Memory, stronger than stone - Translating the poem
Many experiences we share, and many can only be understood by a few. Then there are those that can only be fully understood by us alone.
In devising the Covid memorial for Kinross, I wanted to symbolise, both collective and individual experiences, as well as the diversity of those experiences.
My idea, a poem ‘memory, stronger than stone’ will be translated into seven different languages and carved into seven stones. Those stones will then be placed around Kinross.
The languages I have chosen are English, Urdu, Mandarin, Polish, Scots, Gaelic and Braille.
While I am online I am far from online. However, my carefully curated twitter account has become a welcome source of information and connection over this ongoing pandemic. So, I asked Twitter for help with translation and many generous people stepped forward. Translation requires careful thought and attention and I am so grateful to those who helped me with this.
Azmat Malik who helped me with the Urdu
قوتِ سنگ سے جو قوی ہے یاد
Mary Ann Turner who translated the Gaelic
cuimhne, nas treasa na carraig
Janek Lasocki-Biczysko who translated the Polish
Pamięć, silniejsza niż kamień
Ashley Douglas who translated the Scots
mindin, mair strang nor stane
Alvin Pang who translated the Mandarin
憶堅勝石
(The braille is still being translated)
Working with stone influences my outlook the same way the night sky does. I’ve always been confused by the nonchalance others can exhibit when looking at the stars and planets. I cannot see Jupiter, Venus and The Moon in conjunction without giving myself to the incomprehensible scale of the universe. I can’t recognise a constellation without thinking of how our ancestors saw the same shapes, and how it predates, and will outlast us all. Stone provides me a similar clarity, but maybe even more so. Millions, sometimes billions, of years old, created by powerful natural forces, but unlike the stars, I can hold it in my hands, shape it with a hammer, and stack it in such a way, that someone two hundred years from now could see those stones, lifted by my body, placed by my diligent fingers and understand something about me and my intent.
As Roger Caillous said ‘Stones possess a kind of gravitas, something ultimate and unchanging, something that will never perish or else has already done so’ .
There’s something profound about carving words into objects that have existed long enough to have witnessed the rise and fall of every civilisation, every birth and death on our planet. Stone carving is way of remembering, record keeping and expression that humans have always been drawn to. A thread of connection that links us across tens of thousands of years. In my own country, I have run my fingers over the words and pictures on standing stones, the faded cup and ring marks on boulders, all carved by hand thousands of years ago. For me, words carved into stone are indelible. and tied to land, nature and belonging.
This project is personal to me in many ways. Dealing with chronic illness since a young age, I made the choice to be extremely cautious with Covid from the start. Once lockdowns ended, mask mandates lifted, and with a huge push for ‘back to normal’ I, like many others, felt left behind. When my daughter got Long Covid an even bigger separation occurred. Now four years in, still cautious, still overwhelmed by the lonely necessity of that within this ongoing pandemic, the isolation I have felt has only been tempered by a healing reconnection to nature, the land around me and stone. Covid has influenced my life and outlook massively.
There will also be something profoundly affecting about seeing Urdu carved into stone. Urdu was the language of my grandfather and my family faced unimaginable racism in Scotland. It tore us apart. I can't quite put into words how much it will mean to see Urdu carved in stone, indelible, an enduring part of Scotland and her landscapes.
memory, stronger than stone.