As my third book of poems in Greek, Poland, has just been shortlisted for the "Anagnostis" award for poetry books published in 2016, I thought I'd share here four poems translated, and one originally written, in English, and published in "Hotel Amerika" and "Poetry London".
The first poem, "Jan III" belongs to the aforementioned Poland; "Cadenza" and "Burning candle" are from my first book, The lifesaver (2008); "Honey, meaning of" is as yet unpublished in Greek; while "Chinese movie" comes from my second book, Uncovered (2013).
*
JAN III
Unfathomable
this love
of Jan Sobieski
for his
enemy’s beauty
Every day
for twenty years
he’d write
to his wife
half in
Polish and half in French
And about
the Turkish spoils after victory
des fort jolies choses et fort riches
mais fort riches
mais fort riches
Among all
of Hussein Pasha’s treasures
he fell in
love with a silk embroidery
with two thousand rubies and emeralds
He loved it
so
he draped
it over his horse
on his
coronation day
Indebted to
the Grand Duke of Tuscany
he parted
with it
The Duke
had it taken down
in the
register and stored –
Una cosa del barbaro lusso
Note: Sobieski (1629-1696) is
principally known to the rest of the world because, as king of Poland and
Commander of the joint Polish, Austrian and German armies, he stopped the
Ottoman army's advance outside Vienna in 1683. But he had vanquished the same
army before, at the battle of Hocim in 1673. It was this victory that led to
him being elected King a year later. “Des fort jolies choses et fort riches / mais
fort riches” (Fr.): most pretty things and most rich / but most rich.“Una cosa del barbaro lusso” (Ital.): An
object of barbaric luxury.
[Translated by Panayotis Ioannidis and first published in “Hotel Amerika”
13 (2015). Later included, in this translation, in T. Chiotis (ed.) Futures – Poetry of the Greek crisis (Penned
in the margins, 2015), and, in the original Greek, in Polonia [Poland] (Kastaniotis, 2016)]
~
CADENZA
Just before
lowering his bow
the
violinist sees his mother
straightening
his collar before the parade
His fingers
hurt
like they
did after practice
but quickly
they break free and warm –
they know
no other body
Now he
doesn’t hear
the
audience’s cough
gradually
stopping – doesn’t see
my
neighbour’s programme gently
gliding to
the floor – the eyelids
lifting up,
the eyes
that hurt
on
the shiny
surface of the violin
while he
sees off
the final
phrase
His eyes
hurt
as his mother’s
hand
pushes him
gently
onto the
glare of the wet
flag-decorated
street
[Translated by Panayotis Ioannidis and Stefanos Basigkal and published in
“Hotel Amerika” 13 (2015). The Greek original has been published in To sossivio
[The lifesaver] (Kastaniotis, 2008).]
~
BURNING CANDLE
First time this spring I held two candles
at Good Friday’s Epitaph procession
I not quite a believer
Still, since three years ago
I always light two candles
in the tiniest chapels
Since we say the
soul falters
I light them up tenaciously naive
and with the expectation of the faithful
Then we say – gone
But I will not ever forget
how your face lit up austere
one night when seeing me
blow out a candle flame
You take its soul
away. Never
blow it out. Always
with wetted fingers
touch the wick
– inside your palm
gather the flame
don’t scatter it away
Since then I’m always careful
without explaining even though I’m teased
for such an odd attention. It is worth
wetting the fingers
tenderly holding the flame
it is worth the effort
the slight risk that your hand
cowardly, hesitant, may get burnt
that a soul may burn you
as it –temporarily– retreats
But before dozing yesterday I forgot
blew out the flame – the wall
got splashed above the second pillow
with melted candle wax
Nothing then could comfort me – as if
it were a human being – and I were to blame
[Translated
by Panayotis Ioannidis and Stefanos Basigkal and published in “Poetry London” 82
(2015). The
Greek original has been published in To sossivio [The lifesaver]
(Kastaniotis, 2008).]
~
HONEY, meaning of
[entry updated July 2013]
1
Jean Paucton, stagehand of the Palais Garnier, started
keeping bees on its rooftop in 1981. Their honey proved exquisite. At least,
Parisian opera-lovers seemed to think so: the jars –with their handwritten,
numbered and signed labels– would rapidly sell out from the establishment’s
boutique. “Letting a seventy seven-year-old man climb on the roof was becoming
problematic”, an official was quoted as saying upon M. Paucton’s retirement in
the spring of 2013. It is rumoured that new bees will be installed, care of a
private company, “to better frame the activity”. Nobody knows what next
season’s honey will taste like.
2
It comes from the Germanic “hunangam” – perhaps,
ultimately, from the Indo-European “keneko”, for “golden” or “yellow”. But
there is another Indo-European word: “melit” –meaning, precisely, “honey”– from
which both the Greek “meli” and the Irish “mil” derive. Unrelated,
unfortunately, to both “melody” and the muse “Melpomene”.
3
Honey makes the difference between truth and falsity.
Gorged on the “Gods' blond sweet food”, the three mantic, virgin bee-sisters
will dance what is, what was, and what will be. (They taught Apollo divination;
he gave them to his brother Hermes as a gift.) Deprived of it, however, they
become unruly; their utterances unreliable.
4
I was very fond of it, my ‘test’ poster: two black and
white photographs by Richard Avedon. On the left, “Dovima with Elephants,
Evening Dress by Dior, Cirque d’Hiver, Paris”: the fashion model of the 1950’s
standing lithe in her long black dress, sash trailing on the circus tent’s
straw, between the two heavy gray beasts. On the right, “Ronald Fischer,
Beekeeper, Davis, California, May 9, 1981”: a hairless albino, bees swarming on
his naked torso and head (including nipples and ears). A few of my friends were
as fascinated as I by this coupling of sabotaged beauty and serene symbiosis.
Most, though, would cringe at a hastily interpreted creepiness. The poster used
to hang in my apartment's hallway. When H. moved in a year ago, we took it down
to make room for his bookshelves.
[Originally written in English and published in “Hotel
Amerika” 14, (2016).]
~
CHINESE MOVIE
CHINESE MOVIE
My friend
brought me bread
that was
homemade by his mother.
He told me
about his trip
Most of all I enjoyed the airports
Then we
went to watch
a Chinese
movie: about a boy
who
photographed people from behind
to show
them all
what they
couldn’t see on their own
As everyone
got up to leave
we stayed
put quietly in our seats
until the
last line of the credits disappeared,
[Translated by Moira Egan and first published in “Hotel Amerika” 13
(2015). The Greek original has been published in Akalyptos
[Uncovered] (Kastaniotis, 2013).]
