Dionysis Savvopoulos / Διονύσης Σαββόπουλος

Raven hair, and it grew white
from the side of exile they returned

The house empty, the fire extinguished
the field is a wound
the tomb is small
the mother does not live
and a little bird sings.

Father and son, for the first time embraced [kissed] each other
the people recognized the white hair they remembered

It spears bitter feelings
the shining sun
in the streets a celebration
a song swells like a wind
a crowd of people
and a little bird sings

We are the first and they are following
arisen, a thousand dead
the same times are dawning again
here is the fire, here is the life

(translation: Eva Johanos)

The square was full, with the meaning that has something of fires in it
On the corners and in the streets, from companions, construction workers, students;
and you shone in the middle of all the people,
and you were my light, a deep red snowflake in the celebration
in a celebration I never saw the likes of in my hunched-over life.

The square was empty, and covered with battle scars, like a dog
with torn pamphlets, in an eros for you I have overflowed
in the amphitheaters I search for you, in the intersections and the streets
and I seek information and material,
to shed light on the reasons which leave me half a man.

The square is full and from your face something has been saved
in the struggle of the companion, in the struggle of this place for life
to the children and the workers, to the citizens, to the infantry soldiers,
to the placards and the scandal which is breaking,

the gathering lights up and everything is conscious.

(translation: Eva Johanos
a great song, with references- and in this video photographs- to the student-led uprisings against the junta in Greece in the early 70s
*EFEE- Greek acronym for the National Student Union of Greece)

[*ΕΦΕΕ- Εθνική Φοιτητική Ένωση Ελλάδος]

I know some birds, black birds
bitter birds, birds of woe
they live in regions of misfortune
where sickness rules
sickness terror ashes

And when evening falls in the city
and the unceasing lashing, lashing rain begins
the birds arrive in the city
on the roofs, at the windows
and they steal people’s dreams

However the evening ends
the birds scream and cry
they return into exile

And the rain – good granny! -
drizzles into their heart
fragments of fairytales

However many birds you give me
me, I’m going to leave again;
because I love some birds
black birds, bitter birds
birds of woe

The most beautiful fairytales
of all the ones you have told me
ach- are those that spoke
of the children that have got lost
ach- are those that spoke
of the children that have got lost.

About the children who were lost
in the haunted forest
in the lakes in the north
about the children who were lost
at the well of the dragon
in the cave of the scream.

With gangs with beggars
in barns and in courtyards
and in ships of the seas
with smuggling pirates
and in ships of the seas
with smuggling pirates.

About the children they dragged off
to the markets of Africa
businessmen and thieves
and frightened and orphaned
In Smyrna and in Venice
the guards caught them.

Bread they sought from the baker
a little water from the cafe owner
He throws them out, the first, with a shovel
and the other sets the dog loose
He throws them out, the first, with a shovel
and the other sets the dog loose.

In the sorrowful cities
falls a yellow rain
on my body my hair stands on end
and my one tooth hurts
on my body my hair stands on end
and my one tooth hurts.

Your letter ten pages long
again the same advice
you tell me to come back home
you tell me to change my life from now on
you tell me to come back home
you tell me to change my life from now on

Fog falls on the roofs
the faces flee like shadows
and the candle trembles
fires are lit on the coasts
in my ears I hear screams
and I tremble like a bird.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Ομίχλη πέφτει στις σκεπές
φεύγουν οι φάτσες σαν σκιές
και τρέμει το κερί
φωτιές ανάβουν στις ακτές
μέσα στ’ αυτιά μου ακούω στριγκλιές
και τρέμω σαν πουλί.

One is the Spring, one is the cloud, golden rain
rain that was dancing in a ripe field until the dawn
like wheat you loosened on my shoulders golden hair
like wheat you danced like countless spears of wheat were the kisses

Don’t talk anymore about love, love is everywhere,
in our heart, in our glance, it devours our lips, it devours our minds…
and when we will have suffered it will greet us with a good morning;
it will leave us, it will come back, and everything from the beginning once again

One is the sea, one is the sun, white seagulls
sun and sea, sweet girl, warm morning
morning and I opened wide your two petals with a kiss
and you gifted me all of Spring in one body

Don’t talk anymore about love, love is everywhere. . .

Yesterday it was falling in love, yesterday it was cloud, golden rain
yesterday it was sea, seagull that was dancing with the morning
now it is the silence, now it is the forgetfulness, and the separation
and it seems as if the sky has faded all of his stars

Don’t talk anymore about love, love is everywhere. . .

Μη μιλάς άλλο για αγάπη η αγάπη είναι παντού. . .

Tonight the cops rounded the vagrants down the park
Police cars arrived and the sirens could be heard right here
Go! Go! There is still some time left
The night would be cold in the cells
How can you stand such a humiliation
Your mouth poisoned by the cigarettes
In the morning hard bested in the bus
A demonstration you watch behind the glass windows

From all the songs I loved the popular ones most
My life has changed none fancies me anymore
I push the key to enter the door, the room is cold and narrow
When night falls what can I say, in your green overcoat I remember you

When darkness falls currents wirr in the underground
Who’s gonna know the truth, a bribed jury will try me
My life is filled with secrets in the corridors perjurers are smoking
friends shout me drugs and the Party pulls me by the sleeve

Thus, I find you here again, Alexis tell me, tell me Alexis if you remember me
The summer is over, from a long time ago is over, what are you seeking
Down the beach the cafes are shut
dirty and rotten is the sea, migrants have returned here
scared they leave Germany, my heart I take for a walk down the stations

Don’t look at the soldiers, serious in the public toilets
they remind me of interventions, and of of difficulties of the private kind
I remember her to cross a field, scared to enter the elevator
My little cloud now wins the game, now in her hands a pair of scissors
thus, more orphan than ever

Thus, I find you here again, Alexis tell me how can I tell you
My freezing orphans blackmailing me heavily
Unheard of, Alkis is dying, the whole night was roasting in fever
A dead body in the corridor I had seen, the doctors wouldn’t take notice of us
hurriedly carrying us in the operation theaters.

The bottle is emptied, uncle Alexandros bottle is emptied
And from the park right here the police car’s siren is howling
The room is cold and narrow, and Tsitsanis with a yala jeers me
This night my heart is heavy, not even a word to look for
But you who once loved me, like you did before again you will understand me

Two by two, they passed by there ~ the ~ the girls
They are always embarrassed, they are embarrassed, the girls
The girls, the girls, two by two, hurriedly
they turn the corner to enter the movie theater

They stand behind the glass and ask for ice cream
the girls who have turned fourteen years old
In beautiful scrapbooks they write, the girls
Before they lie down they close, they lock, the girls

In the mirror every evening, hidden
they see them growing with a fear in their heart
Their mama they ask once a month
the girls who pass by two by two in a hurry

How beautiful you see the girls
How unlucky you see the girls

The ugliness of their parents they will pay heavily
Some day as if they are lost they will stand in the church
Their mother will shed tears, their relatives and in-laws
The poor girls and not a word anymore for them

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Την ασχήμια των γονιών τους θα πληρώσουνε ακριβά
Κάποια μέρα σαν χαμένα θα σταθούν στην εκκλησιά
Η μαμά τους θα δακρύζει συγγενείς, πεθερικά
Τα κορίτσια τα καημένα κι ούτε λέξη πια γι’ αυτά

My childhood friend
I saw her suddenly
standing
and looking at me.

Broken pieces of statues
in her two eyes
forgotten cities
shipwrecks in the deep.

The middle of the day is hot
the curtain low
and the stairs
in the light-well.

The footsteps are extinguished
no one- we will wander alone
seas, cities, abandoned stations.
Everything down here changes in a rush
what is there for us to understand, the poor.

So tell me, maybe you know
about her, whom I am speaking to you about
Anna*
is her abbreviated name.

I see her coming down
she stands on the step
and she is lost forever
in the noise of the world.

(translation: Eva Johanos
*written during the junta, “Anna” was Savvopoulos’ code for “Anarchy.” He seems to speak of the lost idealism of youth.)

Τη βλέπω κατεβαίνει
στέκεται στο σκαλί
και χάνεται για πάντα
στου κόσμου τη βουή.

Fire, fire
in my mind is fire
fire in Thessaly
and in the twelve villages

Kileler, oh Kileler.

Black animal and whipped blind
to what dark ditch
do you transport me with a vibration
that has been made wild.

6th of March nineteen hundred and ten.

Song with a hole in it, and a little patched verse
where wil you hide me, tell me where
I hear voices from everywhere
and I am afraid of the poor guy.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

(The song refers to a famous uprising of farmworkers in Thessaly in 1910, which led to greater awareness and reforms vis-a-vis the “agrarian issue”= land rights in the modern Greek (independent) state as opposed to the tradition stemming from the times of Turkish occupation.)

Τραγούδι τρύπιο και στιχάκι μπαλωμένο
πού θα με κρύψεις, πες μου πού
ακούω φωνές από παντού
και φοβάμαι το καημένο.

Let the dances go on
And we’ll find alternate
provincial joints, yeah
till this meeting
like an autonomous village unfolds

Till the celestial objects,
with transmitters and antennas
the Greeks make circuits
and history (makes) the “gangs”

Georges makes the beginning,
We are, we are not,
Nothing are we, yeah
And Johny sings
“if everything is unwritten, something (good) may come out”

And during the night’s blaze
Voilà our Alkis, our little one,
to get together old
and alight orbits
with the rock (n’ roll) of our future

The sky is (full of) fires,
“the wind’s gathering”,
sparkles and circuits, yeah
and shining companies
their mirroring on the seashores

And either with the antiquities
or with the orthodoxy
the communities of the Greeks
make another galaxy

And voilà Mpampis who has drunk
and Lydia who’s ashamed
that you all look at her, yeah
and Achileas with Zoe
in front of the Polaroid look smiling

Then, Helena the dancer,
bends towards Tasos
and with the eyes closed
they sing hugging
Greek National (Team) to your health!

What’s the Parliament’s fault,
what’s the representatives fault,
(who are) deserted and faceless, yeah
If the head hurts,
It’s the fault of the faceless love it had found

But ours (love) has a name
and a body and a religion
and a grandfather in autonomous regions
during the Turkish occupation

May God keep us in good health
always to meet
and always to party, yeah
with circular dances
and free ones (without forming a circle) like rivers

And during the night’s blaze
may our bond become more dense
and bring together old and alight orbits
with the rock of our future

What destroys me, what saves me,
is that I dream like Karagiozis.
Friends and enemies, upon my horrible back,
neatly to carry, as if they were passengers.

My white sheet, my crazy lamp
what is the love that blows to us?
Place under your shadow this boy
that has nowhere to go to tonight.

Like broad-beans, I count the hunchback’s words
from behind the white sheet, from inside the coffin
But despite my counting something is always amiss
hollow is our love and it protects us not.

My white sheet, my crazy lamp
red egg or carnivals
As if from inside a magical ballot box
Death stares at us and he is drooling.

Words and images slide through like shadows
winters pass by, like dust-carts
and if you are not ashamed to sit in the back rows
come to the show to jeer at you.

My white sheet, my crazy lamp
what is the love that blows to us?
Place under your shadow this boy
that has nowhere to go to tonight.

Λευκό μου σεντονάκι, λάμπα μου τρελή
ποια αγάπη τάχα μας φυσάει
Βάλε στη σκιά σου τούτο το παιδί
που δεν έχει απόψε πού να πάει, πού να πάει

Long Zeimbekiko for Niko
lyrics & music: Dionysis Savvopoulos

So, pencil and paper, despair has opened a tunnel
Shadows which were stuffed with the flashing of a knife into a narrower cell
on high, with a veil of blood, the full moon / Selene* whinnied
He has no hope, he does not seek freedom, but justice

He was born in a mudflat, close to Katerini**
Shadows with hurricane lamps which slide on the sail of Hades
Nikos was the first-born; the other they named Demosthenes
An unspoken bond, an image of childhood, which had set sail in another time

His old man had a hiding place on the mountain since ’45
And the villagers, out of fear of the authorities, distanced themselves from the son as well
And he saw them, neatly laid out in their jobs, and inside him was lit the fury
of one who is hemmed in between the crowd and the Police

Until one day, without a suitcase, rolling the holes of his wheel***
He rolled here from Macedonia, and still, where will he exit?
He will always leave for the star which is never reached by any Police
For fugitives, this heaven is the world of crime

Niko, I touch your traces
Niko, in the underworld of the language

Two convictions, six years for theft; I saw him when he got out
From now on he held himself at a distance from the insanity, not in order to save himself ~
But in order to save her, if you get me ~ for example he wanted to marry
And then they told him, “Come over to us to betray”**** ~
he did not accept for a moment!

And from the rage***** of their deep underground, he retreated to the countryside
But wherever he went, the signal had been sent ~
In Thessaloniki they beat him;
Almost staggering, he returned to Athens, and then they caught his fiancee:
They said things to her, the parents helped as well
so that she broke up with him…

And though he lived a completely straight life now
sleepwalking in a government
which triumphs in an unending scream of “No escape”
He held only a secret breath, that of the ghetto of the bouzoukzidika,******
a deep icon, wherein ecstasy still functions ~
“That I might hear,” he said, “the words, the voice,
and my little brother lifted up…
for me to watch him alone in his dance
and for something to happen to me”

Niko, skyladiko******* Saturday
Niko, full of broken things

Dedication, and they waited in their seats
and the loudspeakers announced it
And all the instruments caught the tune
for the dance of Demosthenes
As he went up, the dance floor was full;
he was heard yelling
“Dedication,” because he saw the evil
approaching with great strides

The dance floor emptied, except for two policemen
who danced, turning their backs to him
then the little brother pushed them with a
shout “this piece is mine”
They threw him down on broken glass
he cried out as they were dragging him ~
Like a vertiginous film their lives ~
Niko’s brakes failed

Outside of the madness he had nothing to
catch hold of, because they had dissolved it for him
He tumbles in the floodlight of
his darknesses, in his horrific feature movie ~
With so much violence that it is impossible for me to say
what happened down there
What led up to the whole drama, I imagine
was in the realm of the invisible

To himself he said, “Niko, get a hold of yourself,”
as he was already pulling out the blade
The first to taste of it they saw him
stooping over with an identity card
Three were slaughtered, he knifed another six,
screams, “get out of the way, they will slaughter us”
Pulling aside his little brother he muttered
“you they will not bother”

Niko, child of a different breed
Niko, what have you done?

Afterwards he escaped to the house of an acquaintance,
but he felt that they would betray him ~
“I should leave,” he said, “on a little boat in the open seas,
for tempests to drown me, there!
So they will go crazy, looking for Niko
and finding no Niko”
But as he went out, he saw them like Jacks********
one of them with handcuffs

They surrounded him from the neighboring places
his life was hanging
by a thread that he would not give to them
and he threw his knife
That they would need to kill him, the Police
but they shot him in the legs
He was dragging himself and swearing until the
owner of a tavern hit him over the head with a beam of wood

His trial took place in wild November, I imagine
he felt it so also;
The Typos********* anyway projected him openly
as a bloodthirsty beast
The same things were said by many progressives
“it was not strange”
Their agreement was sensed by him
as another threat

They also said it, many popular singers********** to an affiliate of the media
But Bithikotsis tells him to leave and tells him
“how can I explain it to you”
He had no witnesses except for his boss and
his landlady
The lawyers said “abnormal psyche,
look at his papers”

Niko, your village is obscured
Niko, who has you surrounded?

He himself from the beginning wrote himself off
he said it “I must die”
In other words he put himself in the shoes of the judges
but they did not put themselves in his
As he told his life story [to deaf people], I imagined that
I would not be able to bear it
[The trial developed inside but justice was outside.]

In his letters from prison,
life is no different
It suffocates like a mythological animal, here as much
as there ~
Might there not be a shivering beyond, which
shows distance from the drama
and brings a miracle like something that flies
the galley of justice

My art has lived through strange moments and
knows about justice
His motives are not humble; I see him in slow verses***********
Like a deity who unleashes her frenzy
and is magnified in her outburst
On the unsuspecting crowds of the
feast who are desecrating her sanctuary

The ever-increasing train of those who despise him, let it foam at the mouth, with the cloak of madness
and with electroshock treatment jolt him, it will
get out of it what it deserves
Driven into the labyrinths of nightmare, for
centuries without rescue
In the tactical work of the judge, who
does not understand

Niko, it will never be like that
Niko, it is our sickness that saves us
As it brings you farther from your cell
Niko, into the heaven of your music

(Translation: Eva Johanos
*Selene ~ the full moon and a goddess
**Katerini ~ city in northern Greece, capital of Pieria province in central Macedonia, Greece, 71 km from the city of Thessaloniki
*** “τσουλώντας της τρύπας του την ρόδα” ~ I have translated this literally, word for word, and it brings to mind pictures I have seen of boys walking and using a stick to keep a wheel rolling along; I believe the idea here is that Nikos arrived with nothing ~ if you can help me out please let me know!
**** “προδώνεις” ~ again I am choosing the literal translation; the meaning here is that he was asked (pressured by the authorities) to turn informant against his underworld connections
***** “λύσσα” ~ this expression for great anger refers to the symptoms of rabies
****** “μπουζουκτζίδικων” ~ popular entertainment centers where bouzouki (“Laiki”) music is performed
******* “σκυλάδικο” ~ a somewhat derogatory term for music centers, with a reference to the singing style
******** “Jacks” ~ referring to the figures on playing cards
********* “Typos” ~ a popular newspaper at the time
********** “λαϊκοί” ~ singers of Laiki, popular Greek music
*********** “στροφές” ~ this word means both verse and turn, and has a double meaning, as the dance of the zeimbekiko involves slow turns)

Νίκο, ποτέ δεν θά ‘ναι έτσι
Νίκο, είν’ η αρρώστια που μας σώζει
Καθώς σε φέρνει πιο μακριά κι απ’ το κελί σου
Νίκο, στον ουρανό της μουσικής σου

Μηλαράκι στο κρασάκι
του πολέμου φωνές μακρινές
είν’ απόψε ο ουρανός ένας ωκεανός
τριαντάφυλλα κι ευχές γιορτινές.

The screen is sinking, the crowd is stirring,
images all at once are rushing in.
Where are you going, palikari, beautiful like a legend,
as, straight ahead, you drift into death?

and all the antennas of a stricken land,
megaphones loudspeakers and radios everywhere,
sweetly they sing you to sleep and you, you are ascending
up on high among the great ones in the heavens.

Who, in truth, am I, and where am I going,
with a thousand and two pictures in my mind?
Headlights blind me and I am going
to kneel down and kiss your blood.

Where are you going, palikari? The processions are on their way
and your slaves are howling at the altar.
The masses are yelling, the bells are ringing,
and your hymn shakes the church.

Who, in truth, am I, and where do I go,
with a thousand and two pictures in my mind?
You project them, they blind me and I go
and kneel down and kiss your blood.

(GEORGE KARAISKAKIS Γεώργιος Καραϊσκάκης was a hero of the Greek Revolution (1821) against the Turks. He died in the siege of Athens. A myth, a legend, known as “the son of the nun”. Savvopoulos here uses his name to speak for all the heroes of this Revolution. That period of Greek history suffered severely from the way it was used by the illegitimate military government of 1967-74. The song is an effort to view those heroes in a different way. The hero goes up in the sky (eternity, glory etc.) and none of the propaganda (the screen, crowds, images, antennas, loudspeakers, wirelesses etc.) seems to touch him. Savvopoulos asks himself what the proper attitude is towards this hero, and finally he decides to honour him.)

Ποιος στ’ αλήθεια είμαι εγώ και πού πάω
με χίλιες δυο εικόνες στο μυαλό
οι προβολείς με στραβώνουν και πάω
και γονατίζω και το αίμα σου φιλώ

One small sea
One small sea
is my summer
my love, my pain

One small sea
shines in your two eyes
every morning

One small sea
into the tear, in the song
in every kiss of yours
One small sea

One small sea
One small sea
and in the corner my earthen water-jug
for one summer
you were

I sang you, I did
like the chords of the wind
in your black hair

I followed you, I did
like the tall grass
follows the wind
I sang you, I

One small sea
One small sea
Bitterly bid you farewell
and awaits you
One small sea

Μια θάλασσα μικρή,
μια θάλασσα μικρή
πικρά σ’ αποχαιρέτησε,
σε περιμένει
Μια θάλασσα μικρή

These words squeezed me like a pair of pincers,
said yesterday evening a soul
and a man who is bald both without and within smiled,
yes, why should he worry.

Do you remember when you were a pickpocket, there in exile
and you read Ritsos* and ancient tragedy?
now you swagger on the balcony
and you speak to the people as if you had rescued them from shipwreck.

To the little student who has fallen in love with you
I will denounce you, crafty politician.
For nothing is she wasting, I will go tell her,
her brand new and innocent enthusiasm.

That which rises up and reduces you to nothing
is the light of my little heart which is overflowing
and that which saves you and gives purpose to your existence
is that it is necessary to the bureaucracy as well.

The first provocateur** out of all the ones in my life
is your lordship, who copies my voice.
you exchanged my body for furniture and appliances
as you did the form of socialism which suits your ambitions.

I would love to cover you with yogurt, there where you are giving speeches
there where you are applauding me without believing in it
you take my truth and you make it lioma***
from my foot you drag me deep into the soil.

(translation: Eva Johanos
*Ritsos- 20th century Greek poet, Yiannis Ritsos
**provocateur- plainclothes plant of the police among protesters, stirring up trouble to justify police actions
***lioma- “mashed”: unintelligible, incapacitated with intoxicants)

Χαρά να σε γιαούρτωνα εκεί που ρητορεύεις
εκεί που με χειροκροτάς χωρίς να το πιστεύεις
παίρνεις την αλήθεια μου και μου την κάνεις λιώμα
απ’ το πόδι με τραβάς βαθιά μέσα στο χώμα.

Take us far away…
take us to the places over there…
Blow, wide sea…
Blow winds, blow, winds

Να μας πάρεις μακριά
να μας πας στα πέρα μέρη
φύσα θάλασσα πλατιά
φύσα αγέρι φύσα αγέρι

Like the complaint in the phrase: “Here and now”
Like the broken pharmacy at 2 o’clock
Like the burnt-out stadium, like the roar of your motorcycle
from within the shattered glass of the display window I hear your soul

And how in a secret landscape, opposite the whale
thus a blessing of which I am ignorant holds me to your length

They sent me messages, your hurried elves
from the delirium of your country which is increasing
Three thirty in the morning, like a demonstration which solidifies
a black glass without faces, and suddenly it shatters

And in the pulse of the man who was killed, the flash of the ambulance
mirrors something of the echo of God in the depths of Heōsphóros*

My rhythms became frenzied and do not hold the sound
of your loneliness when you cry and hit the wall
In the half light of dawn I erase miles of written material
that you may find the page all white, to enter and dawn

With a tinderbox everywhere, in your divine truth,
like a photograph of a child which says to me: Reader, help

Gate Seven and Gate beneath the caterpillar tread
Everything crossed through the strangling languages
However I heard the faint sound of the little word of an unknown person
And not as a part of their speech or their position

To embrace you with sorrow and to feel you so much
As much as it is a secret landscape which I desire to express

( translation: Eva Johanos
*Heōsphóros, the Lucifer Morning Star, the planet Venus)

Where I look you should look
All of Greece, an unending shantytown
shack, shack,shack in the winter
and you speak like a dead person

The people, the people on the sidewalks
looking for bread rings and lottery tickets
herds, herds. herds at the ministries
applications for Germany

Ladies, philanthropists, priests
contracts, psalms and cantatas
Evanthoula cries before she sleeps
she auctions off her virginity

At the football stadiums Greece sighs
at the cafes, billiards, gossip and card playing
She stands at the kiosk and reads
news rags with one and a half drachmas

No, no this is not a song
It is the hole-filled roof of a shack
it is the cigarette butt a trickster collects
and the spy who follows us

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Όχι, όχι αυτό δεν είναι τραγούδι
Είναι η τρύπια στέγη μιας παράγκας
Είναι η γόπα που μάζεψε ένας μάγκας
Κι ο χαφιές που μας ακολουθεί.

That night
you call it fire,
but I call it tree
The days that I longed for will come,
I call it tree.

In the sand, at the shore,
everyone was sitting towards the evening
he spoke to me, the one who was driving
he spoke, the one who was driving

And I loved him
and more than the sun
and more than our enemies

The traveler of our pain
the driver of our victory
the driver of our victory

I saw him in the crowd
his blood ran on his chest
I saw him at the shore
his eyes pulled out by the darkness

Death, early early
had marked him
And I shout “Don’t-”
I shout “Don’t- Death wants to find you”

That night
you call it fire,
but I call it tree
The days that I longed for will come,
I call it tree.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

What can I do with your songs
They never tell the truth
People are suffering and in pain
And you tell the same old fairytales

What can I do with your songs
They never tell the truth
People are suffering and in pain
And you tell the same old fairytales

What can I do with your songs
They are sugar-coated
They are well-suited for children who love chocolate
But they do not suit me

(translation: Eva Johanos)

When I get out of this prison, nobody will wait for me
the roads will be empty, and my city even stranger to me
all the cafes will be closed, and all my friends will be abroad
the wind will be dragging me, when I get out of this prison

And the sun will fall asleep, on Olynthos’ remains
my friends and enemies will look as they came from a myth
orators and thiefs will stand in fornt of me, stoned-dead
beggers and prostitutes, will stand in front of me, stoned-dead

I ‘ll stand in front of the gate, with the blankets under my arm
and by moving my head slowly, I will greet the guard
with no will, no god, like a king in an ancient tragedy
I will say the word and the letter, I will stand in front of the gate

Μπροστά στην πύλη θα σταθώ με τις κουβέρτες στη μασχάλη
κι αργοκουνώντας το κεφάλι θα χαιρετήσω το φρουρό
χωρίς βουλή χωρίς Θεό σαν βασιλιάς σ’ αρχαίο δράμα
θα πω τη λέξη και το γράμμα μπροστά στην πύλη θα σταθώ

An angel messenger came to us from afar
leaning on a crutch
he didn’t know how to talk at all
and his used his tongue only to lick

All the news he brought to us were lies
but they had a pleasant sound to them
because all his lies sounded true
and listening to him calmed our souls

He made his bed behind the stores
and told jokes in the tavern
he happily went in and out the barbers’ and the baths
and watched the fish in the pond

So the winter went by and summertime came
and then it got cold again
until one night, I don’t know what came over him all of a sudden
and he started shouting maniacally

My feet got burned in this deserted place
night is followed by night
the news I brought you were what you wanted to hear
but they are far from being true

We instantly knew what he was trying to say
and we numbly asked him to leave
since he didn’t have pleasant news
he’d better not tell any news at all