilisi: Sakhelgami,
1949.
RP M. Chikovani and Nodar Shamanadze, eds. Kartuli khalkhuri p’oezia, 5: sats’eschveulebo
leksebi “Georgian folk poetry, volume 5: Ritual poems.” Tbilisi: Metsniereba, 1976.
SbMat Sbornik materialov dlya opisaniya mestnostey i plemën Kavkaza. Journal published in Tbilisi
from 1881-1917. Svan poetry in volumes XVIII [1894] and XXXI [1902].
ShKh Ak’ak’i Shanidze, ed. Kartuli khalkhuri p’oezia I: Khevsureti “Georgian folk poetry, volume
I: Khevsureti.” Tbilisi: Sakhelmts’ipo Gamomtsemloba, 1931.
SvP A. Shanidze, V. Topuria and M. Gujejiani, eds. Svanuri p’oezia “Svan poetry.” Tbilisi:
Metsniereba, 1939.
WP Tamar Okroshidze and Pikria Zanduk’eli, eds. Kartuli khalkhuri p’oezia, 10: shromis leksebi
“Georgian folk poetry, volume 10: Work poems.” Tbilisi: Metsniereba, 1983.

Other References
AM K. Tuite. Anti-marriage in ancient Georgian society. Anthropological Linguistics 42 #1: 37-
60, 2000.
ARG Tinatin Ochiauri. Kartvelta udzvelesi sarts’munoebis ist’oriidan “From the history of the
ancient religion of the Georgians.” Tbilisi: Mecniereba, 1954.
CD M. Baliauri, N. Mak’alatia & Al. Ochiauri. Mitsvalebulis k’ult’i khevsuretshi. “The cult of the
dead in in Khevsureti.” Masalebi sakartvelos etnograpiisatvis III: 1-158, 1940.
DGF M. Chikovani, ed. Kartuli polk’loris leksik’oni. “Dictionary of Georgian folklore.” Kartuli
polk’lori IV-V. Tbilisi: Metsniereba, 1974-75.
DRV Vera Bardavelidze. Drevnej£ie religioznye verovanija i obrjadovoe grafi™eskoe iskusstvo
gruzinskix plemen. Tbilisi: Mecniereba, 1957.
FY Giorgi Tedoradze. Khut’i ts’eli pshav-khevsuretshi. “Five years in Pshavi and Khevsureti.”
T’pilisi: Sil. Tavartkiladze, 1930.
GFS Gr. Chkhik’vadze, ed. Kartuli khalkhuri simghera I. “Georgian folk songs, volume I.” Tbilisi:
Sabch’ota Sakartvelo, 1960.
GNS M. Chikovani, ed. Gruzinskie narodnye skazki. Tbilisi: Ganatleba, 1986.
GOM Elene Virsaladze Gruzinskiy okhotnichiy mif i poeziya. Moscow: Nauka, 1976.
HEE Bessarion Nizharadze. Ist’oriul-etnograpiuli ts’erilebi. “Historical and ethnographic essays.”
Tbilisi: Tbilisi University Press, 1962.
HGF Grigol K’ok’eladze, ed. Asi kartuli khalkhuri simghera. “One hundred Georgian folk songs.”
Tbilisi: Khelovneba, 1984.
HGP W. E. D. Allen. A history of the Georgian people. London: Kegan Paul, 1932.
LSP K. Tuite. Lightning, sacrifice and possession in the traditional religions of the Caucasus. Part
I. Anthropos 99: 143-159; Part II. Anthropos 99: 481-497, 2004.

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MFS Valerian Maghradze, ed. Meskhuri khalkhuri simghera. “Meskhetian folk songs.” Tbilisi:
Khelovneba, 1987.
MIE Georges Charachidzé. La mémoire indo-européenne du Caucase. Paris: Hachette, 1987.
MT Sergi Mak’alatia, Tusheti. Tbilisi: Nak’aduli, 1983.
ONS Egnat’e Gabliani. Dzveli da akhali Svaneti. “Old and new Svaneti.” Tbilisi: Sakhelgami,
1925.
PC G. Charachidzé. Prométhée ou le Caucase. Paris: Flammarion, 1986.
QGG M. Chikovani. Berdznuli da kartuli mitologiis sak’itkhebi “Questions of Greek and Georgian
mythology.” Tbilisi University Press, 1971.
RFl Ioseb Megrelidze. Rustaveli i fol’klor. Tbilisi: Sabch’ota Sakartvelo, 1960.
SC Zurab K’ik’nadze. kartuli mitologia, I. jvari da saq’mo. “Georgian mythology, I. Shrine and
community.” Kutaisi: Gelati Academy of Sciences, 1996.
SKh Natela Baliauri. Sts’orproba khevsuretshi. “Sts’orproba in Khevsureti.” Tbilisi: Tbilisi
University Press, 1991.
SR Georges Charachidzé. Le système religieux de la Géorgie païenne. Paris: Maspero, 1968.
TCM Vera Bardavelidze. Aghmosavlet Sakartvelos mtianetis t’raditsiuli sazogadoebriv-sak’ult’o
dzeglebi “Traditional cultic monuments of the East Georgian mountain districts.” Tbilisi:
Metsniereba, 1985.
VT Shota Rustaveli. Vepkhist’q’aosani. “The knight in the leopard’s skin.” Edition prepared by
the Vepkhist’q’aosnis Ak’ademiuri T’ekst’is Damdgeni K’omisia (Commission to establish
the Academic text of “The knight in the leopard’s skin”). Tbilisi: Metsniereba, 1988. [English
translation by Marjory Scott Wardrop, entitled “The man in the panther’s skin,” published by
the Oriental Translation Fund, New Series, Vol. XXI. London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1966].

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