gOV by گاو

I’m a first-generation Iranian American, born by the Caspian Sea in Gilan, where we speak Gilaki a sweet, soulful dialect that holds a deep place in my heart.

After 43 years, I returned to my birth town and was heartbroken to see that many in the new generation no longer speak Gilaki. It’s fading.

So I decided to do something about it. I’m creating an album called

HOME + LAND
America, my home.
Gilan, my land.

Seven songs all in Gilaki.

Song1: gOV

Music and performance: Jayce
Produced by: Patrick Aguirre

My hope is that, if young generation see us singing and dancing, they’ll feel the beauty of Gilaki dialect, and speak it with pride.

گاو
Nazanin my muse.

Thank you, for your faith in me, your love, your patience, and for letting the music play.

Gilaky, dance,
Folk Rap – A fusion of folk/acoustic guitar
Inspired by the words of Gillan’s own Shivan Foomani, ‘.gOV’ is my tribute to his poetic brilliance. A fusion of verse and melody, this track breathes new life into his legacy.
با الهام از کلمات شیوان فومانی، شاعر برجسته‌ی گیلان، «.gOV دات گاو» ادای احترام من به نبوغ شاعرانه‌ی اوست. ترکیبی از شعر و ملودی که به میراث او جان تازه‌ای می‌بخشد.

نُخُوردنی داشتی، جو هوش شُو‌ندوبو
I had nothing to eat, I nearly lost my senses

مردکه دیوانه کاره بُوندوبو
The man had gone mad, doing crazy things

خومره گفتی، من آخه چاخ نی‌یم
He was saying to himself, “I’m not a big shot”

مفخورِ ایانو، غُرَم‌ساق نی‌یم
“I’m not wealthy or a moocher, not some sneaky cheat”

دو خله چوبم، کی خورم کس به کس؟
I’m like two sticks, that can’t keep a balance

می‌پا اگر کج بشه، راست شه می‌دست
If my legs bend, my hands make them straight

سبیل نرم بره بناگوش ببه
Don’t have a mustache that curls toward my ears

هرتا نفس کش، می‌وجا موش ببه
To scare the thugs into little mice

مُهرهمن دسته ببم، عَلَم‌دار
Maharam month of prayer, hold the banner high

داد بزنم وارگنه، زای شکم‌دار
I scream out loud, let the pregnant cry

لاته حرامزاده، تُخم کی نی‌یُم؟
I’m not a bastard thug, whose seed do you think I am?

نو چه‌شهبان، بی موخم که نی‌یم
I’m not the prodigy of that thug crazy Shaban

آب نَیدنه، به سالو ماه می‌تنه
I can’t shower for weeks or months

غُلَنج کره، اشکنه می‌گردنه
My neck is locked feels broken sometimes

می‌رنگ و رو هتویه، زرد و جوبه
My face has faded, yellow, like turmeric and wood

درازه روز می‌کار بودو وادُوه
All day is work, and I’ve worn myself thin

جپ زنمه راست زنمه موشت زنم
I punch left, I punch right, I throw punches

بعزی روزن می گوش انگوشت زنم
Some days I jab my finger in my own ear

تا بیه‌سر‌بته اجور کار‌می شین
Until my work is done

بژین نحم داس چوکوش زمین
Then I lift my hammer and sickle to the ground

آب نوارِه می‌ریشه درویش ببم
My beard can’t even grow, like a dervish without water

یا بتشم می‌ریش بی ریش ببم
Or shave my beard a beardless man, powerless

پیرحن نازوک دوکونم تابستان
I wear a delicate dress in the summer heat

کاپشن امریکایه زمستان
And an American coat in the winter cold

می پیره فناندم، می بینشته جایه
I don’t have courtesy for my father

دَخل آدَم ندانم، دونیایح
I act like I’m better than everyone

بازین ایسم کارگره، هوادار
But I support labor

مرگ به کارفرما عیسه‌ می‌شوار
And protest all management

تظاهُر تظاهُر، هَمَش کونم تظاهُر
I am a hypocrite, I pretend all the time

کونم تره تظاهُر، می زنده‌گی تظاهُر
I even pretend for you, my whole life is hypocritical