ELYSIAN FIELDS
Bodies extremely tired
bent, cut in half
souls deserted them, walk alone
on the grass slowly, open books laid
the bodies lay down, crunched
distorted and they appear
at the far end holding roses and with
the dream and passion they go
dust to dust the bodies become
yet far in the horizon, like suns
the souls go down dressed in sky
or like simple smiles on lips
Detail, sculpture by Giacomo Manzu
I nestle close to your breast I desire to hear
life’s mystery warmth like light reveals
the inner sense of quietude you suffer with
I listen to your regular heartbeat and I seem
to be a castaway on shore – one by one I am
battered by the waves of your silent words
and pushing me farther and farther into the deep
of the unknown land, away from the depths
of your soul
Dariusz Tomasz Lebioda (Poland 1939)
ΦΩΛΕΙΑ
Φωλειάζω κοντά στο στήθος σου
πεθυμώ να μάθω το μυστήριο της ζωής
ζεστασιά που μόνο το φως αποκαλύπτει
την εσωτερική σιωπή που υποφέρεις
αφουρκάζομαι τους κανονικούς παλμούς της καρδιάς σου
και μοιάζω σαν ναυαγός στην ακροθαλασσιά— απανωτά
τα κύματα με χτυπούν οι ανήπωτες σου λέξεις
με ωθούν πέρα και πιο πέρα στο βάθος
άγνωρης γης, μακριά απ’ την ψυχή σου
Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis
Dariusz Tomasz Lebioda (Poland 1939)
THE GATE
(Excerpt 3)
We had forgotten about patience, we now needed a new one
multiplied
deeper than silence, deeper than the ancient organ that blows,
breathes air comes out of it but no sound, the fingers freeze,
the knees of the blind man and his ears too and his nose with
the ring made of nickel.
He was washing his hands in the sink as if after the killing;
the other said, we all die in the most inappropriate moment
and all the certificates, papers upon papers, coffins, horses,
coffee;
the dead have it better;
Yet, the third man said, until you die
you remain here and you observe your wholesome death
behind the curtain
on the lighted windowpanes; two shoeless girls water the
flowerbeds in the garden; the dog bites onto the grass, runs,
chases its tail, eyes the sun, the rubber hose, water drops fall
on the chest of the statue,
pass them, he said, through a thread and place them around
your neck;
far into the future you learn about the unachievable, you still
have time;
however, you have to die with that curtain so flooded by light,
with red, or light-blue birds and triangular, yellow daisies.
Echo
She opened her window
motionless powerful feminine
exhilarating gesture
that shook me
and memory rekindled
paradisiacal kisses
I dreamed of capturing
the echo of a raindrop
falling through fog
into the plaza fountain
greetings, oh life,
here I am too:
splash!
WISE MEN SENSE THE FORTHCOMING
…for gods perceive the future,
most people perceive what takes place now,
and wise men sense approaching events.
Philostratos, “Life of Apollonius of Tyana” viii, 7.
People know what is happening now.
The gods know future events, only they
have complete possession of the light.
But wise men can sense what is coming.
Sometimes their hearing is disturbed
during a time of serious contemplation.
The mysterious roar of upcoming
events reaches them. And they pay attention
to it with reverence. While outside in the street,
the people hear nothing at all.
Peaceful Panorama
On the other side of the window
a garden with orange trees
Intoxicating
the perfume of the blossoms
No people
no cars
a cloudless heaven
Only a blackbird
praising the perfection
of silence.
Germain Droogenbroodt
ΠΑΝΟΡΑΜΑ
Έξω απ’ το παράθυρο
ο κήπος με τις πορτοκαλλιές
το άρωμα των λουλουδιών μεθύσι
δίχως ανθρώπους
δίχως αυτοκίνητα
ασυννέφιαστος παράδεισος
και μόνο ο κοτσυφός
υμνεί την τελειότητα
της σιωπής
Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis
Persephone
Perhaps for this reason we finally chose the shadow.
Darkness is black, glossy black, unaltered, without
shades; you’re saved from the effort to choose, for
what reason anyway?
That servant
was black as if made of darkness. You remember?
When he grabbed me we were gathering flowers
in the big plain. The baskets were full of crocuses,
violets, lilies, roses, hyacinths, amaranth. I had stooped
over a most beautiful flower, looked like narcissus,
a narcissus I saw for the first time, with a hundred colours,
a hundred stems over which dewdrops sparkled. And I,
there amazed, leaning over, as if folded in two,
as if leaning over a water well, was looking at my face,
almost self-content, in love with the rosy shadow on
the edge of my lips and with the crisp, ivory contour
between my breasts.
Poem by Kostas Karyotakis
I WANT TO LEAVE
I want to leave this place, to go far away
I want to become golden dust in the air
simple element, free, brave
to an unfamiliar new land I’ll go
where things of the world will appear
like dreams and they’ll talk to the soul
where the nice faces of people will smile
and where I too shall be beautiful
where, my god, darkness wouldn’t exist
in the night, nor in the despair of the place
upon the horrible skyline or in the wind’s wailing
nor in the glances or words of people
where there won’t remain anything
but a little joy and satisfaction
where all will say that they have left forever
that perhaps they are all already dead.
Miracle
It is a miracle – he says – even more than a miracle
where everything is exhausted (and first of all me) I discover
amid the pebbles at the seashore the holy skull
of one of Achille’s horses – perhaps that of Xanthos
amid the chamomiles I discover the Patriarch’s crutch
I lift it reverently I climb up the marble stairs
I don’t pound the steps with it scores of people gather
I stand before the podium I feel my hair becoming motionless
flowing on my shoulders scores of people can’t wait they jostle
I open my mouth to speak and suddenly I understand
that I am deaf and they hear me
The Real Reason
No, it’s not that Apollo took back his promise and
the fact that he spat on Cassandra’s mouth annulled
the convincing of her speech thus making her
prophetic words ineffective for herself and others. No.
It’s because no one wants to believe in truth. And when
you see the net inside the bath, you think that it’s
put there for your fishing trip next day and you don’t
hear at all within you and without, ascending the marble
stairs of the castle, the dark message in the cries
of ill-fated Cassandra.
Manolis Aligizakis 