Philoctetes (excerpt)

Our elders always talked of the dead and the heroes.

Strange words that haunted our sleep, horrible words

that slipped under closed doors, just out of the banquet

hall where voices and glasses flashed and the peplus

of an invisible dancer fluttered noiselessly

like a diaphanous divider whirling between

life and death. That vibrating rhythmical transparency

of the peplums, somehow consoled our childish nights

as it dispersed the shadows of the shields that were

depicted on the white walls by the lingering moonlight. 

They prepared our food along with the food of the dead.

At mealtime they took jugs of honey and oil

off the table and carried them to unknown tombs.

We couldn’t distinguish between wine amphorae and

funereal lecythus; we couldn’t distinguish between

what was ours and what belonged to the dead. The tap

of a spoon on the plate turned into the unexpected finger

that tapped our shoulder in rebuke. We turned to look.

Nothing.

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Hilde Domin, Πέντε τραγούδια αποδημίας [“Funf Ausreiselieder”]

Κλειδί Σαμικού: Στο φως εντυπωσιακός ναός του 6ου π.Χ. αιώνα

Poem by Kostas Karyotakis

IDEAL SUICIDAL MEN

They lock the door behind them, take

their old well-kept letters

read them silently, then they drag

their feet for the last time

life was a tragedy, they say.

God, how macabre the laughter of men

the tears, the sweat, nostalgia

of the sky, loneliness in the world.

They stand by the window, they gaze

the children, the trees the far away vista

the men of the quarry hammering

the sun that always goes down.

It’s all over. The note is written

short, simple, precise, as it suits,

indifferent, full of forgiveness

for the one who will cry reading it.

They look in the mirror, notice the time

question whether it’s craziness or perhaps a mistake

it’s all over they whisper, now

certain that they’ll finally postpone it.

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Orestes (excerpt)

And I remember now the eyes of the cow — not that

it is so important — dark, blind, huge, round eyes, like

two little hills made of darkness or black glass; a bell

tower was imperceptibly reflected on them with crows

perched on the cross; and then someone yelled and

the crows flew away from the eyes of the cow. I believe

the cow was a symbol of an ancient religion. Keep

these ideas and abstractions away from me. She’s just

a common cow good for its milk, the plough, with all

its wisdom for work, endurance, and usefulness. Yet,

the last moment, before the animals returned to

the village, you remember? — she let an agonizing

moo to the edge of the horizon, so agonizing that

all birds, branches, goats, sparrows, horses and

farmers scattered away, leaving it behind, alone in

bare circle from which the spiral of constellations

rose high up into the space until the cow ascented too;

no, no, I think I discerned it in the darkness among

the herd, climbing the brushy path, silent, obedient

cow going to the village at the time when they lighted

the oil lamps in the courtyards, behind the trees.

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V

We didn’t know them

          deep inside it was hope that said

we had met them in early childhood.

Perhaps we had seen them twice and then they went to the ships

cargoes of coal, cargoes of crops and our friends

vanished beyond the ocean forever.

Daybreak finds us beside the tired lamp

drawing on paper, awkwardly, painfully

ships, mermaids or conches;

at dusk we go down the river

because it shows us the way to the sea

and we spend our nights in cellars smelling of tar.

Our friends have left us

perhaps we never saw them, perhaps

we encountered them when sleep

still brought us very close to the breathing wave

perhaps we search for them because we search for the other life,

beyond the statues.

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DANGEROUS THINGS

Said Myrtias (a Syrian student

in Alexandria, during the reign

of Augustus Constans and Augustus Constantios,

partly pagan, partly Christian);

“Strengthened by theory and by study

I shall not fear my passions like a coward.

I shall give my body to carnal delights,

to the pleasures we dream about,

to the most daring erotic desires,

to the lascivious urges of my blood, without

any fear, because, whenever I choose,

and have the will, strengthened

as I shall be by theory and by study—

at the critical moment I shall find

my spirit, as it was before, ascetic.”

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Έλλη Αλεξίου – Για τον έρωτα

Ολοκληρωτισμός χωρίς γκουλάγκ

THE GATE

(Excerpt 13)

The other passes with a sack on his back; all his

belongings, a pair of socks, an undershirt an

undergarment — he wears his shirt — two slices

of bread, no razor, his beard has grown long, no

notebook, he has paid off his debts, doesn’t need

to borrow anything, he had seen a naked woman

in the twilight, hadn’t seen her clearly, he shuts

his eyes, imagines her the way he likes, short legs,

long legs,

big breast, small tight, you can’t control the body;

the other’s body or yours, it slides on the light,

escapes its shadow,

whole, cut in pieces, each piece, water well

in water well

hill upon hill, tree next to tree over the other tree

circle on circle, secure circles, you run around them

you see one piece, you miss the other,

Oh mother of mine, he yelled, you gave me a circular

mouth,

circular hand too, to see, to lick, to touch the whole

circle.

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