Magic de Spell

The regime of numbers
the fascism of the powerful
with numbers they are able
to reach goals
with numbers they are able
to destroy places
with numbers they are able
to win many things
with numbers they are able
to have children as victims

but they can’t
gag Gandhi
they can’t
erase Riga* [from history]
they can’t
extinguish [the memory of] Spartacus
and they can’t
kill Roza**

with numbers you can
without those guys, we
beautiful fields for farming
we will see a dawn
We will drink from the rivers
in the wind in the rain
We will plant trees
They will burn them
because they can
that you die that they live

but they can’t
gag Gandhi
they can’t
erase Riga [from history]
they can’t
extinguish [the memory of] Spartacus
and they can’t
kill Roza

in the west [setting] of the day
in the center of the night
the dog lunges
salt in the wound
with numbers you can
without those guys, we
we will see a dawn
in the wind in the rain

but they can’t
gag Gandhi
they can’t
erase Riga [from history]
they can’t
extinguish [the memory of] Spartacus
and they can’t
kill Roza

[translation: Eva Johanos
*Rigas Ferraios, writer and freedom fighter instrumental in the Greek War of Independence;
**Roza Luxembourg, important Marxist writer, political philosopher and revolutionary . . .
Gandhi, Rigas, Spartacus, Roza-these four names are all linked to the idea and history of movements for freedom and human rights. . .
from the video notes:
"Thanx to: Vangelis Theodorakis (guitar)
Magic de Spell: Thodoris Vlachakis, Dimitris Botis,Yiorgos Langouretos, Dimitris pixel Dimitriadis, Panos rat Christoforou, Nikos ketchup Georgoulis
from the collection of new antifascist songs, "One answer"
(phonograph records)
initiated by the show "Hellenophreneia" and Kollectiva."]

I walk with eyes closed
I keep them shut and I dream
Don’t touch me, don’t wake me up
I don’t accept your truth anymore

I don’t even open my eyes
I cross the world and I’m ablaze
If you love me don’t talk
I can’t stand any more lies

SHOUT
Our life is lost, gone
DISSOLVE
the dust that covers the light
DEATH
vacations in Sarajevo
WAKE UP
to the news you see while you eat

Tonight I see double
the sun is shining even if it’s midnight
two cigarettes very strong
and I’m launched in space

Some screen showing zero
times when no miracles are made
a mouth shouting that you won’t
convince me with a thousand tricks

SHOUT
Our life is lost, gone
DISSOLVE
the dust that covers the light
DEATH
vacations in Serajevo
WAKE UP
to the news you see while you eat

[Spoken]
A torn photograph, full of memories,
Death will become everything you dared to touch
If the sun were to be extinguished and paradise closed
Only in hell tonight there flickers a light
I see angels ~ devils dancing together
And the woman I love beside me dead
I put wings on my shoulders, I fly high
I kill your truth and thus I go far away

SHOUT
Our life is lost, gone
DISSOLVE
the dust that covers the light
DEATH
vacations in Serajevo
WAKE UP
to the news you see while you eat

(translation: Eva Johanos)

ΦΩΝΑΞΕ, η ζωή μας χάνεται, πάει
ΔΙΑΛΥΣΕ τη σκόνη που σκεπάζει το φως
Ο ΘΑΝΑΤΟΣ διακοπές στο Sarajevo πάει
ΞΥΠΝΗΣΕ στις ειδήσεις τα βλέπεις και τρως

My friends are black birds
who seesaw on the terraces of houses that are ready to collapse
Exarcheia, Patission, Metaxourgeio, Mets*
They do whatever
Sell recipe books and encyclopedias
They fix roads and unite deserts
Interpreters at the cabarets of Xenon**
Professional revolutionaries
They crowded them, before, and took them down
Now they take pills and alcohol in order to sleep
but they have dreams and do not sleep

My friends are black birds
My friends are tight wires

My friends are tight wires
on the terraces of old houses
Exarcheia, Victoria, Koukaki, Gyzi
On them you have hung millions of iron clothespins
items of your guilt,
decisions of congress,
borrowed suits,
cigarette burns
curious migraines,
threatening silences
vaginal infections
they fall in love with homosexuals
trichomonads
delay
the telephone
broken glass
the ambulance
No one…

My friends are black birds
My friends are tight wires

They do whatever
they are always traveling, my friends
because you have not left them a hand’s breadth of space
All of my friends paint with black
because you have ruined red for them
They write with the language of slogans
because yours is only good for flattery***
My friends are black birds and wires
at your neck, on your hands
My friends. . .

My friends are black birds
My friends are tight wires

(translation: Eva Johanos
*Exarcheia, etc: neighborhoods of Athens
**Xenon: street named for ancient philosopher or Byzantine emperor (474-491 ACE)
***flattery: the expression here is “licking,” or sycophancy)

Honorable gentleman, Mr. Pantelis
you have a store somewhere on Earth.
You sell your wares, you make money
a lot of money, a lot of money.

On Sunday mornings, in the church
you pray to the Virgin Mother.

Honourable gentleman, Mr. Pantelis,
you’ve also got a wife, a daughter, a son,
modern furniture, a color TV,
you’re getting intellectual input.

(You’ve stayed) far from political parties, so that you don’t get into trouble,
“Homeland, religion, family”

Honorable gentleman, Mr. Pantelis,
what if people die on Earth
thousands of people without bread,
black, white, or yellow?

Your son should only be well,
so that he inherits the name and the money.

Honorable gentleman, Mr. Pantelis,
you have gone rotten on the shelf.
You’ve spent the brunt of your youth
for money, for your skin.

The dream, the life and the light were just next to you
but you locked yourself in your corpse.

Do you know, Mr. Pantelis,
how many others have given their youth and their life
in order to make dream for a slice of bread come true,
so that you can also eat, Mr. Pantelis?

And you, what have you given, Mr. Pantelis?
Tell us, what have you done on Earth?
Tell us, what will you leave behind
that can inspire the young generation?

Honorable gentleman, Mr. Pantelis,
you terrified person, wimp, puppet,
you made the dream and the soul dirty,
an empty skin, with no breath.

Honorable people, young generation,
turn the honorable ones under in the fields,
including those who made Pantelis
a useless worm on Earth.