Maria Farantouri / Μαρία Φαραντούρη

I resurrected you with soil and water
that you might be a swallow but also a wild animal
that I might have you as a primer* in time**
and an eternal candle in memory.

But you, seeking the source of the dream
near the One More Spacious than the Heavens**
you found wings and denied the earth
our dark, our first mother.

(translation: Eva Johanos
*αλφαβητάρι ~ an alphabet book, a spelling book or primer~ I understand this to mean a source of instruction, a resource and guide
**στον καιρό can mean both “in time” and “in the weather”
***Η Πλατυτέρα των Oυρανών refers to a specific icon of the All Holy or Panaghia (the Holy Virgin Mary) in which “she [faces] the viewer directly. . . with her hands raised . . . and with the image of the Child Jesus depicted within a round aureole upon her breast.” . . “by containing the Creator of the Universe in her womb, Mary has become Platytera ton ouranon (Πλατυτέρα των Oυρανών): “More Spacious than the Heavens.”)

Μα εσύ γυρεύοντας του ονείρου την πηγή
κοντά στων Ουρανών την Πλατυτέρα
βρήκες φτερά κι αρνήθηκες τη γη
τη σκοτεινή την πρώτη μας μητέρα.

He was the face of May
the whiteness of the moon
a kiss of the sea
decorated with foam

And if you are thirsty for water
we will squeeze out a cloud
and if you are hungry
we will slaughter a nightingale

There, where pennyroyal and wild mint grew
and earth sprouted her first cyclamen
now peasants bargain for cement
and birds drop dead in the furnace.

Sleep, Persephone
in earth’s embrace
to this world’s balcony
Come out no more.

There, where mystics joined hands
reverently on entering the sacrificial site
now tourists throw tab ends
and gaze at the new oil refinery.

Sleep, Persephone
in earth’s embrace
to this world’s balcony
Come out no more.

There, where sea was blessed
and bleating in the fields was a prayer
now trucks carry to the shipyards
empty bodies, children of scrap metal and plating.

Sleep, Persephone
in earth’s embrace
to this world’s balcony
Come out no more

Κοιμήσου Περσεφόνη
στην αγκαλιά της γης
στου κόσμου το μπαλκόνι
ποτέ μην ξαναβγείς.

The wind has risen
And is ripping our sails
The rain is falling and drenching
Our most secret dreams
But you crazy plaintive frail woman
Did you imagine you’d ever become
So frail and fallen into oblivion

Our feet trampled you
Our violence stained you with blood
Our sickly children broke your bones
And they hurled you unconscious and dead on the ground
Who -I wonder- remembered you
You were so sad
You frail woman fallen into oblivion

Σε πάτησαν τα πόδια μας
σε μάτωσεν η βιά μας
σου σπάσανε τα κόκαλα
τ’ ασθενικά παιδιά μας
κι όταν ξερή κι αναίσθητη σε πέταξαν στο χώμα
ποιος τάχα σε θυμήθηκε
έτσι θλιμμένη
μικρή λησμονημένη;

It becomes, your love, a bitter ampoule
and I need it
a raincoat in the rain so I may cover myself.
It becomes, your love, a truce.

And I pay for it with taxes and fines,
and with the abscess of my life.

It becomes, your love, a surgical intervention
an absolute need
a rushing demonstration, a barefoot rage.
It becomes, your love, an overthrow.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Γίνεται η αγάπη σου επέμβαση χειρουργική
ανάγκη απόλυτη
διαδήλωση ορμητική, οργή ξυπόλητη.
Γίνεται η αγάπη σου ανατροπή.

As if I never lived
like an embryo in a bottle
with my life under my arm
I will roam the narrow streets.

As if I never lived
Dunhill and Ronson and Cartier
I don’t find a place where I can fit
Mobil, Jaguar and Esso.

As if I never lived
as if I have been excluded in the night
worn out dreams for ransom
I will carry in the narrow streets.

As if I never lived
Dunhill and Ronson and Cartier
I don’t find a place where I can fit
Mobil, Jaguar and Esso.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Σα να μην έζησα ποτέ
σα ν’ αποκλείστηκα στη νύχτα
φθαρμένα όνειρα για λύτρα
θα κουβαλάω στα στενά.

The sun creaks on your hair
and the wind descends to my words
Beatrice on a very lovely morning
with crazy birds

Beatrice, Beatrice …

On a very lovely morning
with crazy birds
where nightmares prowl

Hold tomorrow my joy
how I grow bigger and ready in my songs
Beatrice every time that you write
true water of mornings

Beatrice, Beatrice …

Every time that you write
true water of mornings
and let the nights return

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Κάθε φορά που γράφεις
πρωινά αληθινά νερά
κι ας επιστρέφουνε οι νύχτες

Beautiful city, clamour, music,
streets with no end, fleeting glances…
The sun falls gold on strewn hands
mountains and house frames like oceans stretching out

You shall be mine before night falls,
before the faint lights cast their nets
you shall be mine

You shall be mine before night falls,
before the faint lights cast their nets
you shall be mine

Night has fallen, the windows are shut
the night has fallen, the streets are no more…

Η νύχτα έφτασε τα παράθυρα κλείσαν
η νύχτα έπεσε οι δρόμοι χαθήκαν

The beginning of the fight
new struggles
directors of hope
the first dead.

No more tears
the tombs have closed
fertilizer for freedom
the first dead.

Flowers of fire
burst forth from the tombs
a message they send,
the first dead.

An answer they will receive
unity and struggle
so they will find peace
the first dead.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Απάντηση θα πάρουν
ενότητα κι αγώνα
για νά ‘βρουν ανάπαυση
οι πρώτοι νεκροί.

In Molyvo, in Mytilini
I will find a witch who can undo
the magic spell they have cast on you
and withered your heart.

And when the black magic has dissolved
beneath the shimmering of the stars
in a seashell we shall enclose ourselves
and in the depths we shall embrace.

That no human eye should see us
because magic like blood
goes away and comes back
and tyrannizes love.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Old streets, which I loved and hated endlessly,
let me walk under the shadows of the houses,
the nights of coming back, unavoidable, and the city, dead.

My insignificant presence, I discover [it] in every corner.
Let me meet you someday, lost spectre of my Desire, me too

Walking, forgotten and rebellious
holding a trembling spark in my damp palms.

And I kept on walking in the night without recognizing anyone
And no one, either, and no one, either, recognizing me, recognizing me.

Και προχωρούσα μέσα στη νύχτα χωρίς να γνωρίζω κανένα
κι ούτε κανένας κι ούτε κανένας με γνώριζε με γνώριζε

On May day you abandoned me
On a May day I lose you
spring, my son you cherished it
and you were coming up to

The sun room and gazing out
and without being satiated
you milked with your two eyes
the light of humankind

And you narrated to me with a voice
sweet, warm, and’ manly
so many things, more than even the amount the
sea shore’’s pebbles can equal

And you were saying all of these
beautiful things would be ours
and now you a’re extinguished and it is burned out
our glow and fire

Και μου ‘λεγες πως όλ’ αυτά
τα ωραία θα ‘ν’ δικά μας
και τώρα εσβήστης κι έσβησε
το φέγγος κι η φωτιά μας

On the hidden shore
white as a dove
we were thirsty at midday;
but the water was brackish.

On the golden sand,
we wrote her name;
How lovely the wind blew from the sea
and the writing was wiped out.

With what heart, what spirit,
what desires and passion
we took our life; wrong!
and we changed our lives.

Με τι καρδιά, με τι πνοή,
τι πόθους και τι πάθος
πήραμε τη ζωή μας· λάθος!
κι αλλάξαμε ζωή.

How beautiful she is, my love
in her everyday dress
and the little comb in her hair
Nobody ever knew that she is so beautiful

Girls of Auschwitz
Dachau’s girls
have you seen by chance my love?

We saw her leaving on a long voyage
she was no longer wearing her dress
nor a little comb in her hair

How beautiful she is, my love
the one pampered by her mother
and her brother’s kisses
Nobody ever knew that she is so beautiful

Girls of Auschwitz
Dachau’s girls
have you seen by chance my love?

We saw her in the frigid town square
with a number stamped on her white hand
with a yellow star pinned by her heart

How beautiful she is, my love
the one pampered by her mother
and her brother’s kisses
Nobody ever knew that she is so beautiful

When a spring smiles
you will wear new clothes
and you’ll come to shake my hands
my old friend

And perhaps no-one will be expecting you back
but I feel the beatings of your heart
and a flower grown on your aged, bitter memory

Some train, at night, whistling,
or a ship, from far away and unexpected
will bring you together with our youth
and our dreams

And perhaps you really forgot nothing
but the return is always worth more
than any of my loves or yours
my old friend

Κι ίσως τίποτα, αλήθεια, δεν ξέχασες
μα ο γυρισμός πάντα αξίζει περισσότερο
από κάθε μου αγάπη κι αγάπη σου
παλιέ μου φίλε

I turned off the lights; my life is behind me.
I closed the door, hold the key;
the darkness asks who will be counted,
who will be hurt.

Find me the reason that for one drop of earth
so many years of violence, red rain
despair became rage
and final sacrifice, hide the child.

Don’t ask who is to blame it is late now,
the river flows into the fire.
Its fate burns us and rules us
and makes war on us.

Our old wound will not be healed
make me a vow; we are lost
only some miracle will have pity on us.

Find me the reason that for one drop of earth
so many years of violence, red rain
despair became rage
and final sacrifice, save the child.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Serdari halimiz böyle n’olacak
Kısa çöp uzundan hakkın alacak
Mamurlar yakılıp viran olacak
Akıbet dağılır ilimiz bizim

Βρες μου την αιτία για μια στάλα γη
τόσα χρόνια βία, κόκκινη βροχή
η απελπισία έγινε οργή
και στερνή θυσία, σώσε το παιδί.