Odysseas Elytis / Οδυσσέας Ελύτης

Lyrics: Odysseas Elytis
Music: Mikis Theodorakis
vocals: Andreas Kouloumpis

Temples in the shape of the sky
and beautiful girls
with the grape in their teeth, you were right for us!
Birds on high lifting the heaviness of our heart
the deep azure that we loved!
They are gone, they are gone.
July with the bright shirt
and stony August with its small uneven steps

Temples in the shape of the sky
and beautiful girls
with the grape in their teeth, you were right for us!
Birds on high lifting the heaviness of our heart
the deep azure that we loved!
They are gone, they are gone.
The Maestro with his pointy sandal and the thoughtless
Greek with his slanting red banners.
They are gone, they are gone
and deep beneath the earth clouds gathered, throwing up black gravel
and thunder, the rage of the dead
and slowly moaning in the wind
they came back with their chests thrust out
fearsome statues of rock.

Ναοί στο σχήμα τ’ ουρανού
και κορίτσια ωραία με το σταφύλι στα δόντια που μας πρέπατε!
Πουλιά το βάρος της καρδίας μας ψηλά μηδενίζοντας και πολύ γαλάζιο που αγαπήσαμε!
Φύγανε φύγανε
ο Μαΐστρος με το μυτερό του σάνταλο και ο Γραίγος ο ασυλλόγιστος με τα λοξά του κόκκινα πανιά.
Φύγανε και βαθιά κάτω απ’ το χώμα συννέφιασε ανεβάζοντας
χαλίκι μαύρο και βροντές, η οργή των νεκρών
και αργά στον άνεμο τρίζοντας εγυρίσανε πάλι με το στήθος μπροστά
φοβερά, των βράχων τ’ αγάλματα!

(translation: Eva Johanos
*All Holy One- “Panaghia”- usual name for the Virgin Mary)

I don’t know the night anymore, the frightful anonymity of death;
in my innermost soul there hangs a fleet of stars.
Evening star, guardian, shine beside, in the heavenly
breeze of an island which dreams of me
so I may announce the dawn from its high rocks
with my two eyes in an embrace they sail you with the star
of my right heart: I don’t know the night anymore.

I don’t know anymore the names of a world which rejects me.
Clearly I read the potsherds, the leaves, the stars.
My enmity is needless on the roads of the sky
unless it is my dream which looks at me again
with tears to cross the sea of immortality
Evening star, beneath the curve of your gold fire,
the night which is only night I don’t know anymore.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Οδυσσέας Ελύτης

You have a taste of tempest on your lips—But where did you wander
All day long in the hard reverie of stone and sea?
An eagle-bearing wind stripped the hills
Stripped your longing to the bone
And the pupils of your eyes received the message of chimera
Spotting memory with foam!
Where is the familiar slope of short September
On the red earth where you played, looking down
At the broad rows of the other girls
The corners where your friends left armfuls of rosemary.

But where did you wander
All night long in the hard reverie of stone and sea?
I told you to count in the naked water its luminous days
On your back to rejoice in the dawn of things
Or again to wander on yellow plains
With a clover of light on you breast, iambic heroine.

You have a taste of tempest on your lips
And a dress red as blood
Deep in the gold of summer
And the perfume of hyacinths—But where did you wander
Descending toward the shores, the pebbled bays?

There was cold salty seaweed there
But deeper a human feeling that bled
And you opened your arms in astonishment naming it
Climbing lightly to the clearness of the depths
Where your own starfish shone.

Listen. Speech is the prudence of the aged
And time is a passionate sculptor of men
And the sun stands over it, a beast of hope
And you, closer to it, embrace a love
With a bitter taste of tempest on your lips.

It is not for you, blue to the bone, to think of another summer,
For the rivers to change their bed
And take you back to their mother
For you to kiss other cherry trees
Or ride on the northwest wind.

Propped on the rocks, without yesterday or tomorrow,
Facing the dangers of the rocks with a hurricane hairstyle
You will say farewell to the riddle that is yours.

Στυλωμένη στους βράχους δίχως χτες και αύριο,
Στους κινδύνους των βράχων με τη χτενισιά της θύελλας
Θ’ αποχαιρετήσεις το αίνιγμά σου.

However, I was made to be a kite.
Heights thrilled me even when
I stayed face down on my pillow
punished for hours and hours.
I felt my room ascend
I was not dreaming- it ascended
I was afraid and I liked it.
It was that which I saw how can I say it
something like “memory of the future”
all trees which were leaving, mountains which were changing their view
little geometric villages with curly forests
like adolescents- I was afraid and I liked it
to just touch the bell tower
to caress the church bells like orchids and lose myself…
People with parasols passed diagonally
and smiled at me;
sometimes they knocked on the window: “miss”
I was afraid and I liked it.
They were the “people on top” that’s what I called them
they were not like the “bottom” ones;
there were generations of them and many held in their hands a gardenia
some half-opened the door of the balcony
and put strange music on the record-player.
It was- I remember- “Annette with the sandals”
“The geyser of Spitsbergen”
the “Fruit we did not bite, May will not come to us”
(yes, I remember others, too)
I say it again- I was not dreaming
suddenly that “Open halfway your clothing and I have a bird for you.”
He had brought it to me, the Knight-bicyclist
one day when I sat and pretended to read-
his bicycle with extreme care
he had leaned on the side of my bed;
afterwards he pulled the string and I blew up into the air
they shone, my colorful undergarments
I looked at how transparent they become, those who love
tropical fruits and kerchiefs of faraway Epirus;
I was afraid and I liked it
my bedroom ascended
or I- I have never understood it.
I am made of porcelain and magnolias
my hand comes from the most ancient Incas
I slide between doors like
the most infinitesimal earthquake
which only dogs and newborn babies feel;
properly speaking I must be a monster
and yet opposition
always nourished me and that depends on
those with the pointy hats
who have hidden conversations with my mother
at night to judge.
Once
the voice of the bugle from the faraway barracks
wrapped itself around me like barbed wire and everyone around me
applauded- splinters of incredible years’
meteors, all.
At the spa next door, the faucets opened-
facedown on my pillow
I saw the springs with their immaculate whiteness which sprinkled me;
how beautiful, my God, how beautiful
down on the ground, stepped on by feet
that I hold still in my eyes
such a mourning from the distant past.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Κι όμως ήμουν πλασμένη για χαρταετός.
Τα ύψη μου άρεσαν ακόμη και όταν
έμενα στο προσκέφαλο μου μπρούμυτα
τιμωρημένη ώρες και ώρες.
Ένιωθα το δωμάτιο μου ανέβαινε
δεν ονειρευόμουν – ανέβαινε
φοβόμουνα και μου άρεσε.
Ήταν εκείνο που έβλεπα πως να το πω
κάτι σαν την «ανάμνηση τον μέλλοντος»
όλο δέντρα που έφευγαν βουνά πού άλλαζαν όψη
χωράφια γεωμετρικά με δασάκια σγουρά
σαν εφηβαία – φοβόμουνα και μου άρεσε
ν’ αγγίζω μόλις τα καμπαναριά
να τους χαϊδεύω τις καμπάνες σαν όρχεις και να χάνομαι…
Άνθρωποι μ’ ελαφρές ομπρέλες περνούσανε λοξά
και μου χαμογελούσανε·
κάποτε μου χτυπούσανε στο τζάμι: «δεσποινίς»
φοβόμουνα και μου άρεσε.
Ήταν οι «πάνω άνθρωποι» έτσι τους έλεγα
δεν ήταν σαν τους «κάτω»·
είχανε γενειάδες και πολλοί κρατούσανε στο χέρι μια γαρδένια
μερικοί μισάνοιγαν την μπαλκονόπορτα
και μου ‘βαζαν αλλόκοτους δίσκους στο πικάπ.
Ήταν θυμάμαι «Η Αννέτα με τα σάνταλα»
«Ο Γκέυζερ της Σπιτσβέργης»
το «Φρούτο δεν εδαγκώσαμε Μάης δεν θα μας έρθει»
(ναι θυμάμαι και αλλά)
το ξαναλέω – δεν ονειρευόμουν
αίφνης εκείνο το «Μισάνοιξε το ρούχο σου κι έχω πουλί για σένα».
Μου το ’χε φέρει ο Ιππότης-ποδηλάτης
μια μέρα πού καθόμουνα κι έκανα πώς εδιάβαζα
το ποδήλατο του με άκρα προσοχή
το ‘χε ακουμπήσει πλάι στο κρεβάτι μου·
υστέρα τράβηξε τον σπάγκο κι εγώ κολπώνομουν μες στον αέρα
φέγγανε τα χρωματιστά μου εσώρουχα
κοίταζα πόσο διάφανοι γίνονται κείνοι πού αγαπούνε
τροπικά φρούτα και μαντίλια μακρινής ηπείρου·
φοβόμουνα και μου άρεσε
το δωμάτιο μου ανέβαινε
ή εγώ – δεν το κατάλαβα ποτέ μου.
Είμαι από πορσελάνη και μαγνόλια
το χέρι μου κατάγεται από τους πανάρχαιους Ίνκας
ξεγλιστράω ανάμεσα στις πόρτες όπως
ένας απειροελάχιστος σεισμός
που τον νιώθουν μονάχα οι σκύλοι και τα νήπια·
δεοντολογικά θα πρέπει να είμαι τέρας
και όμως η εναντίωση
αείποτε μ’ έθρεψε και αυτό εναπόκειται
σ’ εκείνους με το μυτερό καπέλο
που συνομιλούν κρυφά με τη μητέρα μου
τις νύχτες να το κρίνουν.
Κάποτε
η φωνή της σάλπιγγας από τους μακρινούς στρατώνες
με ξετύλιγε σαν σερπαντίνα και όλοι γύρω μου
χειροκροτούσαν – απίστευτων χρόνων θραύσματα
μετέωρα όλα.
Στο λουτρό από δίπλα οι βρύσες ανοιχτές
μπρούμυτα στο προσκέφαλο μου
θωρούσα τις πηγές με το άσπιλο λευκό πού με πιτσίλιζαν·
τι ωραία Θεέ μου τι ωραία
χάμου στο χώμα ποδοπατημένη
να κρατάω ακόμη μες στα μάτια μου
ένα τέτοιο μακρινό του παρελθόντος πένθος

Elytis speaking about Hellenism and the future (and past) of Europe…

We walked in the fields all day
With the women, the suns, our dogs
We played we sang we drank water
Fresh as it leapt out from the centuries
In the late afternoon for one moment we sat
And we looked each other deeply in the eyes.
A butterfly flew from our breasts
It was whiter
Than the small white branch of the edge of our dreams
We knew that it was never to be extinguished
How it had no memory of what worms it pulled

In the evening we lit a fire
And we sang around and around:

Fire beautiful fire don’t pity the logs
Fire beautiful fire don’t reach to the ash
Fire beautiful fire burn for us
tell us life.

We call her life, we grab her by the hand
We look at her eyes which look back at us
And if what intoxicates us is a magnet, we recognize it
And if that which hurts us is bad, we have felt it
We call her life, we go forward
And we bid farewell to the birds which are migrating.

We are of a good generation.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Είμαστε από καλή γενιά.

In those days the boys met together secretly and, because bad news kept increasing in the capital, took the decision to get out into the streets and squares with only one thing remaining to them: a hand’s length of space beneath their open shirts, with the black hair and the sun’s little cross. Where Spring had its state and its authority.

And because the day was near when the nation celebrated the other Rising, they chose that day for the Exodus. And they went out early into the sunlight, with their fearlessness unfurled wide as a flag, the young men with swollen feet they called bums. And they were followed by many men and women and the wounded with their bandages and crutches. And suddenly you could see their faces so lined, that you might think many days had gone by in a short hour.
The Others, however, hearing of such audacity, were upset exceedingly. And calculating their possessions with their eyes three times, they took the decision to get out into the streets and the squares with only one thing remaining to them: an arm’s length of fire beneath the iron, with the black gunbarrels and the sun’s teeth. Where neither shoot nor blossom ever shed a tear. And they fired at random, their eyelids shut in despair. And Spring possessed them. As if there were no other road on the entire earth for Spring to take except this one, and speechless they had taken the same road, gazing far off, beyond the edge of hopelessness, at the Serenity that they would become, the young men with swollen feet they called bums, and the men and women and the wounded with their bandages and crutches.
And many days went by in one short hour. And the beasts slaughtered many, and arrested others. And the next day they put thirty men against the wall.

-Odysseas Elytis

*”The Heroic Dead.” This piece describes the first important resistance to the Nazis in occupied Athens, occurring on March 25th (Independence Day), 1942, when students brought laurel wreaths to 1821 War of Independence heroes.’ (from ‘The Collected Poems of Odysseus Elytis,’ translated into English by Jeffrey Carson and Nikos Sarris; Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004. For educational purposes only.)