Return of the Émigré
—My old friend, what are you looking for?
after years in foreign lands you’ve come back
with images you’ve nourished
under foreign skies
away from your country.
—I’m looking for my old garden
the trees reach to my waist
and the hills resemble terraces
yet when I was a child
I played on the grass
under the great shadows
and I ran for hours breathless over the slopes.
—My old friend, rest
little by little you’ll get used to it;
together we shall climb
on your well known paths
we shall rest together
under the dome of plane trees
little by little they’ll come to you
your orchard and your slopes.
—I’m looking for my old house
with the tall windows
darkened by the ivy
I’m looking for the ancient column
looked up by the seaman.
How can I walk into this sheepfold?
Roofs reach to my shoulders
and everywhere I look
I see kneeling people
as though praying.
—My old friend, don’t you hear me?
Little by little you will get used to it
your house is the one you see and
this door your friends will come and knock to
welcome you back tenderly.
—Why is your voice so distant?
Raise your head a bit that
I may understand you as you speak you gradually
grow smaller as though
you sink into the ground.
—My old friend, think a while
little by little you’ll get used to it
your nostalgia has created an nonexistent country, with laws
beyond the earth and people.
—I can not hear anything anymore
my last friend has sunk
strange how often enough everything around here sinks
here thousands of scythe chariots
run and mow everything down.
Manolis Aligizakis 