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Poetry in Gikuyu

by

Gitahi Gititi

 

 

Kûrîa Ndaciarîirwo     Ira kûraarî kwega o na gûtuîka thonjo nî iratetanagia ciambîîte gûtheecanga mbembe iratuuta   Riitho ituune rîa riûa rîrathimanaga hinya na matu magûthimba irîma ciîhumbîîte thaatû ta taama   Ndutuura ikiuma ngoro itinaaga ciana cia gûciegeekia Mîario ya andû marî njîra gûthiî ndûnyû na makiuma nî ta kayû koorîire nguo-inî cia marurumî   Mîratho na membeya ma nyûmba nî ta makunû magûtooga Mîanio ya njaû, tûûri na tûgondu îkaamûkûrio nî manyina Karikari ya ndoo na ngeereni ng'ombe ikîîrwo reehe mwîtha   Ukaigua ko-ko-ko-ko ya mathanwa na nyondo Nyûmba na ngiri igîcookererio kana ndungu igîatûranio ciume itugî na ngû Nûû ûtooî rûu rwîmbo?   Nakîo kîroori kîracaayaga ta gîîkî gîgûciara Kîambatîîte karîma-inî kîûmbîrîirwo ngûnia cia irio Kîroreetie na ya taaûni Aikari aakuo moone ûbooco   Mbura yatutungîria arîmi makaringa kanua Kûnyiihîrio mathaa ma wîra Na mabata nîguo maingîha   Mahiû magîcookio na kiugû ciana igîtharwo ciume nja îyo Heni irahenûkaga ta hiû cia mwaki Nao eendwa maracaranagia tuuco-inî mbura îkiura nao moirie yao heho nî yendaga kûhehûrwo   Uguo nîguo ndîroonire na maya ndî gacûûîro-inî gaakwa karîa itagûkumbûrîra o na weeka atîa

(W)here I was Born     Yesterday was wholesome despite the warlike chatter of weaverbirds pecking for hours in the ripening maize   The sun's red eye struggled with ill-humored clouds while they begged to remain with the stinging highland mist   Children's play in the drenching light mocked the sobbing wood doves Men grumbling at their labor and the lilt of women to and from the market echoed lost in the folds of thunder   Smoke mushroomed the roofs and chimneys A rhythm of calves, lambs, goatkids and their mothers' attentions pulsed with pails, cans and the bass of cows starting to doubt the contract for milk   Hammers and axes, ko-ko-ko-ko The ritual of house and fence repair The protest of logs split for post or fire Do you know this song?   Rhinoceroses loaded with produce, The lorries chug and groan Up the hairpins of indifferent hills To towns where no one tills   With rain clouds infarcted and ranged for battle, the farmers joy and fume all at once With so few hours to work and so much pitiless want   The Quick Killer's blade flashes as livestock scurry to their pens and hands snatch children indoors   Lovers meet out of sight and keep each other warm making their own kind of rain   My own eyes and ears Witnessed this I spied from aloft Nothing could make me tell you Where it lies - English version by Charles Cantalupo)

 

 

 

 

Maitho Makiuma Maaî Amwe moigaga mbura nî maithori moimaga maitho ma Ngai mahuutio nî ndoogo ya kuuma na gûûkû thî îno, mîaki ya itûgûta, ya nyama ithînjîirwo ngai na ngoma. Ndoogo ya mboomu na mîcinga, mîciî na matûûra maikîîtio icinga cia kûniina andû.   Angî makoiga maithori nî tha na kîeha ciumîîte maitho na ngoro ya Ngai, îkîrîrîra arîa ahûûre makoinangwo nî arîa marî na mahinya; na ciana itunyîîtwo irio, arwaru magithîîtio ndawa, ng'aragu yagîîte gîa kûmîkiria, andû arîa ahoro mathetheretwo nî arîa oomû.   Kîûria kînene nî: Tondû andû nî o eene kûgera ngero icio ciothe kana kwîrorera ikîgerwo-rî, kaî o matarî maithori, atî maithori no moimire maitho ma Ngai?   Ningî ngooria: Na mo maithori maakwa mareehagwo nî kîî? Nûû ûmenyaga rîrîa ndîrarîra, na kîrîa kîrandîria?

What Brings Tears?   Some say that smoke gets in God's eyes and it rains: the smoke of slash-and-burn, the smoke of offerings to god or the devil. Bombs and artillery smoke. Smoke from burning human flesh in houses precision marked for levelling. Smoke from the desert, plain and forest.   Other says that rain comes from God's heart. Compassion and fathomless sorrow cry for the victims of government tear gas, clubs, and guns; for children robbed of their parents; for the sick denied medicine and comfort; for those dying of hunger; for flesh crushed by steel. They say compassion and sorrow suffuse through God's pores, form clouds and rain.   But isn't rain human, too? Who are the victims? Who commits the crimes?   What brings tears to my eyes? Who notices? Who cares why?     - English version by Charles Cantalupo

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Gitahi Gititi is Associate Editor of Mutiiri, a Gikuyu-language journal of arts and culutre. His scholarship and criticism on African, Caribbean and African American literature and his poetry and translations in English, Gikuyu, Spanish are published widely. A book of his poetry in Gikuyu was published in 1999.

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