Poem by Odysseus Elytis

LITTLE GREEN SEA

Little green sea thirteen years of age

how I would like to adopt you

and send you to school in Ionia

to learn of mandarin and absinthe.

Little green sea thirteen years of age

in the little tower of the lighthouse at high noon

to turn the sun and hear

how destiny becomes undone and how

from hill to hill our distant

relatives still communicate

holding the air like statues.

Little green sea thirteen years of age

with the white collar and your ribbon

enter Smyrna through the window

to copy for me the reflections on the ceiling

and from the God Have Mercy and the Glory to You

and with a little north wind and little lavender

wave by wave come back.

Little green sea thirteen years of age

I would secretly sleep with you

and find deep in your embrace

bits of stones the gods’ words

bits of stones quotations of Heraclitus.

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ΠΟΛΛΑ χρόνια πέρασαν. Μάχες χαμένες κι άλλες που τις κερδί-

      σαμε

χωρίς ποτέ να το μάθουμε, και πάντα η λησμονιά και τα φύλλα

       που έπεφταν.

Αλλά θα `ρθει μια μέρα που θα κλείσουμε ειρήνη με το όνειρο,

αιώνια κυνηγημένοι — ώσπου τη νύχτα ήταν αδύνατο να μην τους

      συγχωρήσεις.

Κι αχ, μόνο μ’ αυτό ζήσαμε, μ’ αυτό που δε θα βρει κανείς ποτέ

μέσα στις ιστορίες μας.

MANY years passed. Battles we lost and others  

     we won

without ever being informed of it and always forgetfulness

     and the falling leaves.

However a day will come when we’ll make peace with

     the dream

we the forever persecuted; until, at night, it was impossible not

     to forgive them.

And, ah, only with this we’ve lived, which one will never find

     in our stories.

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YANNIS RITSOS-POEMS, Selected Books

Η Ελένη/Helen

Τί θα γινόμουν αν δεν είχα κι αυτές; «Υπομονή, υπομονή», λέω·
«υπομονή», — κι είναι κι αυτό σαν μια ελάχιστη νίκη, την ώρα
που αυτές διαβάζουν τις παλιές επιστολές των θαυμαστών μου
ή τα ποιήματα που μου ’χαν αφιερώσει μεγάλοι ποιητές· — τα διαβάζουν
με ηλίθιο στόμφο και με λάθη πολλά στην προφορά, στους τονισμούς, στο μέτρο
και στο συλλαβισμό· — δεν τις διορθώνω. Κάνω πως δεν ακούω. Άλλοτε πάλι
σχεδιάζουν με το μαύρο κραγιόν των φρυδιών μου μεγάλα μουστάκια
στα αγάλματά μου, ή τους φορούν στο κεφάλι ένα παμπάλαιο κράνος
ή το δοχείο της νυκτός. Τις κοιτάζω γαλήνια. Αυτές θυμώνουν.

What would I do if I didn’t have them? “Patience patience” I say

 “patience” – and even that’s a small victory when

they read my old letters from admirers or the poems

that famous poets dedicated to me – they read them

with stupid emphasis and mispronunciation

           the accents the meter

and the syllabification – I don’t try to correct them I pretend I don’t

           hear Other times

they draw big mustaches with my eyebrow black crayon on

            my statues

or they place an ancient helmet or the night chamber pot

on their heads I look at them calmly They get angry

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Visitor

Old Chevy squealed frustration

over the rough asphalt

just outside the little town he reached

at dusk.

They noticed his laughter

in the beer parlour

and at the convenience store

where he bought a pack of smokes.

Molly felt overwhelmed

when she looked deep in his eyes

and by chance touched his hand.

None ever called his name.

Who was the unknown soldier

who fought by our side

in the battle for the spring song?

Futility recommenced human history.

Unaccomplished travesty

when the next day on his way out of town

a door slammed behind him

and when they found him fallen

in the middle of the street

they knew he talked to our glorious ancestors

just one stratum below the reality of his dream.

The following Sunday

Molly went to church

dressed in her red dress

and on her golden hair,

the white scarf.

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ΙΩΝΙΚΟΝ

Γιατί τα σπάσαμε τ’ αγάλματα των

γιατί τους διώξαμε απ’ τους ναούς των

διόλου δεν πέθαναν γι’ αυτό οι θεοί.

Ω, γη της Ιωνίας, σένα αγαπούν ακόμη

σένα η ψυχές των ενθυμούνται ακόμη.

Σαν ξημερώνει επάνω σου πρωϊ αυγουστιάτικο

την ατμόσφαιρα σου περνά σφρίγος απ’ την ζωή των

και κάποτ’ αιθέρια εφηβική μορφή

αόριστη, με διάβα γρήγορο,

επάνω από τους λόφους σου περνά.

IONIAN

Although we broke their statues,

and drove them out of their temples,

the gods did not die out at all because of that.

Oh land of Ionia, it is you they still love,

it is you their souls still remember.

When dawn comes on you of an August morning

the vigor of their lives goes through your atmosphere;

and at tines the ethereal figure of a youth,

obscure, with quick steps

passes over your hills.

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Routine

Often you said we needed

to change our habits

a new beginning to commence

a new purpose to seek

help to discover hope

and its elements

while all along

you remained resting

in lush recliner

and always you upheld

your beliefs while

tightly in hand

you held

the recliner’s lever

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Χειμωνιάζει

Μέ κάθε χτύπο τού ρολογιού πέφτει ένα κίτρινο φύλλο.

Είχες ένα ψάθινο καπέλο μέ λιλά λουλούδια.

Τώρα κεί μέσα γεννάνε οι κόττες

κ’ ένα σαλιγκάρι ανηφορίζει στό πόδι τής καρέκλας.

Τό χιόνι θάναι κρύο, κρύο, κρύο

σάν τό ψηλό κολλάρο τού πατέρα

πού βρίσκεται από χρόνια στό σεντούκι.

Μύρισαν κιόλας τά δέντρα ναφθαλίνη.

Winter Approaches

With each tick of the clock a yellow leaf falls.

You had a straw hat with lilac flowers.

Now in there, chickens lay eggs

and a snail climbs on the leg of the chair.

The snow will be cold, cold, cold

like the high collar of our father

hidden in the chest for years.

The trees already smell of mothballs.

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Συγκέντρωση

     Μαζευτήκαμε στην κεντρική πλατεία της κίτρινης πόλης.

Νέοι αξύριστοι, κοπελιές με βυζιά που τρυπούσαν

τις μπλούζες, πουλιά πετούσαν πάνω απ’ το αιώνειο κενό

σαν να καθόριζαν τα σύνορά του κι ο γέροντας στεκόταν

απέναντι απ’ τους επίσημους.

     Ολόασπρα τα γένια του, χέρια διάπλατα ανοιχτά λες

και πριν λίγο ξεπετάχτηκε απ’ τον καθρέφτη του σπιτιού

εκεί που ήταν κι οι νεκροί μας όρθιοι, με γένια ένα μέτρο.

     Δίπλα του γλάστρες και λουλούδια, κι όταν συνέχισε

την ομιλία του άρχισε πάλι μια σιργουλευτή βροχή

που τα πουλιά κρυφτήκαν στις βραγιές, οι επίσημοι

προτίμησαν να τρέξουν προς τη μπυραρία κι ο γέρος με

τα ολόασπρα γένια αποκοιμήθηκε στην αγκαλιά ενός

ζητιάνου.

~Μου αρέσουν εκείνοι που δουλεύουν και βρίσκουν τρόπους

 να οικοδομήσουν την κατοικία του Υπερανθρώπου και

 να ετοιμάσουν χωράφια, ζωντανά και σπαρτά. Έτσι ετοιμάζουν

 τη δική τους δύση.

Gathering

We all gathered in the main plaza of the yellow city,

young, unshaven men, girls with breasts poking through

their blouses, birds hovered over the eternal void as if

to define its borders and the old man stood opposite

the dignitaries. His snow white beard shone, his wide open

arms invited the undesirable and he looked as if he had just

jumped off the family mirror where our dead stood next

to him, all with long, grey beards too. Flower pots and shrubs

of the square remained silent until the old man started

his discourse, the rain recommenced, birds found shelter

in the bushes, dignitaries run to the closest beer parlour

and our old man with the white beard found his comfort

in the arms of the beggar.

I like those who build the house of Übermensch and

who work the fields the livestock, the crops. Thus

they prepare for their end.

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From the book SECOND ADVENT OF ZEUS

Catharsis

And time for my catharsis came

vague redeemer that I was holding up

my body erected next to the icons

before the whip took aim at my back 

feeble churchgoers had kneeled

nightingale started its composition

no one ever knew what it meant

yet deep in their consciousness

a glimmer of hope shone

like a soul lost in darkness

and begged for its deliverance

when time for my catharsis came

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Poem by Kostas Karyotakis

SMILE

Although she never learned of it she cried

perhaps because she had to cry

perhaps because misfortune always comes.

Tonight the dusk is just a dream

the ravine remains enchanted

the rain stopped and the tired girl

lied onto the moist clover-field

her parted lips two cherries

this way as deeply she breaths

her breasts ascent and descent

as if the most crisp April rose.

Sun rays flash through the clouds

and hide in her eyes, the lemon tree

drips moist onto her body

two diamonds stop onto her cheeks

you think she may be crying

as she smiles to the faraway sun.

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