Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume I

Η Ελένη/Helen

Τότε

πέταξα απ’ τα μαλλιά μου κι απ’ τα στήθη μου τα δυο λουλούδια· το τρίτο
το κρατούσα στο στόμα μου, τα πέταξα απ’ τις δυο πλευρές του τείχους
με μια κίνηση ολότελα ανεξίθρησκη.
Και τότε οι άντρες, μέσα κι έξω,
ριχτήκαν ο ένας του άλλου, αντίπαλοι και φίλοι, για ν’ αρπάξουν
εκείνα τα λουλούδια, να μου τα προσφέρουν, τα δικά μου λουλούδια. Δεν είδα
τίποτ’ άλλο μετά, μονάχα πλάτες σκυμμένες, σάμπως όλοι
να ’ταν γονατιστοί στη γης, όπου στέγνωνε το αίμα απ’ τον ήλιο· ίσως κιόλας
να ποδοπάτησαν εκείνα τα λουλούδια.
Δεν είδα.
Είχα κινήσει τα χέρια,
είχα υψωθεί στα νύχια των ποδιών, κι αναλήφθηκα
αφήνοντας να πέσει απ’ τα χείλη μου και το τρίτο λουλούδι.

            Then

I threw down the flowers from my hair and my breasts

          – the third one

I kept in my mouth – I tossed them down on both sides

              of the walls

with a completely intolerant gesture

Then the men inside the walls

             and outside

threw themselves against each other friend and opponent to grab

those flowers to offer them to me – my own flowers

             I didn’t see

anything else after that – other than stooping backs as if all

             of them

were kneeling on the earth as the blood dried up from the sun –

             perhaps they

had already stepped on those flowers

             I didn’t see

I had my arms raised

and rising on my tiptoes I ascended

letting the third flower fall from my lips

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763076

Α. Δαρζέντας–Η βιολογία της βίας και επιθετικότητας

Αγνή Μπαγκέρη, Δύο ποιήματα

Eris, by rabirius (re-blog)

Kishwar Naheed, Έκφραση

Ithaca Series, Poem # 652

Painting by Lo Ch’ing, detail

TRUTH

The door of truth was open,
but let only half a person pass at a time.
Thus, it was not possible to attain the whole truth,
because the half person who entered
brought only the profile of half of the truth.

And the second half
also returned with half a profile.
And the two half-profiles did not match.

They smashed the door. They knocked the door down.
They arrived at a luminous place
where the truth radiated its flames.
It was divided into two halves,
different from one another.

Each quarreled which half was more beautiful.
None of the two was perfectly beautiful.
But one had to choose. Everyone opted
according to his whim, his illusion, his myopia.

Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Brasil, 1902–1987

Translation Germain Droogenbroodt – Stanley Barkan

From “Poesia completa”, Rio de Janeiro: Nova Aguilar, 2002.

ΑΛΗΘΕΙΑ

Η πόρτα της αλήθειας ήταν ανοιχτή

μα επέτρεπε κάθε φορά

μόνο μισό απ’ το κάθε άτομο να μπει

κι έτσι ήταν αδύνατο όλη η αλήθεια να βρεθεί

αφού το μισό του ανθρώπου που έμπαινε

πίσω γύριζε με τη μισή αλήθεια

και τα μισά δύο ατόμων ποτέ δεν ταίριαζαν.

Κάποια στιγμή την πόρτα έσπασαν

και μπαίνοντας έφτασαν σε τόπο λαμπερό

που η αλήθεια έλαμπε φωτιά

στα δύο χωρισμένη, ανόμοια μισά

που καυγάδιζαν ποιό απ’ τα δυο ήταν πιο όμορφο

και μήτε το ένα μήτε το άλλο ήταν τέλειο.

Κι όμως είχε ο καθένας να επιλέξει σύμφωνα

με το γούστο του, τη φαντασία του

τη μυωπία του.

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume IV

THE GATE

Excerpt XXI

The flower shop girl sprays the carnations. I’ve waited

all week long.

I communicate with the nails. I have no phone.

The hard of hearing man stoops close to my mouth, puts

his stethoscope on my chest, to listen to my voice;

I disguise it so he can’t listen to my silence deep inside;

I hold my breath; I breathe slowly to give rhythm to

my pulse; this is truly the rhythm; I walk along with

history; sometimes ahead of it; the world is good; I

don’t sleep for too long; I sit by the window after

midnight and I see the shadows of the vacant traffic

cop stands, the blood as it changes colour on

the sidewalk, especially to see the wild, hungry,

beautiful cats ripping the green bags outside the closed

apartment buildings with the glass doors, with

the moon divided into five pieces; one of these glass

pieces is stuck vertically deep into the brown floor

planks of the caretaker’s desk.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CGX139M6

Μαρία Πανούτσου, Ποιήματα (re-blog)

Λόφοι Αρχαίας Αθήνας (re-blog)

Neo-Hellene Poets an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

Poem by George Seferis

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.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J