Posts Tagged ‘tourism’

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Μιά λάμψη η θάλασσα, ελαφρά σιδερωμένη απ’ τό χέρι

νεαρής σελήνης. Κι ήταν μιά ωραία αντίθεση μέ τά χέρια

τά τριχωτά καί τεράστια τού παίκτη πού κινούσε τίς κούκλες

στό υπαίθριο θέατρο.

Μοσκοβολούσε η νύχτα

κοριτσίστικο ιδρώτα κι αχινιό. Στή μεγάλη ταράτσα

μάς πρόσφεραν τηγανιτές μελιτζάνες καί μπύρα. Ένας στίχος τού Ντάντε

έλαμψε μιά στιγμή μονάχα, κρατημένος απ’ τούς κρότους

δύο φιλικών ποτηριών πού τσούγκρισαν στόν αέρα.

Τήν ίδια νύχτα

είδαμε στή σφουγγαρισμένη σφαλιστή Ψαραγορά, κάτω απ’ τό φανοστάτη,

τό χαρτονένιο κιβώτιο γεμάτο άδεια μπουκάλια. Δέν τό μαρτυρήσαμε.


η μουσική πού `βγαινε απ’ τά παράθυρα τού διανυκτερεύοντος εστιατορίου

τό διαλαλούσε κιόλας μπρός στίς μπαλκονόπορτες τών κοιμισμένων






The sea was like a flash, lightly ironed by the hand

of the new moon. And it was a nice antithesis to the hairy

huge arms of the player who moved the puppets

of the outdoor theater.

The night’s fragrance was

of girly sweat and urchin. They offered us fried

eggplant and beer on the large balcony. A verse by Dante

shined for just one moment held by the sound of two

friendly glasses clinking in the air.

The same night

in the mopped, closed fish market under the lamppost we saw

a carton crate filled with empty bottles. We didn’t disclose it.


the music coming from the windows of the all-night restaurant

already declared it in front of the balcony doors of the sleeping




YANNIS RITSOS — POEMS, Ekstasis Editions, 2013

ΓΙΑΝΝΗ ΡΙΤΣΟΥ — Ποιήματα/Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη


“It was a Dream”
First was the heat, then the damn dream that found
him this dawn talking to himself; sweaty he walked down the
stairs looking around, his nose like a hound, as if some bad omen
lurked in the corners of the room. He rushed to the garden. Soon
it’ll be daylight soon! He thought, taking courage in the doubtful
projection. The lights shone at the far end of the sea on the opposite
shore. Everything was undisturbed, the island, the lighthouse
with its signals, the little moon, the far away songs of the drunks.
He threw himself on a chair and recalled the dream that filled him
with agony.
He was a tailor — in fact he is a tailor, a very talented one.
Though it was like a dream where he worked, a shadow approached
and froze him to death. An old man in rags, with a toothless
smile looked at him: “sew me something, young man, I’m about to
travel!” Hairs floated over his shiny head. He took out of his coat
something rectangular and showed it to the tailor. It was a bar of
gold. “Young man, I have no time to spare, I’m about to travel” he
yelled in his ear.
“The way you look, the only place left for you is the other world.”
“That’s what I mean”, the old man agreed.
“Damn you, you want me to sew you a shroud?” The tailor was
The horrible image took a step and sat opposite him: “a long
shroud with deep pockets to put in them all my treasures! I’ve
lived a miserable life. I have turned all I amassed into this: gold!
This life is too short” he stretched his bony finger showing
upward, “the other is more important. I want to take it all with
me and I want you to sew me a shroud with deep pockets.” He
widened his soulless eyes. “Hurry, otherwise I’ll take you with
The tailor felt a chill and his chest got heavy. He wanted to cry
out but his voice wasn’t there. With eyes glued to the out of this
world eyes of the old man he managed to at last wake up in the
condition we found him earlier.


~Book can be purchased at

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