Greetings! This is a great poem, and I enjoyed your translation. Ghirmai Negash and I translated the same poem, which appears in our anthology, Who Needs a Story: Contemporary Eritrean Poetry in Tigrinya, Tigre and English (Asmara: Hdri Publishers, 2006, now distributed by African Books Collective / London). Our translation also appears at http://www.fascicle.com/issue03/poems/eritrean2.htm. Here it is: Abeba, my flower from Asmara… Measured and subtle As her makeup And her finely drawn eyes – She spoke like poetry. The food her family sent To prison everyday Arrived as usual The day her grave was dug. I heard her cry. Later that night I also heard The prison guard Summon her out And the shot. She lives in my dreams And refuses to leave, Knowing all my secrets And never letting me rest. Before she died She wove a basket Inscribed “for my parents” –
Abeba, my flower from Asmara… Who never blossomed. My cell-mate.
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Charles Cantalupo
Greetings! This is a great poem, and I enjoyed your translation. Ghirmai Negash and I translated the same poem, which appears in our anthology, Who Needs a Story: Contemporary Eritrean Poetry in Tigrinya, Tigre and English (Asmara: Hdri Publishers, 2006, now distributed by African Books Collective / London). Our translation also appears at http://www.fascicle.com/issue03/poems/eritrean2.htm. Here it is:
Abeba, my flower from Asmara…
Measured and subtle
As her makeup
And her finely drawn eyes –
She spoke like poetry.
The food her family sent
To prison everyday
Arrived as usual
The day her grave was dug.
I heard her cry.
Later that night
I also heard
The prison guard
Summon her out
And the shot.
She lives in my dreams
And refuses to leave,
Knowing all my secrets
And never letting me rest.
Before she died
She wove a basket
Inscribed “for my parents” –
Abeba, my flower from Asmara…
Who never blossomed.
My cell-mate.
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