Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

LONG LISTED FOR THE 2023 GRIFFIN POETRY AWARDS

Walks

       And I often went looking for my fate yet I only

found the same old beer parlors or the same birds

that flew from tree to tree so they wouldn’t remember;

old men gathered the used matches to perhaps complete

forgetfulness and the poor people in the public baths

were like a multifold folk misfortune, therefore

      I preferred to say goodnight to my aunt although

she was dead (perhaps because of it) or I built a labyrinth

made of gestures begging for help or I would limp like

a gramophone album that still turned in my childhood

years, since in fact many complained for strange noises

although I didn’t care or more so I jumped up from

my disturbed sleep like a new unexpected day or like

      poetry which was an enigma of common words.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

νάρκης του άλγους δοκιμές

Στρατής Φάβρος's avatarΣτρατής Φάβρος - Strates Fabbros

Εἰς σέ προστρέχω Τέχνη τῆς Ποιήσεως,
πού κάπως ξέρεις ἀπό φάρμακα·
νάρκης τοῦ ἄλγους δοκιμές, ἐν Φαντασίᾳ καί Λόγῳ.

Πως σπαράσσομαι συθέμελα
πως ολοφύρομαι
και πως στην θλίψη μπαίνω
σαν που καταλαβαίνω

πως είν η Τέχνη αδύναμη
τον κόσμο δεν αλλάζει
μον φάρμακο γίνεται γλυκύ
σαν η ανάγκη παραστεί
το άλγος κατευνάζει

Και τότε που στην θλίψη αυτή
μόνος βυθίζεσαι αλί
τότε η τέχνη γίνεται
το Μέγα το ένα το πολύ

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Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

LONG LISTED FOR THE 2023 GRIFFIN POETRY AWARDS

Conniving

     We knew so little of him but let us call him Jacob

for serenity’s sake and at this point let us remember

the great quackery of words or the house appliances

that mysteriously disappear since whoever used them

had the most naïve thoughts;

     like a page has its end and each castaway his lucky

person, each boy has his apple and each crazy man

his basement, every sad person his wall and each

dead his rumble

     but let us stop the count of so many sad events and

let us delve in how the bees establish their colonies

or how revolutions die or why we don’t open our door

to the quiet evening so that we don’t go to exile

for such minor things

     and we lived deviously like the ancient folk singers

who let their beard grow down to the earth so they

didn’t resemble children

     when they sang.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

Ανν Σέξτον, Το στήθος

Το κόσκινο's avatarTo Koskino

180px-Anne-sexton

Αυτό είναι το κλειδί που το ανοίγει.

Αυτό είναι το κλειδί που τ’ ανοίγει όλα.

Μονάκριβα.


Είμαι χειρότερη απ’ τα παιδιά του θηροφύλακα,

παραβιάζοντας για σκόνη και ψωμί την πόρτα.

Εδώ είμαι διατυμπανίζοντας άρωμα.

Άσε με να βυθιστώ στο χαλί σου,

στο αχυρένιο σου στρώμα — οτιδήποτε

γιατί το παιδί μέσα μου πεθαίνει, πεθαίνει.

Δεν είναι ότι είμαι ζώον προς βρώσιν.

Δεν είναι ότι είμαι κάποιου είδους δρόμος.

Αλλά τα χέρια σου με βρήκαν σαν αρχιτέκτονα.

Όσο χωράει μια στάμνα γάλα! Ήταν δικό σου χρόνια τώρα

όταν ζούσα στην κοιλάδα των οστών μου,

οστά νωπά στο βάλτο. Μικρά παιχνίδια.

Ένα ξυλόφωνο ίσως με δέρμα

τεντωμένο πάνω του στενόχωρα.

Μόνο μετά κατάφερε να γίνει κάτι αληθινό.

Έπειτα αναμετρήθηκα με τους αστέρες του σινεμά.

Δεν αποδείχθηκα αντάξια. Υπήρχε κάτι ανάμεσα

στους ώμους μου. Δεν ήταν όμως ποτέ αρκετό.

Σίγουρα, υπήρχε ένα λιβάδι,

νεαρός κανείς όμως που να τραγουδάει την αλήθεια.

Τίποτα από…

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Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

LONG LISTED FOR THE GRIFFIN POETRY AWARDS 2023

Goodnight

      Finally, I always dared the temptation of not being

surprised; I read useless geography books in the attic

or for a small reward I helped the local notary

turn to his other side and other times I’d whistle

lethally or I’d sit on a chair for so long that you could

say a crime was, finally, solved

      and if I hadn’t lived stupidly I would had been just

three years old with unpaid milk, which sounded

normal under today’s difficult circumstances;

in fact a lamp is more compassionate than

the whole sky and a ghost more accessible than

the old cricket or a goodnight more historic than

most of historic documents and I don’t give

a damn if others live better.

      Goodnight.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume II

LUMBERJACK

A dog barked at a distance,

a door creaked on its hinges,

the moon pretended it didn’t notice anything.

The lumberjack killed his dog with his axe

painted his cheeks with the blood and

looked at his reflection in the dark river.

That was the dog that barked.

This was what the moon meant.

Then the axe, like a golden bird, was raised in the air.

A laughter was heard in the forest.

I did it on time, the lumberjack said. He didn’t take

my friend, my dog from me; the lumberjack started

             barking.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0851M9LTV

ΑΝΔΡΕΑΣ ΚΑΛΒΟΣ (1792 – 1869)

ellas's avatarΕΛΛΑΣ

Πόσοι από εμάς και γενικώτερα οι νέοι γνωρίζουν το έργο του Ανδρέα Κάλβου;  Του ποιητή που ξόδεψε όλο το πνευματικό του απόθεμα για να υμνήσει αποκλειστικά την σκλαβωμένη πατρίδα του. Να κάνει γνωστό στους ξένους ότι η ένδοξη μα ξεχασμένη πατρίδα του ξανάβρισκε τον εαυτό της. Πόσοι από μας μέσα στην πληθώρα των ποιητικών υποπροϊόντων ξεχώρισαν τις ωδές του Κάλβου, μέσα από τις οποίες υμνείται η Ελλάδα, η δύναμη, το θάρρος και οι ικανότητες του λαού μας.

“Θερμότατον τον πόθον

εφυτεύσας της δόξης

εις την καρδίαν των τέκνων σου

ώ Ελλάς, και καλείσαι

μήτηρ ηρώων”.

Το έργο του Ανδρέα Κάλβου αποτελείται από είκοσι ωδές. Το 1824 δημοσιεύθηκαν οι δέκα πρώτες και οι υπόλοιπες δέκα το 1826. Οι ωδές είναι αφιερωμένες στην δόξα, τον Ιερό Λόχο, την Χίο, τα Ψαρά, το Σούλι, τον βωμό της πατρίδος, την ελευθερία κ.λ.π..

kalvos_elytis

Εγώ θα σταθώ στην ωδή του Ωκεανού, η οποία είναι η ιστορία…

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Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

Long Listed for the Griffin Poetry Awards, 2023

DEVIL WITH A CANDLESTICK

6

Father Thomas, however, was distrusting so he had

his well ground coffee each afternoon  under

          the grapevine

while the bells tolled the evening matins etc etc.

Why should I care for the incomprehensible and

          rude world

I keep a piece of glass and know my punishment

as you solve a puzzle so you can stand in front of

           the mystery

and the big common charnel house where the bones

            of the poor were stored;

all those who suffered silently and anonymously

so God can remember them all together with

             one name.

I woke up a bit late, “stupidities it’s the booze”

I said seeing someone sleeping on the sofa

then I remembered “he must be the forest warden” since

once, in other times I was lovable. Of course, there

was always danger that the other could appear, the one

who was arriving in regular hours asking for his share;

when satiated he’d leave taking along some miserable

secret stories while I was still sweeping the blood

in the old school classroom and Mrs. Marcella,

the supervisor “it’s the wrong time for tears”, she said

to me until I started been bored since whatever we live

simply passes and only later it sinks inside of us. 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

Griffin Poetry Awards, 2023

Η μετάφραση μου ποιημάτων Τάσου Λειβαδίτη, τόμος ΙΙ, μπήκε στην πρώτη λίστα των δέκα στα βραβεία Griffin Poetry Awards, 2023// My translation of poems by Tasos Livaditis made the long list of the Griffin Poetry Awards

Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

5

Oh, my good old comrades, hastily buried, as if one

          had only one more night to live:

the uninteresting Elias, Thomas with the stolen

fur and the most unfortunate, Amen, the over-religious;

when he died we sat next to him, his pants ballooned

           because of his hernia,

unfortunate Amen had never been with a woman since

            the years of our First Fathers.

My good old comrades you passed so simply like

the uneducated villager who repeats an indecipherable

           Oh Lord our Father

although the smoke still rises.

Sometimes I think that our true life is unfolding behind

            the wall

and the first killing was premeditated; the promise

wasn’t absent nor was the pale tenant, nor the silent

            road with the closed stores;

miserable people they’ll never find out what was written

            on that primeval seal

and that an umbrella is but a ghost that doesn’t ever

            forgive. 

My friends with who I talked night after night about

            the fate of the world

and among the small interruptions of our talks was

what we left behind for the others, impossible to

            survive and so familiar

that you may pass by it without noticing.

Years passed this way. The sick waited for the opening

            of the old carpentry

I preferred to go up to the attic; the blind man with the

            threads stayed there

while the other tenants lived downstairs imagining that

            they truly lived;

“You may lay me”, the ugly woman said “but place a napkin

            on my face”

dark, impenetrable, moist from top to bottom like a

            great meaning and when

Chryssostomos smelled because of the gangrene

she stood at the door and scare away the dogs; one

night, in fact, but what can you call them “thieves”

            I yelled,

people passed by, cried, or made bets since there was

always a black horse where you couldn’t see anything

and alcohol has its stony wing too.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564