George Seferis – Collected Poems

Posted: 30/01/2023 by vequinox in Literature


Our homeland is closed in, all mountains

that day and night have the low sky as their roof.

We have no rivers, no water wells, no springs

only a few cisterns, even them empty, that echo

           and which we worship.

A stagnant hollow sound, same as our loneliness

same as our love, same as our bodies.

It seems strange that once we managed to build

our houses, huts and our sheepfolds.

And our marriages, the fresh coronals and our fingers

become inexplicable enigmas to our souls.

How were our children born, how did they grow strong?

Our homeland is closed in. Two black Symplegades

enclose it. When we go down

to the harbours on Sunday to breathe freely

we see lit in the sunset

the broken ships from voyages that never ended

bodies that no longer know how to love.

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