Constantine Cavafy – Poems

THE DISPLEASURE OF THE SELEUCID

The Seleucid Demetrios was displeased

when he learned that a Ptolemy had arrived

in Italy in such a sorry condition.

With just three or four slaves;

poorly dressed and on foot. This was the way

for their dynasty to become subjected

to irony and ridicule in Rome. The Seleucid

knows very well that they are little more

than servants to the Romans. He knows, too,

that the Romans give, and take back,

their thrones arbitrarily, whenever

they please. But at least

in their appearance let the Ptolemies maintain

something of their former glory;

let them remember that they are still kings

that they are still (alas!) referred to as kings.

For this reason the Seleucid Demetrios

was disturbed; and at once he offered

Ptolemy all purple garments, a gleaming crown

rare jewels, numerous servants

and escorts, his most expensive horses,

that he might appear in Rome as expected,

like a Greek Alexandrian monarch.

But Lagidis, who came to beg

knew his business and refused all that;

he didn’t have any need for these luxuries.

Poorly dressed, humbled, he entered Rome,

and stayed overnight at the house of a technician.

Then he presented himself to the Senate

like an outcast and a poor man so that

he could beg with better results.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1723961833

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume IV

THE GATE

Excerpt XV

III

I bought a thousand umbrellas, Alexander said, to protect

myself from the rain, the wind

which turned them inside out, blew the cloth down

to the streets, the wires pierced my shoulders; I bought

other umbrellas, left them open on the floor of the kitchen,

the bedroom floor, on the tiles of the hallway,

a yellow umbrella in front of the mirror, two black ones

in front of the bed

I can’t walk in the street anymore nor inside the house

the red dome with the silver cross over the clouds

no room to walk to the bed; the most difficult obstacle

is the overarching postponement of the death before

death.

They dyed the bed-sheets red, spread them out

in the sunshine;

the bird was flying up high

they collected all the blood from deflorations,

periods, wounds, dead;

they tossed out of the windows paper and envelopes,

cigarette butts, needles;

I decided to say a few words too;

I found nothing, only holes in the wall, on the window

pane, the floor plank, the body, and other, smaller

holes

made by insects and lice and frozen silences,

blood was flowing out of them too (not on sidewalks,

not on park benches)

dead, I said and wished it, bitter consolation under

the bloomed acacias,

already happy from a great watery peacefulness

and I knew that I didn’t believe it, didn’t even check

myself in front of the mirror;

I was cleaning my comb with a toothpick

put together the dirt, in two, three, five little balls —

fingers always want to touch something, make something

before the great immobility.

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

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume II

THE BRIDGE (excerpt)

Truly how beautiful and strange life is! That short

gesture, the watered garden with the light bulb and

the fragrance of the soil —

again I forget — and I must ask again: how many men

have felt those beautiful fingers on their tie? And even

if they were once touched by them they neither felt it

nor they were ever aware of it — having no time nor mood —

and how many don’t even have a Sunday tie, nor do they

know anything of these useless and cunning bridges, of

these complex pretenses — because where there is no bread

on the table — what reaching the stars mean? No, no

I don’t want to stay with the improvable. I don’t want to.

Often our beautiful independence is nothing but our

fear of action, the fear of exercising our freedom in

this world, and all that amazement that I mentioned

to you, is a good cover up of our self-deception,

our deceit, our escape — it doesn’t annoy the enemy,

it doesn’t insult the friend and that way we secure

the approval of both, or at least their tolerance. Perhaps

I’m unjust to myself, but I prefer it rather than be unjust

to you, which I have already done.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0851M9LTV

Ithaca Series, Poem # 627

Painting Art Gallery, Germany

FROM THE HUMAN WINDOW


From the human window,
eyes caught sight of a quiet sky
sinking in the dusk.

From the human window,
ears heard a sweet voice
awakened on the coast.

From the human window,
the nose sniffed an aromatic scent
escaping in the breeze.

From the human window,
I witnessed trust
flowing in a stream.

The sky has long lost its deep sleep,
The soil has long lost its hearty laugh,
The human has long lost his pledged promise!

Raja Rajeswari Beetha Raman, Malaysia

ΑΠ’ ΤΟ ΠΑΡΑΘΥΡΟ

Μέσα απ’ το παράθυρο

φάνηκε ο ήρεμος ουρανός

βυθισμένος στο λυκόφως

τ’ αυτιά άκουσαν τη γλυκιά φωνή

που ξύπνησε στην ακροθαλασσιά

οι μύτες μύρισαν το άρωμα

της αύρας

απ’ το ανθρώπινο παράθυρο

την εμπιστοσύνη είδα

να κυλά σαν ρυάκι.

Ο ουρανός από καιρό τον ύπνο του έχει χάσει

το χώμα το γηϊνο του γέλιο

ο άνθρωπος έχει χάσει την υπόσχεση του.

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Übermensch, poetry by Manolis Aligizakis

Affinity

We slowly arrived at the dancer’s studio:

opaline music, secluded inspiration, ambience.

His steps wrote contours, his arms morphed

elliptical lines from faraway lands; to the timid

dream he was headed, the dancer, with the peculiar

smile, value of life never explained in chemistry;

two eyebrows raised in symphony with celestial

cello, thin legs that created his eternal enigma

that we had tried so much to decipher, yet years

later we understood it wasn’t as important.

He admired the movements of the dancer

in the air and the air’s sigh around the dancer’s

body and He evoked two Muses, one for the dancer

the other for the Übermensch the dancer was.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGFRGLVH

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume IV

Repetitions I

Saga of a Closet

The two workers were busy. The third one, the lazy bum,

outside the carpentry shop all day, he gazed at the waves.

“I shall make a closet with a mirror for the sea” he said.

Truly he made one big and cumbersome closet, it wouldn’t

fit in a house;

they never found a purchaser. The closet remained outside,

in front of the shop, mirroring the sea day and night; not

cumbersome anymore, accessible, vain, getting old as

the days passed, brotherly concerted with the busy and

the lazy

until, one night, they pulled it into the sea. We never saw it

again.

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

Wheat Ears – Selected Poems

Distance

Let us not insist on meeting

we’ve communicated

just fine from afar

let us be content with this

perhaps when we meet

and know each other better

we’ll find it truly hard

to like each other

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S

Wheat Ears – Selected Poems

Stories

Yes, I couldn’t deny

my promise to mention

my first cousin Antony

best dancer of western Crete

and narrate his sweet story

impossible not to include it

in my recollections

like the beautiful breasts

of the girl I touched

behind the movie theater

in that side street where

we frequented when the bright

lights could reveal

our secret thoughts and

like my distant cousin, who once

jumped from one edge of a ravine

to the other just to defy Death

yes, between the two edges

three meters apart where

just thirty meters lower

Hades’ gaping mouth lurked,

I too dared touch the breast

of the fourteen year old girl

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S

Yannis Ritsos/translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Ritsos_front large

ΡΩΜΙΟΣΥΝΗ (απόσπασμα)

IV

Τράβηξαν ολόισια στην αυγὴ με την ακαταδεξιὰ του ανθρώπου που πεινάει,
μέσα στ᾿ ασάλευτα μάτια τους είχε πήξει ένα άστρο
στον ώμο τους κουβάλαγαν το λαβωμένο καλοκαίρι.

Απὸ δω πέρασε ο στρατὸς με τα φλάμπουρα κατάσαρκα
με το πείσμα δαγκωμένο στα δόντια τους σαν άγουρο γκόρτσι
με τον άμμο του φεγγαριού μες στις αρβύλες τους
και με την καρβουνόσκονη της νύχτας κολλημένη μέσα στα ρουθούνια και στ᾿ αυτιά τους.

Δέντρο το δέντρο, πέτρα-πέτρα πέρασαν τον κόσμο,
μ᾿ αγκάθια προσκεφάλι πέρασαν τον ύπνο.
Φέρναν τη ζωὴ στα δυο στεγνά τους χέρια σαν ποτάμι.

Σε κάθε βήμα κέρδιζαν μία οργιὰ ουρανὸ – για να τον δώσουν.
Πάνου στα καραούλια πέτρωναν σαν τα καψαλιασμένα δέντρα,
κι όταν χορεύαν στήν πλατεία,
μέσα στα σπίτια τρέμαν τα ταβάνια και κουδούνιζαν τα γυαλικὰ στα ράφια.

Ά, τί τραγούδι τράνταξε τα κορφοβούνια –
ανάμεσα στα γόνατα τους κράταγαν το σκουτέλι του φεγγαριού και δειπνούσαν,
και σπάγαν το αχ μέσα στα φυλλοκάρδια τους
σα να `σπαγαν μία ψείρα ανάμεσα στα δυο χοντρά τους νύχια.

Ποιὸς θα σου φέρει τώρα το ζεστὸ καρβέλι μες στη νύχτα να ταίσεις τα όνειρα;
Ποιὸς θα σταθεί στον ίσκιο της ελιάς παρέα με το τζιτζίκι μη σωπάσει το τζιτζίκι,
τώρα που ασβέστης του μεσημεριού βάφει τη μάντρα ολόγυρα του ορίζοντα
σβήνοντας τα μεγάλα αντρίκια ονόματα τους;

Το χώμα τούτο που μοσκοβολούσε τα χαράματα
το χώμα που είτανε δικό τους και δικό μας – αίμα τους – πὼς μύριζε το χώμα –
και τώρα πὼς κλειδώσανε την πόρτα τους τ᾿ αμπέλια μας
πῶς λίγνεψε το φως στις στέγες και στα δέντρα
ποιὸς να το πει πως βρίσκονται οι μισοὶ κάτου απ᾿ το χώμα
κ᾿ οι άλλοι μισοὶ στα σίδερα;

Με τόσα φύλλα να σου γνέφει ο ήλιος καλημέρα
με τόσα φλάμπουρα να λάμπει ο ουρανὸς
και τούτοι μες στα σίδερα και κείνοι μες στο χώμα.

Σώπα, όπου να `ναι θα σημάνουν οι καμπάνες.
Αυτὸ το χώμα είναι δικό τους και δικό μας.
Κάτου απ᾿ το χώμα, μες στα σταυρωμένα χέρια τους
κρατάνε της καμπάνας το σκοινὶ – περμένουνε την ώρα, δεν κοιμούνται,
περμένουν να σημάνουν την ανάσταση. Τούτο το χώμα
είναι δικό τους και δικό μας – δε μπορεί κανεὶς να μας το πάρει.

 

ROMIOSINI (Excerpt)

 

IV

 

They went straight to dawn with the haughty air of the hungry

a star had curdled in their motionless eyes

on their shoulders they carried the injured summer

 

This way the army went with banners glued onto their flesh

with stubbornness bitten by their teeth like an unripe wild pear

with the moon-sand under their heavy boots and with the coal dust of night

glued in their nostrils and their ears.

 

Tree by tree stone by stone they passed the world

with thorns as pillows they spent their sleep

τhey carried life like a river in their parched hands.

 

With every step they won a yard of sky – to give it away

On watch they turned to stone like the conflagrated trees

and when they danced in the plaza ceilings shook inside the houses

and the glassware clinked on the shelves

 

Ah what songs shook the mountain peaks – as they held between their legs

the earthen dish of the moon and had their dinner

and broke the sigh amid their heart pleats like they would break a louse

with their thick nails.

 

Who will now bring you the warm loaf of bread

that you may feed the night with dreams?

Who will stand in the olive tree’s shade to keep the cicadas company

that they won’t go silent now that the whitewash of noon hour paints

all around the horizon a stone wall erasing their great manly names?

 

This soil that was so fragrant at dawn the soil that was theirs and ours –

their blood – how fragrant the soil was –

and now how our vineyards have locked their doors

how the light has thinned on roofs and trees –

who would have said that half of them are under the earth and the other half in jail?

 

With so many leaves the sun greets you good morning and the sky shines

with so many banners and these are in jail and those lie under the earth.

 

Silence that any time now the bells will chime;

This soil is theirs and ours.

 

 

Under the earth in their crossed hands they hold the bell rope – waiting for the hour

they don’t sleep they don’t die, they wait to ring the resurrection.

This soil is theirs and ours – no one can take it from us

ΑΝΘΟΛΟΓΙΑ ΝΕΟΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΗΣ ΠΟΙΗΣΗΣ: 1550-2017, μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη, Ekstasis Editions, Victoria, BC, 2018

NEO — HELLENE POETS, An Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry: 1550-2017, translated by Manolis Aligizakis, Ekstasis Editions, Victoria, BC, 2018