REPETITIONS, SECOND SERIES

Metamorphosis

After their death, their heroes went through many

transformations in the imaginations of the survivors,

natural or strange transformations, sometimes into vine

growers like Protesilaus or hunters like Hippolytus,

other times simple warriors (as they were) with their

beautiful helmet, their sandals, someone (we forget his

name) with a flower in his teeth, and others resembling

animals or serpents, usually snakes. Oh, truly, they help

the Hellenes a lot, before and after their death, even like

that, like snakes or lions.

                                          Now

the heroes fell into decay, they are out of fashion. No one

ever appeals nor they refer to them. We all ask for

         anti-heroes.

However, today, we went out, in the sunshine of March

(the soil has also dried up from the rains; the flowering

asphodels, as the ancients called them), to celebrate among

the rocks; today when we, behind the barbwire, vaguely await

that down the shore, the fisherman from Eretria will pass again,

carrying in his nets the gigantic shoulder blade of Pelops.

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Thrush

‘Ephemeral sperm of a vicious demon and bad luck

why do you push me to speak what you are better off not knowing.’

•  
•                                                                             SILENUS TO MIDAS

A

House Near the Sea

The houses I had they took from me. It happened

that the times were unpropitious: war, destruction, exile

sometimes the hunter meets the migratory birds

sometimes he doesn’t. Hunting

was good in my time, lots of people felt the shot

the others roam around or go mad in the shelters.

Don’t talk to me about the nightingale, nor the skylark

nor about the little wagtail

inscribing numbers with its tail in the light;

I don’t know many things about houses

I know they have their own race, nothing more.

New at first, like babies

playing in the orchards with the tassels of the sun,

they embroider the colored window shutters

and the shining doors over the day;

when the architect finishes they change,

they shrink or smile or even become resentful

with those who stayed behind, with those who went away

with others who would return if they could

or those who vanished now that the world

has turned into an immense hotel.

I don’t know many things about houses,

I remember their joy and their sorrow

sometimes, when I stop even when

sometimes, near the sea, in empty rooms

with an iron bed with nothing of my own

looking at the evening spider, I contemplate

that someone is getting ready to come that they dress him up

in white and black cloths with plenty of colorful jewels

and around him venerable ladies with gray hair

and dark lace shawls talk softly

that he gets ready to come and say goodbye to me;

or a woman with quivering eyelashes and slim waist

returning from southern ports,

Smyrna, Rhodes, Syracuse, Alexandria,

from cities closed like warm window shutters

with perfume made of gold fruits and herbs

that she climbs the stairs without seeing

those who slept under the stairs.

Houses, you know, grow easily resentful, when you empty them.

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ΜΑΚΡΙΝΗ ΕΡΩΜΕΝΗ

Το φεγγάρι, πάνω απ’ τη θάλασσα ολόγιομο

λάμπει σ’ όλο τον ουρανό

και φέρνει στην κάθε καρδιά

σκέψεις της νύχτας

σβύνω το κερί

ν’ απολαύσω τη λαμπερή του όψη

και βάζω το σακάκι μου

της νύχτας την υγρασία ν’ αποφύγω

και σαν δεν δύναμαι μια χούφτα

να σου δώσω φεγγαριού

πάω ξανά για ύπνο

στ’ όνειρο μου για να σε δω

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Looking at the Moon

and Longing for a Distant Lover

The moon, grown full now over the sea,
brightens the whole sky,
bringing to separated hearts
the thoughtfulness of the night.

I blow out the candle
to enjoy the clear radiance,
and put on my coat
for I feel the dew grown thick.

But since I cannot give you

a handful of moonlight,
I shall go back to sleep
hoping to meet you in a dream.

Chang Chiu-ling, China (A.D. 673–740) 

Κατερίνα Φλωρά, Από μακριά