Posts Tagged ‘house’

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ΚΑΠΟΤΕ το σπίτι ξεχειλίζει απ’ την απαντοχή, και δεν έ-
χουμε πού να σταθούμε, βγαίνουμε τότε στον κόσμο, όπως την
πρώτη φορά, κλαίγοντας, ενώ ο ορίζοντας πέρα, με την άκρα
εγκατάλειψη, μας κλείνει μες στο μυστικό, ώσπου το βράδυ
μια άρπα ακούγεται σ’ ένα σπίτι ακατοίκητο. Είναι η ώρα
του μεγάλου ονειροπόλου, που εδώ και αιώνες, χωρίς ποτέ να
χάνεται, πηγαίνει πάντα προς το χαμό.

 

SOMETIMES the house would overflow of expectation
and we have no place to stand; then we go out to the world
like the first time crying while at the far end the horizon with
its intense abandonment hides us inside the secret, until
at night a harp is heard from the uninhabited house. It’s
the time of the great dreamer who for centuries has never
disappeared yet always walks toward oblivion.
~Tasos Livaditis-Selected Poems, translated by Manolis Aligizakis, Libros Libertad.ca
~Τάσος Λειβαδίτης-Εκλεγμένα Ποιήματα, μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη.

~www.libroslibertad.ca

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ΚΙ ΙΣΩΣ αυτό, που ποτέ δεν καταλάβαμε, ήταν ότι έμεινε για
πάντοτε δικό μας,
γιατί ποιος κέρδισα ποτέ τη νύχτα ή τ’ όνειρο, και μες στο σπίτι ο
ένας με τον άλλον
ένα απλό κειμήλιο είμαστε, και μόνος του καθένας θα πεθάνει,
έτσι μέσα στο ανήσυχο βράδυ, αλλόκοτα φωτισμένο απ’ τους
πυρσούς,
είμαστε πάντοτε απροετοίμαστοι. Κι ήταν αυτή η συγκομιδή μας.

 

AND PERHAPS what we never understood was the only
thing left to us
because who could ever win the night or the dream and inside
the house one for the other
we were simply a heirloom and each of us will die
plainly in the disturbed evening, in a strange way lit by
the torches
we were always unprepared. And this was our harvest.

 

~Τάσου Λειβαδίτη-Εκλεγμένα Ποιήματα/Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη
~Tasos Livaditis-Selected Poems/Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

http://www.libroslibertad.ca
http://www.authormanolis.wordpress.com

gvgou

TROY AVENUE 35A

My house, like yours
intrudes into the houses of others
since the roads are so narrow
and there are so many people.
Sometimes I feel we sleep in the same bed
since we are almost glued together
we use the same brush to brush our teeth
and we eat the same food.
Only when you go
you leave behind your dirty dishes
it can’t be explained otherwise
that the sink is always full.
It doesn’t matter though.
I do what I can
to show how much I love you.
For this I put on the fake moustache
and I go out to the rain with a fan
that your children will laugh.
Only I beg of you don’t gossip about us
and leave my Myrto alone.
She was born as she looks:
sad.

 

ΤΡΟΙΑΣ 35 Α

Το σπίτι μου όπως και το δικό σας
μπαίνει στα σπίτια των άλλων ανθρώπων
έτσι στενοί που `ναι οι δρόμοι
έτσι πολλοί που `ναι οι ανθρώποι.
Είναι φορές κολλητά όπως ζούμε
που θαρρώ πως κοιμόμαστε στο ίδιο κρεβάτι
πλένουμε τα δόντια μας με το ίδιο βουρτσάκι
και τρώμε το ίδιο φαί.
Μόνο που όταν φεύγετε
αφήνετε τα πιάτα σας άπλυτα
δεν εξηγείται αλλιώς
έτσι βρόμικος που είναι πάντα ο νεριοχύτης.
Δεν πειράζει όμως.
Και κάνω ό,τι μπορώ
για να σας δείξω πόσο σας αγαπάω.
Γι’ αυτό κολλάω το μουστάκι
και βγαίνω με τη βεντάλια στη βροχή.
Για να γελάσουν τα παιδιά σας.
Μονάχα σας παρακαλώ μη μας κουτσομπολεύετε.
Κι αφήστε τη δική μου τη Μυρτώ ήσυχη.
Έτσι γεννήθηκε.
Λυπημένη.

~Κατερίνας Γώγου/Katerina Gogou, Τα τελευταία Ποιήματα
~Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη/Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

 

BIOGRAPHY

Katerina Gogou (Greek: Κατερίνα Γώγου; 1 June 1940 – 3 October 1993) was a Greek poet, author and actress. Before her suicide by pill overdose at the age of 53, Gogou appeared in over thirty Greek films. She was born in Athens, Greece.
One of her books was translated into English, “Three clicks left” in the United States in 1983 by Jack Hirschman and published by “Night Horn Books” in San Francisco. The Greek title was, ‘Τρία κλικ αριστερά’, and first published by Kastaniotis in 1978. Her poetry was known for its rebellious and communist content.
As an actress she was known for lesser roles of rebellious free spirited women. She won the first women’s award at the Salonica film festival.
As a poet she is known for her antiestablishment poems and her anarchist ideals. Her verse is filled by indignation and refute however her ideals, her wounded psychological state lead her to suicide at the age of 53.
Numerous poems written by Gogou appeared in the Greek film ‘Parangelia’ about the life of Nikos Koemtzis who, in 1973, killed three individuals (two of whom were policemen) and injured another eight at a bouzouki club in Athens over a dance.

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ΓΙΟΡΤΗ

Καμιά φορά αναρωτιέμαι γιατί τα γράφω όλα αυτά, κι αν θα
παρηγορήσουν ποτέ κανέναν, προτιμούσα, λοιπόν, να μένω γονα-
τιστός (ήταν το δικό μου σπίτι) όμως, γρήγορα έχανα τον ειρμό με
τον ίσκιο εκείνων των μεγάλων φτερών πάνω στον τοίχο, ενώ
ήμουν ολομόναχος στην κάμαρα, έτρεχα τότε στο απάνω πάτωμα,
ψάχνοντας, κι ύστερα πιο πάνω, ως πέρα τους εξώστες. Ώσπου
όταν ξανακατέβαινα είχε τελειώσει η γιορτή.
Άνοιγα τότε την πόρτα και κοίταζα ήρεμος τη νύχτα, επειδή
τίποτα δεν άλλαζε, κι ο καθένας ζει με τον τρόπο του την αιώνια
παραπλάνηση.

CELEBRATION

Sometimes I question myself why do I write all these and if
they’ll ever console someone therefore I preferred to kneel (this
was my own house) however I could lose my composure with
those shadows of feathers on the wall while I was all alone in
the room; then I would run to the upper floor searching, even
higher to the balcony. Until when I would come back down
the celebration was over.
Then I opened the door and I, serene, looked into the night
because nothing had changed and everyone lived the infinite
deception in their own way.

~Τάσου Λειβαδίτη-Εκλεγμένα Ποιήματα/Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη
~Tasos Livaditis-Selected Poems/Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

http://www.libroslibertad.ca
http://www.authormanolis.wordpress.com
http://www.amazon.com
http://www.amazon.kindle.com
http://www.smashwords.com

elyths

ODYSSEUS ELYTIS’ AXION ESTI — The Passion

II

They gave me the language of the Hellenes;
a humble house on the shores of Homer.
My only care my language on the shores of Homer.
Two-branded breams there and perch
wind beaten verbs
green currents amid the azure
which I felt put my viscera on fire
sponges, medusae
with the first words of the Sirens
rosy shells with the first black shivers.
My only care my language with the first black shivers.
Pomegranates there, quinces
Gods with dark complexions, uncles and cousins
pouring olive oil in the huge storage jars
and fragrances from the ravine sweet smelling
of osier and bulrush
broom and ginger root
with the first chirpings of finches,
sweet psalmodies with the very first Glory to You.
My only care my language, with the very first Glory to You!
Laurels there and palms fronds
censer and incense burning
blessing the sabres and the muzzle-loaders.
On the ground spread with vine leaves
smells of burnt meat, eggs cracking
and Christ is Risen
with the first gunshots of the Hellenes.
Secret loves with the first words of the Hymn.
My only care my language, with the first words of the Hymn!

~ Translated by Manolis Aligizakis
ΟΔΥΣΣΕΑ ΕΛΥΤΗ, ΑΞΙΟΝ ΕΣΤΙ — Τα Πάθη

Β’

Τη γλώσσα μου έδωσαν ελληνική
το σπίτι φτωχικό στις αμμουδιές του Ομήρου.
Μονάχη έγνοια η γλώσσα μου στις αμμουδιές του Ομήρου.
Εκεί σμπάροι και πέρκες
ανεμόδαρτα ρήματα
ρεύματα πράσινα μες στα γαλάζια
όσα είδα στα σπλάχνα μου ν’ ανάβουνε
σφουγγάρια, μέδουσες
με τα πρώτα λόγια των Σειρήνων
όστρακα ρόδινα με τα πρώτα μαύρα ρίγη.
Μονάχη έγνοια η γλώσσα μου με τα πρώτα μαύρα ρίγη.
Εκεί ρόδια, κυδώνια
θεοί μελαχρινοί, θείοι κι εξάδελφοι
το λάδι αδειάζοντας μες στα πελώρια κιούπια
και πνοές από τη ρεματειά ευωδιάζοντας
λυγαριά και σχίνο
σπάρτο και πιπερόριζα
με τα πρώτα πιπίσματα των σπίνων,
ψαλμωδίες γλυκές με τα πρώτα-πρώτα Δόξα Σοι.
Εκεί δάφνες και βάγια
θυμιατό και λιβάνισμα
τις πάλες ευλογώντας και τα καριοφίλια.
Στο χώμα το στρωμένο με τ’ αμπελομάντιλα
κνίσες, τσουγκρίσματα
και Χριστός Ανέστη
με τα πρώτα σμπάρα των Ελλήνων.
Αγάπες μυστικές με τα πρώτα λόγια του Ύμνου.
Μονάχη έγνοια η γλώσσα μου, με τα πρώτα λόγια του Ύμνου.

~ Odysseus Elytis, Axion Esti, translated by Manolis Aligizakis

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ΕΚ ΠΡΩΤΗΣ όψεως, βέβαια, όλοι φαίνονται απροσδόκητα
ενώ αυτό που φοβόμαστε έχει γίνει από καιρό, κι ήτανε μέσα μας,
κι εμείς το πηγαίναμε στην επικίνδυνη ώρα και συχνά σταματού-
σες στη μέση της σκάλας, γιατί ποιός ξέρει πού είναι το άλλο
σκαλοπάτι, ιδιαίτερα το βράδυ καθώς διάβαινες τις άδειες κάμα-
ρες, σου `πεφτε πάντα κάτι απ’ τα χέρια, σαν να `θελε να ξαναγυ-
ρίσει, και τότε, όπως γονάτιζες να το βρεις, συναντούσες τον
άλλον
αφού κάθε κίνηση μας προδίνει, κι ένα άλλο ποτήρι σηκώνεις
απ’ αυτό που πήγαινες, προτίμησα, λοιπόν, να σωπάσω, μα όταν
μες στο σκοτάδι χτύπησαν μεσάνυχτα, όλο το σπίτι ράγισε άξαφνα,
και τότε, στο βάθος του διαδρόμου, το είδαμε που πέρασε εντελώς
καθαρά.
AT FIRST glance of course everything seem to be unexpected
while what we’ve feared had already taken place and was inside us
and we carried it to the dangerous hour and often you would stop
in the middle of the stairs because, who knows where was the next
step; especially in the night as you walked through the empty rooms
something always fell off your hands as if wanting to return and
then as you’d kneel to find it you would meet the other man
since every gesture gives us up and you carry a different
glass from the one you wanted, I therefore chose to keep silent;
but when in darkness midnight struck suddenly the whole
house shook and then at the end of the hallway we saw him
as he quite clearly walked by us.

~Τάσου Λειβαδίτη-Εκλεγμένα Ποιήματα/Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη
~Tasos Livaditis-Selected Poems/Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

http://www.libroslibertad.ca
http://www.authormanolis.wordpress.com
http://www.amazon.com
http://www.amazon.kindle.com
http://www.smashwords.com

FOREWORD

The people’s poet in more than one way, Tasos Livaditis stands apart from other poets of his era because of his deep understanding, his heart rendering existential agony, initially expressed as a tender cry filled with compassion within the boundaries of his optimistic realism and on the second phase of his creative career as an introverted search for the meaning of life in the past after the dissolution of his expectations as an artist-fighter for a better future.
The calendar will show October
with the wilted leaves and revolutions

It was October when he said to us farewell. We kept his most recent verses that underscored that message yet not only.

Here I‘ve come to the end. Time to go. As you will also go.
and the ghosts of my life will search for me
running in the night and leaves will shiver and fall.
Autumn comes this way. For this, I say to you,
let us look at life with more compassion, since it was never real.

He never imagined that the ghosts of his life would multiply in such a fast pace soon after his death. The adventure of his vision turned out to become a hardship, the rapid fashion of change in social behaviour and charting even unforeseen by the most suspicious of men truly shifted dramatically in the short nineteen years after his death. Within just one or two years after his death the so called socialistic dream collapsed in an unforgiving way that turned the obviously existent into a fable.

However Livaditis knew deep inside that only the Just Time eventually justifies one. Today the Just Time says about Livaditis that he was one very important poet. He was not at all insignificant although not recognized enough. Because as times passes and values change or shift position the Just Time sets laws and flawless details in the Stock Market of Values.

Tasos Livaditis is one of the last poets who dreamed of a different Greece and gave all he had to turn that dream into reality. He was one of the last who believed in the collective versus the personal even if that collective meant dramatic adventures, not only his exile and persecution but also the adventure of his internal revolution. The person who dreamed of a better world was embittered when he realized the utopia of his vision. Yet he never lost faith in man and although the serious severing that took place in his life scared him he always stood gracefully opposite the descending sun and in that glamour of red dusk he wept alone but with optimism for the future.
Unfortunately his life was cut short and at the age of 66 when he departed leaving a nation to mourn the people’s poet and to reflect and shift their focus toward his vision because the world of the poet is the world of humiliation and exhaustion. It’s the world of bitterness and futility and Tasos Livaditis suffered a lot, was persecuted a lot and pendulated a lot in his life. How else could he write such great poems?

There is a similarity in the life of this man and the life of Yannis Ristsos whom Tasos Livaditis refer to as the teacher. Both men were leftists along with Avgeris, Varnalis, Anagnostakis and others, they were both exiled for their political views, they both left behind a vast bibliography, they both had one daughter and they both went through a poetic shift, a change of focus from writing poetry to serve the cause of the left to writing poetry having in its center the progress, improvement and refinement of the external and internal pleats of man.

In the Introduction of this edition I have added one poem written by Yannis Ritsos and excerpts from reviews written in Greek by friends and close associates of the poet on the twentieth anniversary of Tasos Livaditis’ death. I have translated these excerpts and place them in the order I thought most appropriate. I chose to introduce this great poet to the English speaking world not only with the regular introduction format but also with these comments published by Kedros in 2008, this poet’s exclusive publisher.

The sources of these reviews are referred to in the bibliography of this book.

My heartfelt thank you is extended to Mr. Stelios Petros Halas for granting me his permission to do this translation.

~Manolis Aligizakis

35774-tl

ΤΟ ΓΡΑΜΜΑ ΤΟΥ ΕΠΙΣΚΕΠΤΗ

     Έφυγε ξαφνικά μιά μέρα τού φθινοπώρου, πάνω στό τραπέζι

είχε αφήσει ένα γράμμα, “μή μέ διώξεις” έγραφε, καί μιλούσε γιά

ένα μακρύ ακατοίκητο προαίσθημα, τά φώτα ήταν όλα αναμμένα

στό σπίτι, γιά νά μήν καταλάβω πώς, ίσως, δέν είχε έρθει ποτέ,

ενώ πλάι στό γράμμα είχε ακουμπήσει τό μυστήριο τού θανάτου

του, πού οι αράχνες τό `χαν κιόλας σκεπάσει, “πώς μέ βρήκες, μού

λέει, εγώ δέν υπήρξα”, “γι’ αυτό” τού λέω, κι ήταν σάν νά `χαμε

γεννηθεί καί μεγαλώσει σ’ ένα αμάξι, πού έτρεχε μές στό ανατρί-

χιασμα τών δρόμων,

      μά ούτε καί μπορούσα νά παλέψω μ’ αυτήν τήν πρόσοψη τού

σπιτιού, πού οι τοίχοι του φαγωμένοι κατέβαιναν βαθύτερα απ’ τό

αίμα μου, μές στό σκοτάδι τής νύχτας.

THE VISITOR’S LETTER

     Suddenly on an autumn day he left, on the table he left a letter

“don’t send me away” it read and spoke of a deep inhabitable

emotion; in the house all the lights were turned on that I wouldn’t

understand, that perhaps, he had never come, while next to the letter

he had left the mystery of his death, already covered by cobwebs,

“how you found me?” he said to me, “I never existed”, “for this”

I said and it was as if we were born and raised in a carriage that run

into the shivering roads,

       yet I still couldn’t fight against this facial of the house,

its walls, ravaged, dived deeper than my blood in the darkness

of the night.

Τάσος Λειβαδίτης-Εκλεγμένα Ποιήματα/Tasos Livaditis-Selected Poems

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη/Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

www.libroslibertad.ca

Τούτο τό σπίτι στοίχειωσε, μέ διώχνει—

θέλω νά πώ έχει παλιώσει πολύ, τά καρφιά ξεκολλάνε,

τά κάδρα ρίχνονται σά νά βουτάνε στό κενό,

οι σουβάδες πέφτουν αθόρυβα

όπως πέφτει τό καπέλο τού πεθαμένου απ’τήν κρεμάστρα

στό σκοτεινό διάδρομο

όπως πέφτει τό μάλλινο τριμένο γάντι τής σιωπής απ’ τά γόνατά της

ή όπως πέφτει μιά λουρίδα φεγγάρι στήν παλιά, ξεκοιλιασμένη πολυθρόνα.

Κάποτε υπήρξε νέα κι αυτή, — όχι η φωτογραφία πού κοιτάς με

τόση δυσπιστία—

λέω γιά τήν πολυθρόνα, πολύ αναπαυτική, μπορούσες ώρες ολόκληρες

νά κάθεσαι

καί μέ κλεισμένα μάτια νά ονειρεύεσαι ό,τι τύχει

—μιάν αμμουδιά στρωτή, νοτισμένη, στιλβωμένη από φεγγάρι,

πιό στιλβωμένη απ’ τά παλιά λουστρίνια μου πού κάθε μήνα τα δίνω

στό στιλβωτήριο τής γωνιάς,

ή ένα πανί ψαρόβαρκας πού χάνεται στό βάθος λικνισμένο απ’ τήν

ίδια του ανάσα,

τριγωνικό πανί σά μαντίλι διπλωμένο λοξά μόνο στά δυό

σά νά μήν είχε τίποτα να κλείσει ή νά κρατήσει

ή ν’ ανεμίσει διάπλατο σέ αποχαιρετισμό. Πάντα μου είχα μανία

μέ τά μαντίλια,

όχι γιά νά κρατήσω τίποτα δεμένο,

τίποτα σπόρους λουλουδιών ή χαμομήλι μαζεμένο στούς αγρούς

μέ τό λιόγερμα

ή νά δέσω τέσσερις κόμπους σάν τό σκουφί πού φοράνε οι εργάτες

στ’ αντικρυνό γιαπί

ή νά σκουπίσω τά μάτια μου, — διατήρησα καλή τήν όρασή μου

ποτέ μου δέ φόρεσα γυαλιά. Μιά απλή ιδιοτροπία τά μαντίλια.

~Γιάνης Ρίτσος 

 

MOONLIGHT SONATA (Second Piece)

 

This house is haunted it pushes me away –

I mean it has aged so much the nails fall off

the pictures fall as if diving to the void

the stucco bits drop silently

like the hat of the dead man off its hanger

in the dark hallway

like the worn-out wool glove of silence falls off her knees

or a band of moonlight falls on the old worn-out armchair

 

Once even that was new – not the picture you

stare at with such disbelief –

I mean the armchair so comfortable you could

sit for hours

and with closed eyes dream of anything

– a smooth sandy beach wet and polished by the moon

more polished than my old leather shoes that every month I polish

at the corner shoe store

or a fishing boat’s sail that vanishes in the horizon rocked

by its own breath

triangular sail like a handkerchief folded on an angle only twice

as though it didn’t have anything to cover or to keep

or to wave unfurled like saying goodbye I always had a fixation

with handkerchiefs

not for keeping anything tied in them

like some flower seed or chamomile gathered in the fields

at sundown

or to tie it in four knots like the cap workers wear

in the opposite construction site

or to wipe my eyes – I maintained my vision properly

I never wore glasses. Just a simple fixation with handkerchiefs.

 

~Yannis Ritsos