Τό γυναικεῖον τῆς Ὑπατίας - An Áit Bhanda na Hypatia - Hypatia's Gynaeceum

Το περιβόλι
Δ. Σαββόπουλος

Κάτι αλήθεια συμβαίνει εδώ κάτι μυστικό
κάτι πλούσιο και παράξενο σαν τοπίο του βυθού
Ανθισμένες κερασιές κι απόγευμα ζεστό
και πολύχρωμο χορτάρι, ναι για ν' αποκοιμηθώ

Αμαξάκια κάτασπρα φεύγουν απαλά
και μας φέρνουνε σε σένανε στα μέρη τα παλιά
Στο γαλάζιο θρόνο σου χρυσό μανδύα φοράς
και σε δυο λιοντάρια ήμερα τα πόδια σου ακουμπάς

Τόσα χρόνια πάλευα μόνη στα τυφλά
και ταξίδεψα κι αρρώστησα και πέρασα πολλά
Τώρα όμως πλάϊ σου και πάλι περπατώ
μέσ’ τα χρώματα του κήπου σου και δίπλα στο νερό

Αμαξάκια κάτασπρα φεύγουν απαλά
και μας φέρνουνε σε σένανε στα μέρη τα παλιά
Κοντά μου φωσφορίζοντας σκύβεις και με φιλάς
για την νύχτα με σκεπάζεις, ναι και με παρηγοράς

The Garden
D. Savvopoulos
translated by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

Some truth occurs here, something secret
something rich and strange, like a seabed landscape
Blossoming cherry trees and warm afternoon
and many-colored grass, yes, for going to sleep

White carriages depart softly
and bring us to you in the regions of old
On your azure throne you wear a golden cloak
on two tame lions your feet rest

So many years I struggled alone in blindness
and I journeyed and fell sick and went through much
But now I'm by your side and I walk again
through the colors of your garden, beside the water

White carriages depart softly
and bring us to you in the regions of old
Shimmering near me, you bend down and kiss me
you cover me for the night, yes, and you comfort me

கொங்குதேர் வாழ்க்கை அஞ்சிறைத் தும்பி
காமம் செப்பாது கண்டது மொழிமோ
பயிலியது கெழீஇய நட்பின் மயிலியல்
செறியெயிற்று அரிவை கூந்தலின்
நறியவும் உளவோநீ அறியும் பூவே

konkutēr vālkkai añcirait tumpi
kāmam ceppātu kaNTatu molimō
payiliyatu kelīiya naTpin mayiliyal
ceriyeyirru arivai kūntalin
nariyavum uLavōnī ariyum pūvē

Beautiful-winged bee
whose life is passed in search of honey
don't speak to me of desire
but tell me what you really saw:

Could even the flowers that you know
be as full of fragrance
as the hair of the woman
with the even set of teeth and the peacock nature,
to whom long affection binds me?

--Kuruntokai 2

اى پيك راستان خبر يار ما بگو
احوال گل به بلبل دستان سرا بگو

ما محرمان خلوت انسيم غم مخور
با يار آشنا سخن آشنا بگو

برهم چو مى زد آن سر زلفين مشكبار
با ما سر چه داشت زبهر خدا بگو

هر كس كه گفت خاك در دوست توتياست
گو اين سخن معاينه در چشم ما بگو

آن كس كه منع ما ز خرابات مى كند
گو در حضور پير من اين ماجرا بگو

گر ديگرت بر آن در دولت گذر بود
بعد از اداى خدمت و عرض دعا بگو

هر چند ما بديم تو ما را بدان مگير
شاهانه ماجراى گناه گدا بگو

بر اين فقير نامه ء آن محتشم بخوان
با اين گدا حكايت آن پادشا بگو

جانها ز دام زلف چو بر خاك مى فشاند
بر آن غريب ما چه گذشت اى صبا بگو

جان پرورست قصه ء ارباب معرفت
رمزى برو بپرس حديثى بيا بگو

حافظ گرت به مجلس او راه مى دهند
مى نوش و ترك زرق ز بهر خدا بگو

ay payk-e râstân khabar-e yâr-e mâ be-gu
ahvâl-e gol beh bolbol-e dastân serâ be-gu

mâ mahramân-e khalvat-e onsim ghamm ma-khvor
bâ yâr-e âshnâ sokhan-e âshnâ be-gu

barham cho mi zad ân sar-e zolfayn-e moshkbâr
bâ mâ sar cheh dâsht ze bahr-e khodâ be-gu

har kas ke goft khâk-e dar-e dûst tutiyâst
gu in sokhan-e mo‘âyeneh dar chashm-e mâ be-gu

ân kas keh man‘-e mâ ze kharâbât mi konad
gu dar hozur-e pir-e man in mâjarâ be-gu

gar digarat bar ân dar-e dawlat gozar bovad
ba‘d az adâ-e khedmat o ‘erz do‘â be-gu

har chand mâ badim to mâ râ bedân ma-gir
shâhâneh mâjarâ-ye gonâh gadâ be-gu

bar in faqirnâmeh-ye ân mohtasham be-khvân
bâ in gadâ hekâyat-e ân pâdeshâh be-gu

jânhâ ze dâm-e zolf cho bar khâk mi feshânad
bar ân gharib-e mâ cheh gozasht ay sabâ be-gu

jân-e parvarast qesseh-ye arbâb-e ma‘refat
ramzi baru be-pors hadisi biyâ be-gu

hâfez garat beh majles-e u râh mi dehand
may nush o tark-e zorq ze bahr-e khodâ be-gu

O messenger of the roads, tell the news of our beloved
Tell the state of the rose to the melodious nightingale

We are friends of secluded intimacy; don't feel sad
Say friendly words to your intimate beloved

As those two musk-scented tresses strike together
With us, for God's sake, tell what your head holds

Say everyone who said the dust of the beloved's door is medicine
speaks this word of seeing in our eyes

Tell whoever forbids us from the tavern
tells this event in the presence of my pir

If someone other than you is passing through that gate of fortune
Say a prayer after fulfillment of service and honor

Even though we are bad, do not chide us for that
Tell the beggar the occurrence of royal sin

Read this book of poverty of that powerful one
Tell the tale of that emperor to this beggar

As it scatters souls on the dust from the snare of your tresses
O eastern breeze, tell what passed by that stranger of ours

The nurturing soul is the story of the masters of knowledge
Ask her for a hint, come tell a tale

Hafez, if they give you access to her gathering
Drink wine and say, for God's sake, quit the blindness.

(This is the sort of thing French women send each other in e-mails. There are different lists in English titled "100 good reasons to be a woman," but here is a whole other set I've translated with 100 more things you may not have read before. Gender stereotyping aside, I have to admit I really got a kick out of this list... Guys, don't mind us, it's all in fun)

1. Quand on ne sait pas quoi nous offrir, on nous offre des fleurs. Elles sont toujours jolies. C'est pas compliqué!
When they don't know what to offer us, they offer us flowers. They're always pretty. It's uncomplicated!

2. On a plus de chances de se faire prendre en stop.
We have more luck getting a ride hitchhiking.

3. L'intuition est exclusivement féminine.
Intuition is exclusively female.

4. On peut se permettre des voitures minuscules.
Eux auraient l'impression d'y perdre leur virilité.
We can allow ourselves small cars.
They would feel like they'd lost their manhood thereby.

5. On peut porter des barrettes dans les cheveux.
We can wear barrettes in our hair.

6. On ne doit pas se raser tous les matins.
We don't have to shave every morning.

7. Notre écriture est plus jolie.
Our handwriting is prettier.

8. Quand on va avoir un bébé, on le sait avant eux.
When we're going to have a baby, we know it before they do.

9. Au cinéma, on a le droit d'avoir peur, pas eux.
At the movies, we have the right to be scared, not them.

10. Les confiseurs ont fait les sucettes spécialement pour les filles.
Candymakers have made lollypops specially for girls.

11. On est rarement daltoniennes.
We are rarely colorblind.

12. Notre peau est plus douce.
Our skin is softer.

13. On nous donne des noms de fleurs. On leur donne des noms de papes.
We are named for flowers. They are named for popes.

14. On a plus de zones érogènes qu'eux.
We have more erogenous zones than they do.
( continued... )
100. Il y a des tas de bonnes raisons d'être une femme, dont l'essentielle est de ne pas être un homme.
There are tons of good reasons for being a woman, of which the essential one is not being a man.

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 onion, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 tsp crushed red pepper
1 tsp black pepper
1 red bell pepper, chopped
5 Sicilian olives, pitted, sliced
5 Kalamata olives, pitted, sliced
2 tbs capers
1/2 cup crimini mushrooms, sliced
2 15-oz. cans chickpeas
1.5 cups tomato sauce
1/4 cup fresh basil, chopped
1/4 cup flat-leaf parsley, chopped
1 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp rosemary
1/2 tsp thyme
1 tbs lemon juice
2 cups mozzarella, shredded
1/2 cup parmesan
1/2 cup Italian bread crumbs

1. In a large skillet, sauté the onions and garlic in 1/4 cup olive oil until transparent.
2. Add celery, red pepper, black pepper, bell pepper, olives, capers, mushrooms, and chickpeas; sauté 5 more minutes.
3. Stir in herbs and lemon juice.
4. Oil the bottom of a deep baking dish with olive oil, and coat with a couple tablespoons tomato sauce; place half the chickpea mixture into the dish.
5. Cover with 1 cup mozzarella.
6. On top of the mozzarella, spread 1/2 cup tomato sauce.
7. Place the remaining chickpea mixture on top.
8. Cover with the remaining 1 cup mozzarella.
9. Cover with the remaining 1 cup tomato sauce.
10. Cover with parmesan; top with bread crumbs.
11. Bake uncovered at 350 degrees for 30 minutes; raise heat to 425 degrees and bake for 10 more minutes to get a crispy top. Serves 8.

( Segue la ricetta tradotta in italiano... )

Hari ini saya sudah menterjemahkan kepada bahasa inggeris sepucuk surat lama dari Melaka yang ditulis di huruf jawi. Dahulu ini, saya penterjemah bahasa arab pada pekerjaan ini; hari ini kali yang pertama saya menterjemahkan bahasa melayu padanya. Semua lain penterjemah-penterjemah melayu di syarikat kami tidak boleh baca tulisan jawi. Saya sahaja--wanita Amerika--boleh sanggup tugasan ini. Ketua saya ialah wanita Cina, dia sangat suka dengan saya. Dan sekarang-- bolehkah dapat tambahan gaji?

Puan Jannah
Otak Itu

Edit: On second thought-- after posting this, I considered that only dimension_view among my friends can understand it, so here it is in English:

I am becoming more useful and valuable at my job

Today I have translated into English an old document from Malacca that was written in the Jawi alphabet. (Jawi refers to the Arabic alphabet formerly used for writing Malay.) Before this, I was an Arabic translator on this job; today is the first time I translated Malay at it. All the other Malay translators in our company cannot read Jawi script. Only I--the American lady--could take on this assignment. My boss is a Chinese lady, she is very pleased with me. And now-- can I get a pay raise?

Ms. Jannah
The Brain

P.S. Check out the Jawi Converter! Here's my post in Jawi:

ساي منجادي لبيه برڬونا دان برهرڬ ڤد ڤكرجأن ساي

هاري اين ساي سوده منترجمهكن كڤد بهاس ايڠڬريس سڤوچوق سورت لاما دري ملاك يڠ دتوليس د حروف جاوي. دهولو اين، ساي ڤنتيرجمه بهاس عرب ڤد ڤكرجأن اين; هاري اين كالي يڠ ڤرتام ساي منترجمهكن بهاس ملايو ڤدڽ. سموا لاين ڤنتيرجمه-ڤنتيرجمه ملايو د شريكت كامي تيدق بوليه باچ توليسن جاوي. ساي سهاج--وانيتا اميريك--بوليه سڠڬوڤ توڬسن اين. كتوا ساي اياله وانيتا چينا، دي ساڠت سوك دڠن ساي. دان سكارڠ-- بوليهكه داڤت تمبهن ڬاجي؟

ڤوان جنة
اوتق ايت

A simple declaration I translated into many languages in honor of International Women's Day.


Ainu: menoko ku ne.
Akan: me yε baa.
Albanian: unë jam një grua.
Amharic: ené sét näñ.
Arabic: ana imra’ah.
Aramaic: ena nesha.
Armenian: yes mi kin em.
Assamese: mai tirotā haom.
Aymara: naya xa warmi twa.
Azerbaijani: mən gadınam.
Balinese: tiang istri.
Baluchi: man zál búán.
Bambara: n ye muso ye.
Bashkir: min qatynmyn.
Basque: ni emakumea naiz.
Belarusian: ya zhanchyna.
Bengali: ami nari.
Bhojpuri: ham meharārū bāTīm.
Brahui: ī māī uT.
Breton: maouez on.
Bulgarian: az sam zhena.
Burmese: kywan ma ka tay min'ma.
Burushaski: ja gus ba.
Cantonese: ngo hai neui yan.
Catalan: jo sóc una dona.
Cebuano: babaye ko.
Chamorro: palao'an yo'.
Chechen: so zuda yu.
Cherokee: aya ageya.
Cheyenne: nahe'eve.
Chinese: wo shi nü ren.
Choctaw: ohoyo siah.
Chuvash: epĕ khĕrarăm pulatăp.
Comanche: nu’ tsa wa’ipu.
Coptic: anok Hime.
Cree: iskwêw niya.
Creek: hoktēt omis.
Czech: já jsem žena.
Danish: jeg er en kvinde.
Domi: nēn meye ulchen.
Dutch: ik ben een vrouw.
Egyptian: ’ink st.
English: I am a woman.
Old English: ic eom wif.
Estonian: mina olen naine.
Etruscan: mi am puia.
Evenki: bi asī bisim.
Fijian: o au na yalewa.
Finnish: minä olen nainen.
French: je suis une femme.
Frisian: ik bin in frou.
Friulian: jo o soi une femine.
Fula: ko mi debbo.
Georgian: me k‘ali var.
German: ich bin eine frau.
Gothic: ik im qino.
Ancient Greek: eimi gynē.
Modern Greek: eimai gynaika.
Guaraní: che kuña.
Gujarati: hum strī chum.
Gullah: I ooman.
Hakka: ngai sii ng ngin.
Hausa: ni mace ce.
Haitian Creole: mwen se yon fanm.
Hawaiian: he wahine au.
Hebrew: ani ishah.
Hindi: maim strī hūm.
Hittite: gwenas ēšmi.
Hmong: kuv yog poj niam.
Hopi: nu’ wuuti.
Hungarian: én egy nő vagyok.
Icelandic: ég er kona.
Igbo: a bu m nwanyi.
Irish: is bean mé.
Italian: io sono una donna.
Japanese: watashi wa onna desu.
Javanese: aku wèdok.
Jibbali: he’ teth.
Kannada: nānu obba heNNu iddēne.
Kanuri: wuye kamu.
Kashmiri: bih ches zanān.
Kazakh: men äyelmin.
Khasi: nga long ka kynthei.
Khmer: khñom jia sri.
Khowar: awa kimeri asum.
Kongo: mono ngina nkento.
Korean: nae ga yŏja issŭmnida.
Krio: mi na uman.
Kurdish: min jinim.
Kyrgyz: men ayalmyn.
Láadan: bíi with le wi.
Lakota: winyan hemaca kšto.
Lao: khộy mæn mæ-nyîng.
Latin: mulier sum.
Latvian: es esmu sieviete.
Lithuanian: aš esu moteris.
Luganda: nze ndi mukazi.
Luo: an dhako.
Macedonian: jas sum zhena.
Mahri: hō taith.
Maithili: ham maugi chi.
Malagasy: vehivavy aho.
Malay: saya seorang perempuan.
Malayalam: ñān strī ānu.
Maltese: jien mara.
Manchu: bi hehe bimbi.
Maori: ko au ko he wahine.
Mapudungu: iñche domo.
Marathi: mi bayăka ahe.
Mari: məy üdramash ulam.
Meitei: əy ni nupi.
Mien: yie se nyouz nyienh.
Min Nan: góa sī lú jîn.
Mixtec: ru’u kuu in ña’a.
Mohawk: i’i sewakathuwísv.
Mömö: me neye wolyam.
Mongolian: bi emegtei bain.
Classical Mongolian: bi eme bui.
Motu: lau na hahine.
Mundari: aing kuRi tāning.
Nahuatl: nicihuatl.
Nama: tiíta tarás ’ií.
Navajo: asdzání nishli.
Nenets: ñedəm.
Nepali: ma āimāī hum.
Norwegian: eg er en kvinne.
Nubian: ày idéén lè.
Occitan: ieu soi una femna.
Ojibwe: nindayaa ikwe.
Old Norse: ek em kona.
Oriya: mum nārī aTe.
Oromo: ani dubartii.
Panjabi: maim istrī ām.
Pashto: zə Shədza yəm.
Persian: man zan hastam.
Phrygian: knaika eimi.
Polish: ja jestem kobieta.
Portuguese: eu sou uma mulher.
Proto-Indo-European: gwenā esmi.
Quechua: ñuqa warmi kani.
Quenya: nán nís.
Quiche: in ixöq.
Romanian: eu sunt o femeie.
Rumantsch: jau sun ina dunna.
Russian: ya zhenshchina.
Sakha: min djakhtar byn.
Sami: mun lean nisu.
Samoan: ‘o a‘u ‘o fafine.
Sanskrit: stryasmi. स्त्र्यस्मि
Santali: iñ kuRi kana.
Sardinian: eo so una femmina.
Serbo-Croatian: ja sam žena.
Shona: ndini mukadzi.
Sicilian: iu sugnu 'na fìmmina.
Sindarin: im bess.
Sindhi: mān zāl tho.
Sinhalese: mama strī.
Slovak: ja som žena.
Slovenian: jaz sem ženska.
Somali: waxaan ahay naag.
Songhay: ay ga ti wayboro.
Soqotri: hoh teth.
Spanish: yo soy una mujer.
Sudovian: as esmā genā.
Sundanese: kuring awéwé.
Sumerian: me munus imen.
Swahili: mimi ni mwanamke.
Swedish: jag är en kvinna.
Tagalog: babae ako.
Taino: daca ínarú.
Tamasheq: tameTT a emosegh.
Tamazight: nekk d tameTTut.
Tamil: nān peN irukkirēn.
Tatar: min xatynmyn.
Telugu: nēnu āDavu unnānu.
Tetum: ha’u feto.
Thai: dichan pen phûying khâ.
Tibetan: nga mo yin.
Tigrinya: anä sebeyti eyyä.
Tlingit: shaawát xat yatee.
Tok Pisin: mi wanpela meri.
Turkish: ben kadınım.
Turkmen: men aýal.
Tuvan: men khereezhen dirmen.
Ukrainian: ya zhînka.
Urdu: main ‘aurat hūn.
Uyghur: män ayalmän.
Uzbek: men ayolman.
Vietnamese: tôi là đàn bà.
Welsh: rydw i'n fenyw.
Wolof: maa ngi jigeen.
Wu: ngu he ny ning.
Xhosa: ndingu umfazi.
Yiddish: ikh bin a froy.
Yoruba: obìnrin ni mí.
Yucatec Mayan: xunan-en.
Zapotec: naa nga gunaa.
Zhuang: gou dwg mehmbwk.
Zulu: ngingu umfazi.

ஒள்தொடி அரிவை கொண்டனள் நெஞ்சே
வண்டிமிர் பனித்துறைத் தொண்டி ஆங்கண்
உரவுக் கடல்ஒலித் திரையென
இரவி னானும் துயிலறி யேனே.

oLtoTi arivai koNTanaL neñcē
vaNTimir panitturai toNTi ānkaN
uravu kaTaloli tiraiyena
iravinānun tuyilari yēnē

The young woman with shining bangles
has possessed my heart.

On the misty seashore at Tonti
humming with bees, where
the ocean waves roar in ceaselessly
in the middle of the night
I can't get any sleep.

--Ainkurunuru #172

I consulted a traditional Persian oracle, the divân-e Hâfez, for the coming year. I have big, serious challenges ahead of me this year.

I got this ghazal and translated it:

ما شبى دست برآريم و دعايى بكنيم
غم هجران ترا چاره ز جايى بكنيم

دل بيمار شد از دست رفيقان مددى
تا طبيبش به سر آريم و دوايى بكنيم

mâ shabi dast bar ârim o do‘âyi bo-konim
ghamm-e hejrân-e torâ châreh ze jâyi bo-konim

del bimâr shod az dast-e rafiqân-e madadi
tâ tabibesh beh sar ârim o davâyi bo-konim

In the night let us lift our hands and pray
Let us make a remedy from somewhere for your sadness of separation

Your heart has become sick at the hands of helpful companions
Until we bring its physician into existence and heal you.

Central Asian Women's Poetry Series #9

We're No Angels
by Zulfiya Atoi
translated from Tajik by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

We're no angels
We're village girls
Thirsty for kindness and fidelity
Our desire is for love

We're no angels
We're heart-giving heart-takers
Sweetie, don't you say
We're fallen from heaven

We're no angels
In our heart is humanity
Happiness, passion, and sadness
The sorrows of humanity

We're no angels
We've captured a lover's heart
Sometimes we've given our hearts freely
Sometimes we've wounded a heart

We're no angels
The hearts in us are restless
Our soul is also our life
Wheat bread is our bread
We're no angels

Mo farishta nestem
az Zulfiya Atoi

Mo farishta nestem
Dukhtari qishloqi mo
Tishnai mehr u vafo
ishq ro mushtoqi mo

Mo farishta nestem
Dilbari dildoda em
Tu ma gu, ay nozanin
Az samo uftoda em

Mo farishta nestem
Dar dili mo odamist
Shodi u suz u ghammist
Dardhoyi odamist

Mo farishta nestem
Qalbi yore burda em
Gah dili khud doda muft
Gah dile ozarda em

Mo farishta nestem
Dil dar mo shurhost
Joni mo ham -- joni mo
Noni gandum -- noni most
Mo farishta nestem

भलै निदौ भलै निदौ भलै निदौ लोग
नम मन सब पियारे जोग ।
मैं बौरी मेरे राम भरतार
ता कारनि रचि करे सिंगार ।
जैसे धुबिया रज मल धोवै
हर तप रत सब न्यंदक खोवै ।
न्यंदक मेरे माइ बाप
जन्म जन्म के काटे पाप ।
न्यंदक मेरे प्रान अधार
बिन बेगारि चलावै भार ।
कहे कबीर न्यंदक बलिहारी
आप रहे जन पार उतारी ।

I have such a good friend;
he helps me to keep my mind on God.
I'm crazy for the lord God
for whom I get dressed up nice.
Like a laundryman washing the dust
and dirt out of clothes,
the slanderer cleans my soul.
The slanderer is as good as my parents,
getting rid of all my sins from many births.
The slanderer is my life's breath and support;
he carries my burdens free of charge.
Kabir says: I am in awe of the slanderer--
He rescues others while he sinks himself.

bhalai nidau bhalai nidau bhalai nidau loga
nama mana saba piyare joga
maim bauri mere rama bharatara
ta karani raci kare singara
jaise dhubiya raja mala dhovai
hara tapa rata saba nyandaka khovai
nyandaka mere mai bapa
janma janma ke kate papa
nyandaka mere prana adhara
bina begari calavai bhara
kahe kabir nyandaka balihari
apa rahe jana para utari

Comments:
This poem employs some heavy irony. Kabir's spiritual perspective here is, as usual, a synthesis of Hindu and Muslim. The starting point is a principle emphasized in Islamic ethics that backbiting is an evil deed. Kabir's language literally says that being slandered helps him to practice "yoga"--i.e. keeping the mind fixed on Lord Rama, which is the name he uses for God. There is a belief in Islam that if someone wrongs you, their good deeds will be taken from them and added to the balance of your good deeds--or else your bad deeds will be taken from you and added to the balance of their bad deeds. Kabir was a weaver by trade--in his poems he uses the image of the soul as a woven cloth or garment that gets dirty with bad deeds. So here the person who wrongs you is likened to a laundryman (dhobi) who cleans your soul. Given an ethical teleology in which truth will ultimately win and wrong will ultimately fail, the ironic twist is that someone who sets out to hurt you winds up taking your sins upon himself--sacrificing himself to rescue you, earning the poet's ironic praise.

Central Asian women's poetry series #7

Sacred Woman
by Halima Xudoyberdiyeva
Translated from Uzbek by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

Your lovers have thrown flowers at your feet,
In solitude they have tasted honey from your lips,
And they have sold it to anyone at all,
You are sacred anyway, sacred woman.

First they came to fill your embrace, and told you to shine
You did not consent, woman, though people said the opposite
Unable to reach you, they turned their faces and called you bitter
You are sacred anyway, sacred woman.

You flutter your wings slowly and you lay your head down,
It's been thousands of years, your eyes sparkle with tears,
A thousand and one criminals will hurt you with stones,
You are sacred anyway, sacred woman.

Though you come silently when summoned, though you come uselessly,
Though you come humbly to the drunken circle, though you come pleading to scoundrels,
Though you come oppressed to the scoundrels, though you come humbly,
You are sacred anyway, sacred woman.

In fact you'll have amusements where you go,
Good and bad stories where you go,
You'll have men like wild horses where you go,
You are sacred anyway, sacred woman.

Your silk perfume body has the marks of stones,
Your bosom has the traces of heads that have leaned there,
You have the remnants of suns whose sun-fire has burned out,
You are sacred anyway, sacred woman.

Muqaddas Ayol
Halima Xudoyberdiyeva

Oshiqlaring poyingga gul otib ham bo'ldi,
Xilvatlarda labingdan bol totib ham bo'ldi,
Va bu haqda kimlargadir sotib ham bo'ldi,
Sen baribir muqaddassan, muqaddas ayol.

Avval kelib, quchog'ingga to'l, balq dedilar,
Unamading ayol asli ters xalq dedilar,
Yetolmagach yuz o'girib, sho'r taxt dedilar,
Sen baribir muqaddassan, muqaddas ayol.

Talpinasan astagina va qo'yasan bosh,
Mingyillikdir ko'zlaringda jovdiragan yosh,
Gunihkorlar mingu bitta, senga tegar tosh,
Sen baribir muqaddassan, muqaddas ayol.

Chorlashganda jim kelsang-da, bekor kelsang-da,
Mast davraga xor kelsang-da nomardlarga zor kelsang-da,
Xor kelsang-da nomardlarga xor kelsang-da,
Sen baribir muqaddassan, muqaddas ayol.

Aslida bor ermaklarning borar yeri sen,
Yaxshi-yomon ertaklarning borar yeri sen,
Asov otdek erkaklarning borar yeri sen,
Sen baribir muqaddassan, muqaddas ayol.

Harir, xushbo'y badaningda toshlar izi bor,
Ko'kragingda egilgan ne boshlar izi bor,
Quyosh o'ti kuydirgan ne quyoshlar izi bor,
Sen baribir muqaddassan, muqaddas ayol.

Halima Xudoyberdiyeva was born on May 17, 1947. In 1992 she was named People's Poet of Uzbekistan.

This poem really makes me cry. Alloh sizdan rozi bo'lsin, Halima jon.

Central Asian women's poetry series #6

Mother
by Gulchehra Sulaymoni
Translated from Tajik by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

My mother who takes away sadness
The joy of my days
My strength, my pivot
My garden and my springtime,
My mother who takes away sadness!

May I be sacrificed in your name,
Worthy of your respect,
My intention, my wish,
Your intention, your wish,
My mother who takes away sadness!

You're more excellent than anyone
You're more beautiful than anyone,
You're the source of my yearning,
You're the origin of honor,
My mother who takes away sadness!

You're the lamp and light of the house
You're the joy of this era
You're a verse of sweet song
You're the only one for me
My mother who takes away sadness

Modar
az Gulchehra Sulaymoni

modari ghamgusori man
shodiyi ruzgori man
quvati man, madori man
boghi man u bahori man
modari ghamgusori man!

sadaqa shavam ba nomi tu,
loyiqi ehtiromi tu,
maqsadi man, maromi man,
maqsadi tu, maromi tu,
modari ghamgusori man!

az hama shakhs nekuyi tu
az hama khubruyi tu,
chashmai orzuyi tu,
boisi obruyi tu,
modari ghamgusori man!

shama u chiroghi khonai
shodiyi in zamonai
bayti khush taronai
baroyi man yagonai
modari ghamgusori man

Гулчеҳра Сулаймони
Gulchehra Sulaymoni was born in 1928 in the city of Bukhara. She graduated from the Bukhara Pedagogical Institute, School of Language and Literature. She has lived with her family in Dushanbe since 1948. She writes mostly for children. She worked on various publications from Sadoyi Sharq (voice of the East) magazine and for a while was director of the division of juvenile and young adult literature at Irfon Publications. Among her poetry collections, Imruz Id (today's a holiday) (1957), Du Bih Olu (two cherry trees) (1962), Nargis (primrose) (1966), Sibi Khubon (apple of the fair) (1974), Shaddai Marjon (a string of coral) (1975), and Ayyomi Guli Lola (days of tulip flowers) (1982) may be cited. Sulaymoni joined the Union of Writers of the Soviet Union in 1957. She is a recipient of the Honorary Order of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of Tajikistan, and a number of medals. Gulchehra Sulaymoni is the daughter of the famous poet Payrav Sulaymoni.

I just sent this poem to my Mom. I found it in the anthology She‘r-e mo‘aser-e Tajiki (contemporary Tajik poetry) by Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh.

Happy Mother's Day

Central Asian women's poetry series #5

I Have Found You
by Halima Xudoyberdiyeva
Translated from Uzbek by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

I have found you, but farewell,
Say "Farewell," not "Until we meet."
This sun will still get very red and hot,
This moon too will wish much harm on my life.

If you won't become the partner for my sadness now,
Actually, I would never have you as my partner.
Goodbye now, forgive my too much/not enough,
I cannot love you like Layla.

Don't be hurt because of these mistaken problems.
O God, desires go empty in a moment.
How should I find out in the paths of love--
Not crazy, I will meet You face to face...

Men seni topgandim
Halima Xudoyberdiyeva

Men seni topgandim, ammo yaxshi qol,
Sen "yaxshi qol" degil, "ko'rishguncha"mas.
Bul quyosh hali ko'p ol bo'ladir, ol,
Bul oy ham umrimga ko'p qiladir qasd.

Sen sherik bo'lmaysan endi g'amimga,
Darvoqe, hech qachon sherik qilmadim.
Xayr endi, ma'zur tut ortiq-kamimga,
Men seni Layloday seva bilmadim.

O'rtanma, bu xato mushkullaridan,
Yo rabbiy, lahzada bor orzular puch.
Men ham qaydan bilay ishq yo'llarida--
Majnun emas, Senga kelarimni duch...

The play on words is in the last line: Majnun means crazy, but is also the legendary lover of Layla -- a role that the poet rejects at the end of the previous stanza.



Poet Halima Xudoyberdiyeva was born on May 17, 1947 on the Progress Collective Farm in Boyovut, Surxondaryo Province. She graduated from the journalism faculty at Tashkent State University (now Uzbekistan National University) in 1972. Her first job was on the editorial staff of the journal Saodat. In her student years she published her poem collection Ilk Muhabbat (first love). The poet's collections Oq Olmalar (white apples) and Chaman (flower garden) were published in 1973 and 1974. All at once she was known for her own particular quality. In 1975-77 she studied in an advanced literature course at the Literature Institute in Moscow. In these years the poet's collections Beliye Yabloki (white apples in Russian), Suyanch Tog'larim (my supporting mountains), and Bobo Quyosh (grandfather sun) were published.

Xudoyberdiyeva was the head of the Yosh Gvardiya publications department (1978-1982), and in 1984-1994 was the editor in chief of Saodat. From 1991 to 1994 she was president of the Uzbekistan Women's Committee. The poet sang with warmth of ordinary peasants and the motherland in her poems. In the years of independence, Halima Xudoyberdiyeva wrote of the people's history, their famous ancestors. Muqaddas Ayol (sacred woman) (1987), Bu Kunlarga Yetganlar Bor (there are those who have made it to now) (1993), To'marisning Aytgani (what To'maris said) (1996), Saylanma (don't get elected) (2000) are the poet's major works.

In 1992 Xudoyberdiyeva was awarded the title of "People's Poet of Uzbekistan" and the "Mark of Honor" medal.

Central Asian women's poetry series #4

The Return of the Tajik Language
by Farzona
translated by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

I am a weary wave
Somewhere else is a breath that I've breathed out hard,
O pain, now I've rested on the river's breast,
I've been disturbed by other wild waves

I am the sacred temple
Thirsty-hearted people of the world, listen to me
Like living water, refresh me
I died, but now, who would forget?!

I am a fresh voice,
A voice that gives life to the world's silence,
Becoming a cry that calls to the forgetful,
Liberating the embodied heart from the breast!

I am living speech
Although by myself I'm exhausted, like a weary river,
Don't count on my life coming to an end so easily
Be happy that I'm reviving and becoming more alive!

Rujui Zaboni Tojiki
az Farzona

man mavji khastaam
digar kuja dame, ki ba tundi damidaam,
dardo, kunun ba sinai rud ormidaam,
az mavjhoyi sarkashi digar ramidaam

man bayti qudsiyam
diltishnagiyoni giti, maro gush kardaand,
chun obi zindagoni, maro nush kardaand,
murdam magar kunun, ki faromush kardaand?!

man savti tozaam,
savte ki bar sukuti jahon jon ato kunad,
bonge shavad, ki ghaflatiyon ro, nido kunad,
az sina qalbi qolibiyon ro raho kunad!

man lafzi zindaam
dar khud chu rudi khasta firumondaam agar,
ma-shumor--ki umri man chunin oson rusad ba-sar
khush dor dil ki meshavam ihyo u zindatar!


Line 5 has a play on words: bayt means 'house' in Arabic but it also means 'line of poetry'. The term bayti qudsi, which is usually associated with the temple of Jerusalem, could also be read as 'sacred poem'.

Farzona was born in 1966 in the city of Khujand (which for a while was known by the name Leninabad), and she continued to reside there and studied at the university in this city. Ever since childhood she has been deeply into the classical Persian poets and has been singing poetry since she was ten. After completing teachers' college in the city of Khujand, she got her own poems printed in newspapers and magazines. In 1985 she was employed for a while at the Leninabad Haqiqat newspaper.
Farzona expresses her own particular sensitivities naturally in good Persian language.
Collections of her poems that have been published: Shabikhuni Barg (1989); Gulhoyi Navruzi; Bargi Sabz.

The Russian artist Nicholas Roerich (1874-1947) traveled in the Himalayas and Central Asia, and with his wife Helena founded the Agni Yoga Society based on occult interpretations of Central Asian mythic geography. I've always admired his use of light and color in painting mountainous scenery.

In this 1924 painting, Vedushchaya 'She Who Leads' or 'The Female Leader', Roerich expressed his vision of an important role played by women in shaping the future of humanity. His frequent use of tiny human figures shown in one corner of a vast landscape reminds me of Chinese Zen painting. This picture shows a typical Roerich mountain landscape in rich colors and luminous shadows. But it's the human figures in this one that caught my attention.



The woman walking in front pauses and turns around to look at a man crawling behind her on all fours, who is grasping her skirt. My discovery: This image was apparently lifted from a 16th-century illuminated manuscript miniature of the Herat school done in Bukhara.


(click on the pictures to enlarge, then click a second time)

This painting has been called "A Maiden and her Persistent Lover" and is attributed to the Herati painter Shaykh Zadah (a student of the great Herati master Behzad), after his move to Bukhara, dated circa 1530. Bukhara was at that time the capital of the Uzbek dynasty, patrons of the Herat school of art. The Uzbeks sometimes kidnapped the great artists of Herat and took them to Bukhara to work.

Look at the attitude of the woman's arms in both pictures, the curve of her back, the meeting of eyes, the placement of the man's knees at a lower level than her feet. Can the resemblance be coincidental? How Roerich might have gotten a look at this picture is a puzzle. I found it on page 100 of a book titled Pages of Perfection: Islamic Paintings and Calligraphy from the Russian Academy of Sciences, St. Petersburg. Coincidentally, Roerich was a native of St. Petersburg. However, the Bukhara painting belongs to the private collection of the expatriate Iranian art historian Abolala Soudavar, resident in the USA. I can only wonder where this painting existed during Roerich's lifetime and if he ever saw it. Or if he saw a copy of it in Russia or Uzbekistan. A third possibility would be if this figure composition is a repeated theme in Central Asian art. It was first printed in Soudavar's book Art of the Persian Courts (1992).

The Persian text with the painting says (if I've translated it right): dâman chon to negâri ze kaff âsân na-deham / sayyâr be-dast âmadeh 'As you are a beauty, I don't let go of your skirt easily / The wanderer has come into my grasp'. This guy just has no respect for women's boundaries.

The contrast that caught my imagination is in how the two artists interpreted the exact same composition so differently. The woman in the Bukhara miniature seems to be saying "Hey, what's the idea of grabbing my skirt?" and the guy is like "Don't go, I want to be your boyfriend," and she's like "Let go of me, you stalker, before I get a restraining order," as she pulls her robe out of his hand. But Roerich envisions Woman leading Man into a more hopeful future for humanity. She is looking back at him with care and concern to make sure he's able to follow her as he struggles to keep up.

Roerich's philosophy was partly drawn from Shamanic traditions of the Altay Mountains. The most ancient levels of Siberian shamanism were attributed to women, shamanesses whose widespread name udagan was derived from a name of the Altaic Mother Goddess of the Hearth, Etügen (in Mongolian She is called Etügen Eke, 'Mother Earth'). Roerich's Goddess figures like Mater' Mira 'Mother of the World' come from this Altaic shamaness tradition. The artist looks to (idealized) women as future saviors of the human race.

Central Asian women's poetry series #3

The Voice of the Girl
by Zulfiya Atoi
translated from Tajik by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

Life was begun with my name
The locks on the doors of goodness were opened
Hands grasped the stars with my name
Every hair on the head became endowed with miracles

Farhad dug through the mountains with my name
The defenses of his fortress were thrown down too
Also with my name Qays became Majnun
He preferred his desert over the world

Like spring I have returned scattering laughter
The poets are not allowed to complain
They say I am an unkind sweetheart
I am kind like the musk breeze blowing

Surudi Dukhtar
az Zulfiya Atoi

zindagi bo nomi man oghoz shud
qafli darhoyi nekuyi boz shud
dastho bo nomi man akhtar girift
har sarmu sohibi e'joz shud

kuh ro bo nomi man Farhod kand
bandhoyi qal'aash az ham fikand
Qays ham bo nomi man Majnun bishud
az jahon omad biyobonash pasand

chun bahoron gashtaam man khanda rez
band band shoiron shud nola khez
dilbari nomehribon guftaand
mehribonam chun nasimi mushk bez

Notes:
Farhad and Qays are figures in the classical Persian poetry of Nizami. Farhad was a stonecutter in love with the Armenian princess Shirin. He was told to tunnel through the mountains with a pickaxe. He dug repeating the name "Shirin" at every stroke. He turned out to have superhuman strength. When he was almost finished, it looked like nothing could stop him. So they lied to him that Shirin had died while he was digging. He died out of grief upon hearing that. She came to see him and died of grief alongside him. She heard her name being called by the wind, the water, and everything around.
Qays was a poet who loved Layla so much he went mad and became known as Majnun, which means crazy. Layla and Majnun is the best-known love story in the Muslim world, it even inspired a hit rock song by Eric Clapton.
Women like Shirin or Layla in Persian love poetry are symbols of God. Muslims have been representing Allah as a girl for centuries, curious how no one seems to have noticed this.

Look at the lovely rhyme scheme in the original: AABA CCAC DDCD

I'd like to do a series of Central Asian women's poetry. We've met Zulfiya before, here's another...

In This Corner
by Zulfiya Atoi
translated from Tajik by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

In this corner there's no friend, no work
I'm quiet, remembering your face
In this corner let me die of loneliness
It's amazing how patient and strong I've been

In this corner everything is exile
Nobody hears news of my doings
To whom shall I tell my sorrow, when girls
Have nothing but passion on their mind

In this corner two or three women on my back
Are calling me a crazy girl
Books and poetry became her water and bread
They say where's the thought of clothes and house

My confidante and companion always
You who are a celebrated poet
How did you find out my nature, my sorrow?

Oh, my friend of delirious imagination
Come sometime, in spring or winter
Give this corner some noise and sparks
For dark eyes that scatter flames

Dar in gusha
az Zulfiya Atoi

dar in gusha na yore u na kore
ba yodi ruyi tu osudaam man
dar in gusha zi tanhoyi bi-murdam
ajab bo sabr u toqat budaam man

dar in gusha hamma ovora khesh
zi kor u bore man kas ro khabar nest
ba kay guyam ghammam, chun dukhtaron ro
ba ghayr az kurta savdoyi ba sar nest

dar in gusha du si zan az qafoyam
maro yak dukhtari devona guftand
kitob u she'r gashta ob u nonash
kujo yodi libos u khona guftand

hamesha rozdon u hamdami man
tu ki yak shoiri ovoza dore
kujo doni sirishti man, ghammi man?

tu ay yori khayoli bekhudiho
biyo bore, bahoron yo zimiston
bi-bakhsh in gusha ro shur u sharore
ba chashmoni siyoh u shu'la afshon

I Will Dance
by Mirabai (1498-1547)
Translation by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

चितनन्दन आगे नाचूँगी ।
नाचि नाचि पिय रसिक रिझाऊँ, प्रेमी जन को जाचूँगी ।
प्रेम प्रीत का बाँध घूँघरा, सूरत की कछनी काछूँगी ।
लोक लाज कुल की मरजादा, या मैं एक न राखूँगी ।
पिया के पलंगा जा पौढ़ूँगी, मीराँ हरि रंग राचूँगी ॥

I will dance before the Consciousness-Charmer.
Having danced and danced, I will please my enjoyer. I will feel my lover.
I will tie on the ankle bells of love and affection. I will wear the dancing-garment of his face.
Worldly modesty, family honor—I will not care for either of these.
I will go and lie in the bed of my beloved. I, Mira, will dye myself in Hari's color.

citanandana aage naacuungii
naaci naaci piya rasika rijhaauum, premii jana ko jaacuungii
prema priita kaa baandha ghuungharaa, suurata kii kachanii kaachuungii
loka laaja kula kaa marajaadaa, yaa maim eka na raakhuungii
piyaa ke palangaa jaa pauRhuungii, miiraam hari ranga raacuungii

मेरे तो गिरिधर गुपाल, दूसरा न कोई ।
जा के सिर सोर मुकुट, मेरो पति सोई ॥
तात, मात, भ्रात, बंधु, अपना नहिं कोई ।
छाँड़ दई, कुल की कान, क्या करेगा कोई?
संतन ढिग बैठी बैठी, लोक लाज खोई ॥
चुनरी के किये टूक टूक, आढ़ लीन्ह लोई ।
मोती मूँगे उतार बन माला पोई ॥
अँसुवन जल सींचि सींचि प्रेम बेलि बोई ।
अब तो बेलि फैल गई, आनंद फल होई ॥
दूध की मथनिया, बड़े प्रेम से बिलोई ।
माखन जब काढ़ि लियो, छाछ पिये कोई ॥
आई मैं भक्ति काज, जगत देख रोई ।
दासी मीराँ गिरधर प्रभु तारे अब मोई ॥

Torn in Shreds
by Mirabai (1498-1547)
Translation by Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call my own.
I've forsaken both God, and the family's honor: what should I do?
I've sat near the holy ones, and I've lost shame before the people.
I've torn my scarf into shreds; I'm all wrapped up in a blanket.
I took off my pearls and coral, and strung a garland of wildwood flowers.
With my tears, I watered the creeper of love that I planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over, and borne the fruit of bliss.
The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter, no need to drink any buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion; seeing the world, I wept.
Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder: now with love He takes me across to the further shore.

mere to giridhara gupala, dusara na koi |
ja ke sira mora mukuta, mero pati soi ||
tata, mata, bhrata, bandhu, apana nahim koi |
chamra dai, kula ki kana, kya karega koi?
santana dhiga baitha baitha, loka laja khoi ||
cunari ke kiye tuka tuka, orha linha loi |
moti mumge utara bana mala poi ||
amsuvana jala sinci prema beli boi |
aba to beli phaila gai, ananda phala hoi ||
dudha ki mathaniya, bare prema se biloi |
makhana jaba karhi liyo, chacha piye koi ||
ai maim bhakti kaja, jagata dehka roi |
dasi miram giradhara prabhu tare aba moi ||