Ένοχη, το ομολογώ.
Το τελευταίο ποίημα το έγραψα για σένα.
Ελαφρυντικά μου η βροχή,
τα ατέλειωτα τσιγάρα, το αλκοόλ
ίσως και το κορμί σου
ως ανάμνηση αυτού που δεν υπήρξε.
Στην πραγματικότητα έγραφα για τα άλλα
για εκείνη την ιστορία με τον Κήπο,
για το ότι δεν τόλμησες
δεν έμαθες
δεν ρώτησες.
Κι έτσι χθες βράδυ, το ομολογώ
για σένα έγραψα έναν στίχο
γυμνό και λυπημένο
σ’ αυτό το μουτζουρωμένο πάντα ημιτελές
ποίημα της ζωής μου.
GUILTY
I’m guilty, I confess.
The last poem I wrote for you.
Mitigating circumstances: the rain
the endless cigarettes, alcohol
perhaps even your body
as memory of what never happened.
In reality I wrote about some other things
for that story in the Garden,
that you never took the courage
you never learned
you never asked.
And last night, I confess
I wrote a verse for you
sorrowful and naked
in this smudgy always half finished
poem of my life.
NIETZSCHE: Guilty Conscience
Posted on January 17, 2015
In Shakespeare’s Macbeth, the pangs of a guilty conscience drive Lady Macbeth to madness. Her doctor remarks that medicine cannot cure a sense of guilt. “More needs she the divine than the physician.” Guilt overwhelms Lady Macbeth until she finally commits suicide at the end of the play.
Considering the powerful influence that guilt can have over a person, it is important to explore the origin and nature of this emotion in order to possibly gain some control over it. In this video, we will discuss Nietzsche’s theory concerning the origin of guilt, and we will also explain what it indicates for the future of mankind.
To feel guilty means to feel painful regret for some wrong committed. According to Nietzsche, the concepts of right and wrong arose with the development of societies. He describes guilt as a disease that humanity caught when it formed these social communities. “I look on bad conscience as a serious illness to which man was forced to succumb by the pressure of the change whereby he finally found himself imprisoned within the confines of society and peace.”
When man left the lawless wilderness and entered into societies, he entered into an entirely new world where his old instincts were worthless. Nietzsche compares this radical change experienced by man to the change experienced by the first sea animals to venture onto land. “It must have been no different for man, happily adapted to the wilderness, war, the wandering life and adventure than it was for the sea animals when they were forced to either become land animals or perish – at one go, all instincts were devalued and ‘suspended’. The poor things were reduced to relying on thinking, inference, calculation, and the connecting of cause with effect, that is, to relying on their mind, that most impoverished and error-prone organ!”
Man’s wild instincts, however, did not fade away. Instead, he was forced to turn his instincts for cruelty inwards because the new laws of societies prohibited violence. “Those terrible bulwarks with which state organizations protected themselves against the old instincts of freedom had the result that all those instincts of the wild, free, roving man were turned backwards, against man himself. Animosity, cruelty, the pleasure of pursuing, raiding, changing and destroying – all this was pitted against the person who had such instincts.”
After diverting his cruel instincts towards himself, man began to grow sick of existence. Nietzsche refers to this sentiment as the worst and most insidious illness ever to afflict man, and an illness from which man has yet to recover. “Lacking external enemies and obstacles, and forced into the oppressive narrowness and conformity of custom, man impatiently ripped himself apart, persecuted himself, gnawed at himself, gave himself no peace and abused himself, this animal who battered himself raw on the bars of his cage and who is supposed to be ‘tamed’; man, full of emptiness and torn apart with homesickness for the desert, has had to create within himself an adventure, a torture-chamber, an unsafe and hazardous wilderness – this fool, this prisoner consumed with longing and despair, became the inventor of ‘bad conscience’.”
Despite the dismal diagnosis of civilized man’s illness, Nietzsche regarded the disease of guilt, like all other afflictions in life, to be an opportunity to enhance human excellence. To him, mankind’s ability to turn against itself is indicative of man’s potential to achieve something great in the future – to achieve the meaning of the earth – to achieve the birth of the Ubermensch. “The prospect of an animal soul turning against itself was something so new, profound, puzzling, contradictory and momentous that the whole character of the world changed in an essential way. Man arouses interest, tension, hope, almost certainty for himself, as though something were being announced through him, were being prepared, as though man were not an end but just a path, an episode, a bridge, a great promise.”
To conclude, Nietzsche asserts that a guilty conscience developed when mankind formed societies and established laws. These social institutions forced man to turn his cruel and wild instincts inwards against himself. When man finally overcomes his bad conscience – which is nothing more than contempt for life – he will be one step closer to giving birth to the Ubermensch.
WWW.ORWELL.WORDPRESS.COM
Once we dreamed of becoming great poets
we talked of the sun.
Now our heart pierces us
like a nail in our boot.
When once we said: sky, now we say: courage.
We aren’t poets anymore
only comrades
with big scars and even bigger dreams.
ΑΠΛΗ ΚΟΥΒΕΝΤΑ
Κάποτε ονειρευόμαστε να γίνουμε μεγάλοι ποιητές
μιλούσαμε για τον ήλιο.
Τώρα μας τρυπάει η καρδιά
σαν μια πρόκα στην αρβύλα μας.
Εκεί που άλλοτε λέγαμε: ουρανός, τώρα λέμε: κουράγιο.
Δεν είμαστε πια ποιητές
παρά μονάχα
σύντροφοι
με μεγάλες πληγές και πιο μεγάλα όνειρα.
~SIMPLE TALK, by Tasos Livaditis, translated by Manolis Aligizakis
~Τάσου Λειβαδίτη, ΑΠΛΗ ΚΟΥΒΕΝΤΑ, μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη
Because you couldn’t decide to leave
because you didn’t feel guilty for any bitterness
because of some tears still fresh
for your old disease you don’t count on
stooped with no lamp over the night again
under the dead roofs of the city
longing for a dawn they had promised you
you’ve travelled for years yearning for a letter
-your viscera full of sins, the guilt-
a morbid extinguished date
no one met me like the past anymore
(nor anyone really longed for dawn)
the way I stayed too that night
foreign and forgotten by everybody
alone only with your company
-with you, being away for so long-
a real stranger in this old café
the way I was alone one night
in this old café
for the whole night in the sleepy café
for one night, in the dirty harbour of Pireus
~Manolis Anagnostakis, Seasons 2, 1948
Εποχές 2
III
Έτσι όπως πια δεν το αποφάσιζες να φύγεις
Για κάθε πίκρα σου μη νιώθοντας οδύνη
Για κάποια δάκρυα που δε στέγνωσαν ακόμα
Για μιαν αρρώστια σου παλιά μη λογαριάζεις
Σκυμμένος πάλι μες στη νύχτα χωρίς λάμπα
Κάτω απ’ τις στέγες τις νεκρές της πολιτείας
Προσμένοντας μια Αυγή που σου ’χαν τάξει
Χρόνια ταξίδεψες διψώντας κάποιο γράμμα
-Μέσα σου πλήθος τ’ αμαρτήματα, τις τύψεις-
Με μια σβησμένη νοσηρή χρονολογία
Κι ούτε κανείς πια δε μ’ αντάμωσε σαν πρώτα
(Ούτε κανείς, αλήθεια, πρόσμενε να φέξει)
Έτσι όπως έμεινα κι εγώ τότε μια νύχτα
Ξένος ολότελα κι απ’ όλους ξεχασμένος
Με τη δική σου μοναχά τη συντροφιά
-Με σένα τόσα χρόνια μακριά μου-
Ξένος πολύ μέσα σε τούτο το παλιό το καφενείο
Έτσι όπως έμεινα μονάχος κάποια νύχτα
Μέσα σε τούτο το παλιό το καφενείο
Στο νυσταγμένο καφενείο όλη τη νύχτα
Στου Πειραιά, νύχτα, το βρώμικο λιμάνι
~Manolis Anagnostakis, Seasons 2, 1948
You said: “I’ll go to another land, to another sea;
I’ll find another city better than this one.
Every effort I make is ill-fated, doomed;
and my heart —like a dead thing—lies buried.
How long will my mind continue to wither like this?
Everywhere I turn my eyes, wherever they happen to fall
I see the black ruins of my life, here
where I’ve squandered, wasted and ruined so many years.”
New lands you will not find, you will not find other seas.
The city will follow you. You will return to the same streets.
You will age in the same neighborhoods; and in these
same houses you will turn gray. You will always
arrive in the same city. Don’t even hope to escape it,
there is no ship for you, no road out of town.
As you have wasted your life here, in this small corner
you’ve wasted it in the whole world.
Η ΠΟΛΙΣ
Είπες «Θά πάγω σ’ άλλη γή, θά πάγω σ’ άλλη θάλασσα.
Μιά πόλις άλλη θά βρεθεί καλλίτερη από αυτή.
Κάθε προσπάθεια μου μιά καταδίκη είναι γραφτή
κ’ είν’ η καρδιά μου—σάν νεκρός—θαμένη.
Ο νούς μου ώς πότε μές στόν μαρασμό αυτόν θά μένει.
Όπου τό μάτι μου γυρίσω, όπου κι άν δώ
ερείπια μαύρα τής ζωής μου βλέπω εδώ,
πού τόσα χρόνια πέρασα καί ρήμαξα καί χάλασα.»
Καινούριους τόπους δέν θά βρείς, δέν θάβρεις άλλες θάλασσες.
Η πόλις θά σέ ακολουθεί. Στούς δρόμους θά γυρνάς
τούς ίδιους. Καί στές γειτονιές τές ίδιες θά γερνάς
καί μές στά ίδια σπίτια αυτά θ’ ασπρίζεις.
Πάντα στήν πόλι αυτή θά φθάνεις. Γιά τά αλλού—μήν ελπίζεις—
δέν έχει πλοίο γιά σέ, δέν έχει οδό.
Έτσι πού τή ζωή σου ρήμαξες εδώ
στήν κώχη τούτη τήν μικρή, σ όλην τήν γή τήν χάλασες.
It was still too early for us to choose our new path
when the door of the morgue opened and
we went inside to identify our dead relative while
the ones with the money hidden in the worn out
mattresses, pointed their finger to the scale with
the lone feather on one side and
with no words or hesitation they began to write down
the weight of his soul with numbers that
represented the size of the coffin into which
its eternal beauty would fit forever
ΒΙΑΣΥΝΗ
Ήταν πολύ νωρίς και ψάχναμε το δρόμο μας να βρούμε
όταν ξαφνικά άνοιξε η πόρτα του νεκροτομείου
και μέσα μπήκαμε να βεβαιώσουμε
ταυτότητα του πεθαμένου συγγενή μας
καθώς εκείνοι με χρήματα κρυμμένα
στα ξεχαρβαλωμένα στρώματα
έδειξαν με το δάχτυλο τη ζυγαριά
με το φτερό στη μια μεριά
χωρίς πολυλογία και κατάγραψαν το βάρος
της ψυχής του με αριθμούς που αντιπροσωπεύαν
το μέγεθος του φερέτρου που μέσα του
θ’ αναπαυόταν του κάλλους της η αιωνιότητα
One more well inside a cave. At other times it was easy for us to draw up idols and ornaments to please some friends who were still loyal to us. The ropes have broken; only the grooves on the well’s lip remind us of our past happiness the fingers on the well’s lip, as the poet put it. The fingers feel the coolness of the stone, a little that the body’s heat prevails over it and the cave gambles its soul and loses it every moment, filled by silence, without a drop of water.
ΜΥΘΙΣΤΟΡΗΜΑ Ακόμη ένα πηγάδι μέσα στη σπηλιά. άλλοτε μας ήταν εύκολο ν’ αντλήσουμε είδωλα και στολίδια για να χαρούν οι φίλοι που μας έμειναν ακόμη πιστοί.
Έσπασαν τα σκοινιά, μονάχα οι χαρακιές στου πηγαδιού το στόμα μας θυμίζουν την περασμένη μας ευτυχία: τα δάχτυλα στο φιλιατρό, καθώς έλεγε ο ποιητής. Τα δάχτυλα νιώθουν τη δροσιά της πέτρας λίγο κι η θέρμη του κορμιού την κυριεύει κ’ η σπηλιά παίζει την ψυχή μας και την χάνει κάθε στιγμή, γεμάτη σιωπή, χωρίς μια στάλα.
My confession was simple:
father, I said, I’m a sinner
the guilt of the universe sits
heavy on my chest
forgive me that I passionately loved
the bloomed hyacinth and
the flight swings of swallows
and my two greatest sins
my unmeasured love
for the laughter of the child
and the beggars who stood
with their extended hands
filled with good wishes
my confession was simple
straight to the Purgatory
the priest delivered his opinion
ΕΞΟΜΟΛΟΓΗΣΗ
Η εξομολόγησή μου ήταν απλή:
πάτερ, είπα, είμαι αμαρτωλός
η ενοχή όλης της Οικουμένης
βαραίνει πάνω στο στήθος μου
συγχώρεσέ με με πάθος
που αγάπησα το πέταγμα χελιδονιού
και τ’ ανθισμένο γιακίνθι
κι οι δυο χερότερές μου αμαρτίες
η υπερβολική μου αγάπη
για το γελάκι του παιδιού
και για του επαίτη τ’ απλωμένο χέρι
το γιομάτο καλοσύνης ευχές
η εξομολόγησή μου ήταν απλή
κατ’ ευθείαν στην Κόλαση
γνωμάτευσε ο ιερωμένος
~Images of Absence, Ekstasis Editions, Victoria, Canada, 2015
Ανέβαινα απ’ ώρα τη σκάλα, μου άνοιξε μια γριά με μια μαύρη
σκούφια, “εδώ έχουν πεθάνει πολλοί” μου λέει “γι αυτό ό,τι κι αν
πεις δεν ακούγεται”, τότε είδα κάποιον που σερνόταν κάτω απ’ τον
καναπέ, “τί ψάχνει;” ρώτησα, “ο Χριστός” μου λέει “θα `ρθει κι
άλλες φορές”, η γυναίκα έριχνε τα χαρτιά, τρόμαξα καθώς είδα το
χέρι της ν’ ανεβαίνει, “θα χάσεις πολλές φορές το δρόμο” μου λέει,
“μα πώς θα τον χάσω” της λέω “εγώ είμαι ανήπηρος και δεν περ-
πατάω, άλλος σέρνει το καροτσάκι”, “κι όμως θα τον χάσεις” μου
λέει, “είσαι μια πουτάνα” της λέω “να με ταράζεις άγιον άνθρωπο
—κι εσύ, αφού κανένας δε σε θέλει, γιατί κουνιέσαι;”, “δεν κουνιέ-
μαι εγώ” μου λέει “το καντήλι τρέμει”, την λυπήθηκα, “σε ξέρω”
τής λέω “δέν αποκλείεται, μάλιστα, να `χουμε ζήσει πολύν καιρό
μαζί”, η ώρα ήταν επτά ακριβώς, κοίταξα το ρολόι μου κι έδειχνε
κι εκείνο το ίδιο, “τώρα αρχίζει” σκέφτηκα με απόγνωση, κι η
γριά με συρτά βήματα πήγε και μαντάλωσε την πόρτα.
A COMMON ROOM
I was going up the stairs for a while when an old woman with a black
hood opened the door “everyone has died here” she says to me
“whatever you say nobody listens”; then I saw someone crawling
under the sofa “what is he looking for?” I asked “Christ” she says to me
“will come a few more times”; the woman started to read the cards
I was scared when I saw her hand pointing at me “you will lose
your way many a time” she says to me “how can I lose it” I say
“I’m crippled, I don’t walk, someone else pulls the cart”, “you will still
lose it”, “you are a whore” I say to her “and you disturb me, a holy man
—and you, if no one wants you why do you tease me?”, “I don’t tease
you, it’s the candle that flickers”; I felt sorry for her. “I know you”
I say to her “in fact it’s possible that we lived together long time ago”
the time was exactly seven o’clock; I looked at my watch and it showed
the same time “now she’ll start again” I thought in despair and
the old woman with slow steps went and locked the door.
Hellenic Canadian Literature 