leqsebi

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&iq h vebisani, 

topi vhk’ar Z&iq h vsa berq h ensa, 

c&’alas Z&aq h n 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 q h els&i iq’arna, 

vadani tavis q h mlisani. 

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 daq h elon 

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 q h mlit, 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, 

q h mali 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 q h elt nac&’eri paria, 

veƒarca vepXvma t’ot’ebit, 

q h malma 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


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 q h mlit 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


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


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


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 lamq h edli 

sga lQmq h edli 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’wicradaq h ´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


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


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


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


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


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


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 saq h sovrad 

saakaosa rc&ebode, 

gimƒerden c&emebr sc’orebi, 

panduris q h maze 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


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 gvaq h son 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


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

17. Iavnana 

ia mtazeda 

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, 


am bat’onebis dedasa, 

iav naninao. 

udgia okros ak’vani, 


s&ig uc’evt bat’onis&vili, 

iav naninao. 

usXiat okros koc&ori, 


at’lasis sabani Xuravs, 

iav naninao. 

zar-babtisa art’aXebit, 


movis p’erangi ucviat, 

iav naninao. 

mtvare greXilat uvliat, 


varsk’vlavi ƒilat ubiat, 

iav naninao. 

lalis c&anc&Xura ubiat, 


gadahk’vrnen, gadaarc’even, 

iav naninao. 

amod brZaneben nanasa, 


56


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, 


We’ll set a plush rug over it, 


Here is the mother of the lords, 


She stands by a cradle made of gold, 


Inside the cradle a lordling sleeps, 


They have hair the color of gold, 


A satin blanket lies over them, 


Adorned with gold and silver brocade, 


They are all wearing shirts of silk, 


Girdled around with the crescent moon, 


For their buttons they have the stars, 


Strands of rubies around their necks, 


Gently rocking back and forth, 


Singing a tuneful lullaby, 


57

ia mtazeda 

— s&vidi bat’oni da-Zmani 

iav naninao. 

s&vid sopels movepineto, 


s&vidganve davcit k’aravi, 

iav naninao. 

s&vidganve movilXineto, 


iagundis marans&ia, 

iav naninao. 

ƒvino dgas da lali sc&’vivis, 


s&ig alvis Xe amosula, 

iav naninao. 

t’ot’ebi akvs nargiziso, 


zed bulbuli s&emomZ&dara, 

iav naninao. 

s&avardeni prtasa s&liso, 


— ia vk’ripe, vardi vs&ale, 

iav naninao. 

c’in bat’onebs gavus&ale. 


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


Seven lordly sisters and brothers, 


Said “let’s settle in seven towns, 


In all seven we’ll pitch our tents, 


In all seven we’ll have great feasts,” 


In the sapphire storage room, 


There is wine and the rubies glow, 


Inside a cypress tree has grown, 


On its branches are narcissus blooms, 


A nightingale has perched there too, 


The peregrine falcon spreads its wings, 


I picked a violet and spread out a rose, 


I laid them both before the lords, 


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


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


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


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. 


dalalale, cangala. 

es bic&’i k’argad tamas&obs, 

peXis prc&Xilebze dgeba 

66


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. 



This boy dances well, 

He stands upon his toes, 

67

ia mtazeda 

aman ro peXi it’k’inos, 

net’av vis dambraldeba, 


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 q h el-samZimario, 

me var kaZ&isa kalio; 

vaz&iereb c&em ƒil-kamarsao, 

okros tmiani da okros kos&ebiani. 

amas&i mkonda s&aZlebaio, 

q h meletze 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


Should he hurt his feet, 

I wonder who he’ll blame. 



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

31. Adgilis dedao 

ia mtazeda 

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


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 davq h ec&e boZaldi, 

cecXli davante imisi. 

datvi t’q’av q h orcit 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, 


gatenebulao, 


gatendi tu gatendebi, 


gatenebulXaro, 


Zilo, rasa meZinebi, 


me sabraleosao, 

72


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, 


It has dawned already, 


Dawn if you will dawn at all, 


You have dawned already, 


Sleep, why do you let me sleep, 


I am so unhappy, 

73

ia mtazeda 


t’ans, peXs ara ar macvia, 


titist’aro, k’virist’avo, 


c&kara dabrundio, 


male p’erangs s&evik’erav, 


c’itel k’abas s&evik’erav, 


sanat’relsa, prialasa, 


c&kara dabrundio, 


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



I’ve no clothes or shoes to wear, 


My spindle and my distaff, 


Come back to me quickly, 


I will sew a shirt now, 


And I’ll sew a fine red dress, 


Longed-for, blowing in the wind, 


Come back to me quickly, 


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&iq h daX sQdil-vaXs&Qms. 

pisev Xaba Z&ims&is& nQbozs: 

mirangulas vaXs&Qm otq h idX, 

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


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 Xoq h aca, 

c&Xara q’vil q h Qn 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 Xaq h id 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 q h Qn 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’ńc’ilad, 

lesgis&e isgve k´p’are 

78


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 q h anare 

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 otq h Qd lamryas us&gwlQs&! 

bap’Qr sQvyQrs c&u Xac&edaX; 

mirangulas s&uk’wd Xalak’aX. 

nQymaXva#l mic&a q h anare 

us&gwlQs& bap’Qr lelXwer Xa#daX 


us&guls luXoris Xas&dabaX. 

— sepsk’verd mic&a im alnQq’id? 

— k’vecens Qlq h ded l´lńZ&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. 


sepsk’verd mic&a ec&is lanq’ed. 

mes&Xa Zuƒwas berQl XezgeX, 

ƒwinal-zedQs& ec&XQn is&gvmin. 

ƒertem Zuƒrus& q h Qn oXz´ze, 

muc&’wQrs Xuƒwe Z&vid i sak’mel. 

us&gulQs& matXwmi pankvesya#n lQsw, 

us&guls luXor z&i lQybineX. 

q h evis& lQs&tXas muXvrüc&’ya#na, 

eZ&nQr luXor c&u Xoq h vamaX. 

mok’rQb bap’Qrs darbQz otq’vQc&X, 

ec&ka luXor c&vQmq’vele#li. 

80


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, 

lelq h ´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, 

lńkec&’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 q h anare, 

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


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 

q h elmc’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 saq h sari. 

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


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’ peq h ni sXiano! 

t’ilebsa akvis korc’ili, 

perq h isas 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&iq h vebsay 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


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 mq h rebi 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


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&ari-rama, magdanelo, 

gaivse da gaiXare 

c&emo damc’vel-damdagvelo. 


c&ari-rama, gulkanao, 

modi, erti mak’ocnine, 

tetr-punc&ula, sukanao, 

s&enma maq’vala tval-c’arbma 

c&aat’ana gultanao. 


c&ari-rama, magdanao, 

net’avi s&emaZlebina, 

momiq’vana madanao. 


c&ari-rama, mat’ronao, 

net’avi c&vensa saXls da k’ars 

c&venve dagvap’at’ronao. 


c&ari-rama, bicolao, 

c&ven s&ims&ilit viXocebit, 

ara gamogvicXo rao. 


c&ari-rama, mamidao, 

net’av mogvca is Zal-ƒone, 

rogorc eXla c&ven gvindao. 


c&ari-rama, biZiao, 

Xmal-XanZ&ali c&agvz&angvia, 

veƒar amogviZvriao. 

90


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! 


Chari-rama, O Magdanel, 

You can puff up and be happy, 

You who burn and torment me! 


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! 


Chari-rama, O Magdana, 

Oh, if only there were some way 

I could be with you right now! 


Chari-rama, O Matrona, 

If only we could live together, 

Lord and lady of our household. 


Chari-rama, uncle’s wife, 

We are dying from starvation, 

Won’t you even bake us something? 


Chari-rama, father’s sister, 

If only we’d the strength and power, 

Such as we have need of now. 


Chari-rama, father’s brother, 

Our sword and dagger turned to rust, 

We’ll never take them up again. 

91

ia mtazeda 


c&ari-rama, babuao, 

kartul tutuns ver gis&ovni, 

maXork’ama gabruao. 


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



Chari-rama, O grandfather, 

I can’t find Georgian tobacco, 

And makhorka drove you crazy. 


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


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 


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, 


96


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, 



from above she had come down here, 


Bright-eyed white- 

[+ II]-skinned woman, 

Bright-eyed white-skinned woman, 


Woman, she waved her hand at us and 

[+ II] came over here, 


97

ia mtazeda 

Xels gviknevda da iak modi, 

tvalz&uz&una kalo! 

kalo, s&in ara c&e- 

[+ II] -mi kmario, 


s&in ara c&emi kmario, 

tvalz&uz&una kalo. 

kalo, c’asrula ci- 

[+ II] -Xis sadgursa, 

c’asrula ciXis sadgursao, 


kalo, zed dasce- 

[+ II] -mia kvanio, 

zed dascemian kvanio, 


kalo, maXarobe- 

[+ II] -li movida, 


maXarobeli movida, 


kalo, mogi- 

[+ II] -k’les kmario, 


mogik’les kmario, 


net’avi k’i 

[+ II] angre iknen, 


net’avi k’i angre iknen, 


s&en dagrc&en c&e- 

[+ II]-mi tavio, 


zed dagrc&en c&emi tavio, 


98


she waved her hand at us and came over here, 


Woman, my husband is 

[+ II] not at home, 


my husband is not at home, 


Woman, he has gone to 

[+ II] build a fortress, 

He has gone to build a fortress, 


Woman, rocks have fall- 

[+ II]-en down on him, 

Rocks have fallen down on him, 


Woman, the bringer of 

[+ II] news has come, 


the bringer of news has come, 


Woman, they have killed 

[+ II] your husband, 


they have killed your husband, 


May it truly 

[+ II] have happened so, 


may it truly have happened so, 


So may I be 

[+ II] left with you, 


so may I be left with you, 


99

ia mtazeda 

samaXarob- 

[+ II]-los gaviƒeb, 


samaXaroblos gaviƒeb, 


tavtetri ni- 

[+ II]-s&a Xario, 


tavtetri nis&a Xario, 


Xeze gaval 

[+ II] q’vavivita, 


Xeze gaval q’vavivita, 


c&emi kmari 

[+ II] s&eminaXavs, 


c&emi kmari s&eminaXavs, 


margalit’is 

[+ II] tvalivita, 


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


I will give the 

[+ II] messenger a gift, 


I will give the messenger a gift, 


A bull with a white 

[+ II] spot on its forehead, 


a bull with a white spot on its forehead, 


Like a black crow 

[+ II] I go out to the tree, 


like a black crow I go out to the tree, 


My husband will 

[+ II] take care of me, 


my husband will take care of me, 


Like a 

[+ II] precious pearl, 


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 ... 


nu gleZ& mk’lavebsa: 

ertXelac aris, naXvevnimc ari. 

aZ&da q’orani, gleZ&da t’uc&ebsa ... 


nu gleZ& t’uc&ebsa: 

ertXelac aris, nak’ocnimc ari. 

55. Perqhisa 

gvibrZana las&aris Z&varma, 

cas vebi okros s&ibita, 

q h mels 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&amoq h da 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


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 . . . 


Tear not his arms: 

There was a time he embraced me with them. 

A raven perched on him, tore at his lips . . . 


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 q h malia, 

mamis sanepo daigdo, 

titon brZandeba kalia; 

s&ua zƒvas c&adga samani, 

samani rk’inis k’aria, 

q h melet tavisak’ maigdo, 

imtveni hkonda Zalia, 

sat’aXt’o sabrZanebuli 

titon q h mel gorze bZania. 

p’irdap’ir udga gorzeda 

laƒi las&aris Z&varia, 

gverds udga nislis perai, 

t’redis perni hkon mq h arnia. 

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


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, z&av XagenaX lelt’Xas& murgvQls 


bail, as& Xosk’ina tvetnam k’vicras, 


bail, as& Xosk’ina betgis& nabrQq h s, 


bail, ali betgis& misQn iri! 


— amis& mec&’em yQrƒal iri? 


— amis& mec&’em betgil iri. 

bail ilba, ilba, bail. 

betgil Z&abarQrs ik’arzale. 

Xec&’minale nazvQrs mic&a: 

sgvebin nazvQr mć&’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


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, 


They stood for the Lentekh round dance 


A white roe-deer jumped out toward them, 


It ran right through Betgil’s legs, 


This indeed is Betgil’s fate. 


— Who will go chase after it? 


— Betgil will chase after it. 


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&dńed! 

dedes mis&gva Xonńbaved: 

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 


liso, liso, kari kriso 

— lisim dalaleo; 

s&avardeni prtasa s&liso 

108


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 


Liso, Liso, so the wind sings 

— Lisim dalaleo; 

The peregrine falcon spreads its wings 

109

ia mtazeda 


arigebul, c&arigebul 


dauvlidi, dahq’vebodi 

— ra t’urpa ram Xaro. 

liso, liso, kari kriso 


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&amq h daria: 

zecisak’e c’aiq’vanes 

kali dabal-dabalia. 

maƒla-maƒla, taiao, 

sadac aXalgazdania! 

60. Zhamis naqhots kalebze 

kalebo, z&amis naq h ocebo, 

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


— Lisim dalaleo. 

The line moves up, the line moves down 


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 q h orcni, 

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


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


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 mq h arnia. 

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


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


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 firstmentioned 

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 lightshedding 

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 adgilisdeda, 

“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, 


I pluck a violet, I spread out a rose, 


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, 


A white mulberry is bearing fruit, 


I was in a grove of trees, 


The aspen tree wrapped around an aspen, 


We came here from the white sea 


Seven brothers and seven sisters, 

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ia mtazeda 


You spread out to seven towns, 


We’ll pitch our tents in seven towns, 


As your arrival has made us glad 

May your parting do likewise, 

Nana, nana, to the lords, 


“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 Adgilisdeda 

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 

132


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 

133

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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-inlaw 

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 

135

ia mtazeda 

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

ia mtazeda 

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 threestringed 

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. 

139

ia mtazeda 

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 lovemaking 

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. 

140


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 grafieskoe 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. 

141

ia mtazeda 

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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