THE GATE – Excerpt
Yes, it’s me, he said again; the caretaker lowered
his eyes.
I, alone, shine my shoes, and my fingers get black or
brown from the polish, my face isn’t justified
or I talk to the retired civil servant
or to the traffic cop or the textile weaver
I search for the inexistent address; I insist it exists
in the city plans, I transcribe new streets
the university students pass with flags and a cone
full of garbanzo beans
the clerk of the store moves his hands behind the five
display window dolls,
he places a silver flower on the hair of the middle
doll
uncle Stathis wipes his eyes with his fist
the crazy man takes out of his pocket birds and trains
two stork nests along with the chimney
six crafts with almonds and guitars. It was twilight
and a star behind the mountain waited for us to
gaze at it.
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Photo Germain Droogenbroodt
Tous les matins du monde…
Tous les matins du monde
sont seuls au retour.
All the mornings of the world
are alone at their return
There is no sunrise that knows a past
or a future sunrise
as its equal.
Minute by minute
life strips itself
of its own being,
an ephemeral flower
that knows no return.
ΟΛΑ ΤΑ ΠΡΩΙΝΑ ΤΟΥ ΚΟΣΜΟΥ
‘Ολα τα πρωινά του κόσμου
επιστρέφουν μοναδικά
όλα τα πρωινά του κόσμου
έχουν μία επιστροφή
Δεν υπάρχει ανατολή που γνωρίζει το παρελθόν της
ή μελλοντική ανατολή
ίδια με την προηγούμενη
Λεπτό με λεπτό
η ζωή αφαιρεί
την ύπαρξη της
εφήμερο λουλούδι που
ποτέ δεν επιστρέφει
Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis
Manolis Aligizakis 