Sorrow By Tsaulina Malazonia [Translated by Sallomeja Sandroschvili]

Sorrow
By Tsaulina Malazonia
Translated by Sallomeja Sandroschvili

Gone is
the night, unadorned, starless and
moonless widow,
Upon the roads
she left a wet veil and a slumbering row
of poplar trees,
She crossed
the mountains with nimble shins, driven mad
by nightmares,
And
at the edge of earth and sky, lightning mowed down her
body.

But I
stubbornly listened to the silence, strung like beads
upon the heartstrings,
The mournful
whisper of March rains and
the hopes of a vanished soul,
I listened
right here, to how the winds of color groaned
upon the canvas of memory…
Her
hands lay on the rumpled bed, like
discarded gloves.

*

სევდა

წავიდა ღამე, უსამკაულო, უვარსკვლავო და
უმთვარო ქვრივი,
გზებზე დატოვა სველი მანდილი და ალვის ხეთა
მთვლევარე მწკრივი,
გადაიარა მარდი წვივებით მთები, კოშმრებით
გადარეული,
და ცის მიწი დასალიერში ელვამ მოცელა მისი
სხეული.

მე კი ვუსმენდი ჯიუტად დუმილს, მძივებად
ასხმულს გულის სიმებზე,
მწუხარე ჩურჩულს მარტის წვიმების და
გაფრენილი სულის იმედებს,
ვუსმენდი აქვე, ხსოვნის ტილოზე თუ როგორ
კვნესდნენ ფერთა ქარები…
მისი ხელები აშლილ საწოლზე ეყარა, როგორც
ხელთათმანები.

*

Tsaulina Malazonia is a poet and scholar from Georgia. Her poems have appeared in leading literary periodicals, including Tsiskari magazine, the literary almanac Sitqva, and Literary Georgia. She is the author of the poetry collection Pallid Dawns (1992, Akhaltsikhe) and the novel Because of this Fate Named Edi (1997). Her work broke regional and patriarchal boundaries in post-Soviet Georgia by introducing a hauntingly unique, symbolist, and deeply individualistic feminine perspective to the literary landscape.

Sallomeja Sandroschvili is a poet, translator, and literary scholar based in Georgia. Her translations and scholarly interests focus on reclaiming and preserving twentieth-century Georgian women’s poetry. She is the daughter of Tsaulina Malazonia and is dedicated to bringing her mother’s pioneering literary legacy to an international audience.

Four Poems by Hilary Sideris

Treatment

If not for that need
I took for love & then

that shove, I wouldn’t have
married & divorced &

owed five years
of maintenance to my ex-

spouse whose accent
I found sexy till I didn’t.

I wouldn’t have been awake
at 3 AM to see that bug

traverse our coverlet
& watch the blood—mine?

his?—gush as I crushed it
between finger & thumb.

The toxic squad
wouldn’t have come &

sprayed our bed, treatment
for which I also paid.

*

Testosterone

Ground down like a soft
graphite stub in a hand-turned

sharpener, at night I count
backwards to the beginning

of divorce till boredom
overcomes remorse. How many

have been fired since cancer
research stalled? Fools in charge

confuse transgenic mice with
transgender men. My lawyer

Venmos a reminder to replenish
his retainer. U-Haul boxes

accrue dust, pile up like debts
beside my bed. Should I have

tried testosterone, purchased
a magnifying mirror, plucked

my upper lip & wanted sex
with my husband?

*

Shove

My cute nephew, a studious child,
has joined a frat, lifts weights,

drinks protein shakes. Last week
he shoved his mother when she

got up in his face—my little sister
isn’t asking for advice. I offer none.

Now’s not the time to say the man
I married hit his mom. What’s

worse, a husband or son’s shove?
She hopes he finds a girlfriend soon.

* 

Boomer Beach

I’ve only met you once,
for Thai, but you live on a beach
& I watch waves to meditate,
so I lie to my therapist,
drive to your gated community.
The surf, gnarly before an early

Nor’easter, churns up the Jersey
shore, its seawall higher, reinforced
since Hurricane Sandy. I take a picture—
not of us—of the wild rose hips,
their easy sway that says we’re all
fair game, but we’re still here.

After two glasses of Sancerre,
you talk at length about containing
hydrogen—not arrogance, I think,
just a man lost in his work.
You say you levitated in your youth,
show me a star-shaped scar

in your left palm, stitches between
finger & thumb, tell me about
the house in the California hills
you didn’t want to sell,
but the wildfires
burned closer every year.

*

Hilary Sideris is the author of the poetry collections Calliope (Broadstone Books, 2024), Liberty Laundry (Dos Madres Press, 2022), Animals in English (Dos Madres Press, 2020), The Silent B (Dos Madres Press, 2019), Un Amore Veloce (Kelsay Books, 2019), The Inclination to Make Waves (Big Wonderful LLC, 2016) and Most Likely to Die (Poets Wear Prada, 2014). Originally from Indiana and a longtime Brooklyn resident, she is a co-founder and curriculum developer for CUNY Start, a college preparatory program within the City University of New York.