Poem
Maya Sarishvili
It won’t work out this way
It won’t work out this way,Even if you tip over a whole forest,
You won’t be able to find a single root anywhere.
The universe, when not fixed to the earth,
Is like a terrible dream.
Towns just lie about on the asphalt,
Seas are turned rigid
Wherever the earth topples over
And drift off afar –
Like colossal razors,
They slide uncontrollably.
And how eagerly all of us,
One by one,
Strip the old-fashioned veins from our bodies –
And very soon
Even the bees can’t sting any more
Our porcelain children, which are meant to be set out
On the grand pianos.
© Translation: 2007, Donald Rayfield
It won’t work out this way
![](/media/4/11194_org_02_itwontworkout.gif)
ტყეც რომ ამოაყირავო,
ერთ ფესვს ვერ იპოვი ვერსად.
საზარელი სიზმარივითაა
მიწაზე დაუმაგრებელი სამყარო.
ქალაქები უბრალოდ დევს ასფალტზე.
გაშეშებული ზღვები
საითაც დედამიწა გადაბრუნდება,
იქით ცურდებიან -
უშველებელი სამართებლებივით
სრიალებენ უკონტროლოდ...
და ყველანი რა მონდომებით,
რა თითო-თითოდ
ვაცლით სხეულებიდან ძველმოდურ ძარღვებს -
სულ მალე
ფუტკრებიც ვეღარ დაკბენენ
ჩვენს როიალებზე შემოსასმელ
ფაიფურის შვილებს...
© 2001, Maya Sarishvili
From: Covering Reality
Publisher: Merani, Tbilisi
From: Covering Reality
Publisher: Merani, Tbilisi
Poems
Poems of Maya Sarishvili
Close
It won’t work out this way
It won’t work out this way,Even if you tip over a whole forest,
You won’t be able to find a single root anywhere.
The universe, when not fixed to the earth,
Is like a terrible dream.
Towns just lie about on the asphalt,
Seas are turned rigid
Wherever the earth topples over
And drift off afar –
Like colossal razors,
They slide uncontrollably.
And how eagerly all of us,
One by one,
Strip the old-fashioned veins from our bodies –
And very soon
Even the bees can’t sting any more
Our porcelain children, which are meant to be set out
On the grand pianos.
© 2007, Donald Rayfield
From: Covering Reality
From: Covering Reality
It won’t work out this way
It won’t work out this way,Even if you tip over a whole forest,
You won’t be able to find a single root anywhere.
The universe, when not fixed to the earth,
Is like a terrible dream.
Towns just lie about on the asphalt,
Seas are turned rigid
Wherever the earth topples over
And drift off afar –
Like colossal razors,
They slide uncontrollably.
And how eagerly all of us,
One by one,
Strip the old-fashioned veins from our bodies –
And very soon
Even the bees can’t sting any more
Our porcelain children, which are meant to be set out
On the grand pianos.
© 2007, Donald Rayfield
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