Poem
Mekdes Jemberu
THE HOME I LEFT BEHIND
My home has blackenedlike a cloud
repeating everything I did . . .
piling dirt on dirt
until the grime infects my eyes
gaps in floorboards . . . corners stopped
with beautifully knitted rugs
but hiding thorns and caked with dust . . .
my old home . . . you I left behind
hated and abandoned . . . refused to look at . . .
you who I denied . . .
you go on calling . . . answers I held back
have formed an edge . . . grown teeth
that click as they approach me now . . .
piercing my raw skin with memories
an empty hill . . . the creaking hull of you
suspended there . . . calling my name
a shabby tent that mocks me . . . brings me back
unrests me sensing my exhaustion . . . the contrite
state that I have reached . . . you who rocks me
back and fourth . . . the hill and pit and you. . .
cracked earth . . .a valley gorge . . . a cave
to hide myself inside . . . the slope and steep
where we assembled and discussed . . .
laid bets . . . argued . . . you who pulls a dagger
made of steely sorrows . . . sticks it in my side
I am a woman born from my regrets
I am loud with them . . . I cannot shy away
there is no logic in the things I took for granted
trivial as childs’ play . . . a sudden noise . . .
my tolerance and patience pilfered . . .gone
now my broken home . . . you rebuild yourself
while the marriage I neglected mocks me . . .
I will always be in labour . . . feel my pain
increase as time goes by . . . a death row prisoner
weaker as the days tick by . . . homeless leftover
of withered charms. . . lethargic
my old home . . . you blacken
like a wave retreating . . . rising and receding . . .
you swagger all around me . . . wrestle me
and draw your flashbacks on my eyelids
throw your grit into my eyes . . .
you punch me . . . you floor me
© Translation: 2020, Fasika Ayelew with Chris Beckett
From: Songs We Learn From Trees
Publisher: Carcanet Classics, Manchester, 2020
From: Songs We Learn From Trees
Publisher: Carcanet Classics, Manchester, 2020
ያፈረስኩት ጎጆ
ያፈረስኩት ጎጆ
የቤቴ ጠቀራ . . .አቧራው ብናኙ
ለሠራሁት ሥራ . . .
ምስከር እማኙ
መራቄን አየና
ሆኜ ተቀምጨ እንደጠል ዳመና ::
መጥቶ ተመረገ . . . ጉድፋን ደነጎረ
ዓይኔን ሊያሳክከኝ . . . እየቆረቆረ ::
የተጋደምኩት ርብራቡ ብዙ . . . ደልደላ ምንጣፉ
ዙሪያ ዝምዝማቱ . . . ውብ አቀናነፉ
አሾህ ተሰካበት . . .
ትቸው የመጣሁት . . . ጠልቸው የራቅኩት
ብናኙ ትናኙ . . . የቤቴ ጠቀራ
አላይህም ያልኩት . . . አላውቅህም ያልኩት
ምላሽ የነፈግሁት . . . ቢጣራ ቢጣራ
ጉልጥምት አበጅቶ :
ጥርስ ጥርስ አውጥቶ :
ጎኔን ጠበሰቀኝ . . . ከአለሁበት መጥቶ
ከተጋደምኩበት ጦሩን ይዞ መጣ . . .
ትዝታውን ሰብቆ
በወና ኮረብታ . . . ድምጹን እያወጣ . . .
በድኑን እያሳየኝ . . . አካሉን አርቆ
ስሜን እያወጀ . . . ግብሬን እያሳጣ
ከተበዘበዘው ከድንኳኔ ዘልቆ
አመጣብኝ ደግሞ . . . አርፌ እንዳልተኛ
ጎኔ እንደደቀቀ :
ፀፀቴን አየና . . . ሆኜ ሀዘንተኛ
ወስዶ እየመለሰ . . . አቅርቦ እየራቅ
ኮረብታ ጉድጓዱ . . . ስንጥቅጥቅ መሬቱ
ገደል ገመገሙ :
ጥሻ መሽሽጊያው . . . ቁልቁለት ዳገቱ
ጉበኑ ግርግሙ :
እየተማከሩ . . . በእኔ አየዶለቱ
በኔ እየተስማሙ
እየወጉት ጎኔን . . . ሰይፍ እየመዘዙ
በትዝታ ሳንጃ
ፀፀት አፀንሰው . . . ብሶት አስረገዙኝ
አጣሁ ማስወገጃ
ማስተዋል ተስኖኝ . . . መንቅሬ የጣልኩት
እንደቃ ጨዋታ :
ጊዜያዊ ቻቻታ . . . አሳጥቶኝ ተስተካከሎ ራሱን
ቀልሶ
የናቅኩት ትዳሬ ቢንቀኝ መልሶ
ምጥ እንደያዛት ቤት . . . ጭንቄ እየተነሣ
ሰዓት በጨመረ
እንደሞት ፍርደኛ . . . አካሌ እየሳሳ
ቀን በተቆጠረ
መነሻ እንደሌለው . . . ወድቆ እንደተረሳ
ቀለሜ ረገፈ . . . ቅሳሜ ተሰበረ
የቤቴ ጠቀራ . . .
እንደባሕር ሞገድ . . . ድምፁ እየተመመ
ብቅ እልም እያለ
በእኔ እየፎከረ . . . በኔ እየፈለመ
ትውስታውን ሳለ
ጉድፍ ሆኖ ገብቶ
ዳግሚያ ቆረቆረኝ መረቡን ዘርግቶ
. . . በኔ ላይበርትቶ ::
© 2020, Mekdes Jemberu
From: Songs We Learn From Trees
Publisher: Carcanet Classics, Manchester
From: Songs We Learn From Trees
Publisher: Carcanet Classics, Manchester
Poems
Poems of Mekdes Jemberu
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THE HOME I LEFT BEHIND
My home has blackenedlike a cloud
repeating everything I did . . .
piling dirt on dirt
until the grime infects my eyes
gaps in floorboards . . . corners stopped
with beautifully knitted rugs
but hiding thorns and caked with dust . . .
my old home . . . you I left behind
hated and abandoned . . . refused to look at . . .
you who I denied . . .
you go on calling . . . answers I held back
have formed an edge . . . grown teeth
that click as they approach me now . . .
piercing my raw skin with memories
an empty hill . . . the creaking hull of you
suspended there . . . calling my name
a shabby tent that mocks me . . . brings me back
unrests me sensing my exhaustion . . . the contrite
state that I have reached . . . you who rocks me
back and fourth . . . the hill and pit and you. . .
cracked earth . . .a valley gorge . . . a cave
to hide myself inside . . . the slope and steep
where we assembled and discussed . . .
laid bets . . . argued . . . you who pulls a dagger
made of steely sorrows . . . sticks it in my side
I am a woman born from my regrets
I am loud with them . . . I cannot shy away
there is no logic in the things I took for granted
trivial as childs’ play . . . a sudden noise . . .
my tolerance and patience pilfered . . .gone
now my broken home . . . you rebuild yourself
while the marriage I neglected mocks me . . .
I will always be in labour . . . feel my pain
increase as time goes by . . . a death row prisoner
weaker as the days tick by . . . homeless leftover
of withered charms. . . lethargic
my old home . . . you blacken
like a wave retreating . . . rising and receding . . .
you swagger all around me . . . wrestle me
and draw your flashbacks on my eyelids
throw your grit into my eyes . . .
you punch me . . . you floor me
© 2020, Fasika Ayelew with Chris Beckett
From: Songs We Learn From Trees
Publisher: 2020, Carcanet Classics, Manchester
From: Songs We Learn From Trees
Publisher: 2020, Carcanet Classics, Manchester
THE HOME I LEFT BEHIND
My home has blackenedlike a cloud
repeating everything I did . . .
piling dirt on dirt
until the grime infects my eyes
gaps in floorboards . . . corners stopped
with beautifully knitted rugs
but hiding thorns and caked with dust . . .
my old home . . . you I left behind
hated and abandoned . . . refused to look at . . .
you who I denied . . .
you go on calling . . . answers I held back
have formed an edge . . . grown teeth
that click as they approach me now . . .
piercing my raw skin with memories
an empty hill . . . the creaking hull of you
suspended there . . . calling my name
a shabby tent that mocks me . . . brings me back
unrests me sensing my exhaustion . . . the contrite
state that I have reached . . . you who rocks me
back and fourth . . . the hill and pit and you. . .
cracked earth . . .a valley gorge . . . a cave
to hide myself inside . . . the slope and steep
where we assembled and discussed . . .
laid bets . . . argued . . . you who pulls a dagger
made of steely sorrows . . . sticks it in my side
I am a woman born from my regrets
I am loud with them . . . I cannot shy away
there is no logic in the things I took for granted
trivial as childs’ play . . . a sudden noise . . .
my tolerance and patience pilfered . . .gone
now my broken home . . . you rebuild yourself
while the marriage I neglected mocks me . . .
I will always be in labour . . . feel my pain
increase as time goes by . . . a death row prisoner
weaker as the days tick by . . . homeless leftover
of withered charms. . . lethargic
my old home . . . you blacken
like a wave retreating . . . rising and receding . . .
you swagger all around me . . . wrestle me
and draw your flashbacks on my eyelids
throw your grit into my eyes . . .
you punch me . . . you floor me
© 2020, Fasika Ayelew with Chris Beckett
From: Songs We Learn From Trees
Publisher: 2020, Carcanet Classics, Manchester
From: Songs We Learn From Trees
Publisher: 2020, Carcanet Classics, Manchester
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