Thanassis Papakonstantinou

One night a wrestler wind
will come from far away,
oh, you, alas
you won’t be able to sleep
once you breath him in
he will have thyme in his hair
oh, you, alas
cornels for ear rings
and in his mouth will roam
oh, you, alas
rhetorical pebbles

He’ll come down as a lord
oh, you, alas
he’ll come down as a wolf
to get colour and life
oh, you, alas
the garden of solitude
the little honeybees will turn
oh, you, alas
around the armchairs
and the crystal water
oh, you, alas
will flow from the screens

Wind, be avenging
oh, you, alas
be playful also
and if my little soul grows weary
oh, you, alas
then come and take it away
so that it watches from up high
oh, you, alas
the world’s indolence
let it be forgotten like the mountains’
oh, you, alas
snow from last year

Αέρα να ‘σαι τιμωρός, βρε αμάν αμάν
να ‘σαι και παιχνιδιάρης
κι αν βαρεθεί η ψυχούλα μου, βρε αμάν αμάν
να ‘ρθεις να μου την πάρεις,
για να κοιτάει από ψηλά, βρε αμάν αμάν
του κόσμου τη ραστώνη,
να ξεχαστεί σαν των βουνών, βρε αμάν αμάν
το περσινό το χιόνι.

Come on.. in the earth the fiery center
come on.. two birds are kissing in a tree
come on.. lava is falling, lava from their kisses
come on.. and fossilized wings from their bodies.

Come on.. there far away, far away in Andromeda
come on.. they are drinking tsipouro and eating salted tunny-fish
come on.. some beings strange and beautiful
come on.. where they are alone and looking for companions

Come on.. way up there in fruitless Melouna
come on.. germinate, germinate a wild poppy
come on.. that has a mouth, a mouth and bites
come on.. and keeps saying it won’t do it again.

Come on.. deep down, deep in my guts
come on.. something is happening, my dear
come on.. a thousand horses are blindly turning
come on.. they are looking for an exit and threshing me.

Come on.. here close by just two meters deep
come on.. they say that they are imprisoning passion
come on.. they are throwing soil and sprinkling with flowers
come on.. and they imagine, they believe they are disentangling themselves.
(translation: Eva Johanos)

Άιντε εδώ σιμά κοντά δυο μέτρα βάθος
άιντε λεν πως φυλακίζουνε το πάθος
άιντε ρίχνουν χώμα με λουλούδια ραίνουν
άιντε και θαρρούν, θαρρούν πως ξεμπερδέυουν.

At Magellan’s fires,
at Mount Voras’s mast
and on the child’s knee
the same thing changes
and covers the voices.

At the sky’s galaxies
and inside my brain
the same thing is hiding,
breathing lightly
watching and wating.

Στους γαλαξίες τ’ ουρανού
και στο μυαλό μου μέσα
το ίδιο πράγμα κρύβεται,
ανάλαφρα ανασαίνει
κοιτάει και περιμένει.

When, seeping from the tiredness
its opium is, heavy and sweet,
in its embrace a deep sleep seize
bringing a taste of souls’ breeze.

My empty places, the fields of dreams,
sand grains and orphaned wake water streams.

The sleeping souls become again
innocent children on a time’s train.
Over the curtain of their eyelids
raving and raging are the time’s winds.

My empty places, the fields of dreams,
sand grains and orphaned wake water streams.

While getting ready to step in a dream,
you leave behind you the earthly scene,
all temples and shrines that you have built,
of virtues and dark sins a patchy quilt.

My empty places, the fields of dreams,
sand grains and orphaned wake water streams.

Άδειοι μου τόποι, όνειρα,
κόκκοι της άμμου απόνερα.

Ανάξιος αν είμαι, να μου δοθούν
της λήθης τα ελέη
Στα κέρατα του ταύρου γεννήθηκα
αυτό μπορεί να φταίει

I have no mask to wear to this carnival
only an abstaining, to gather the sea’s craftiness
and silence’s wealth

(twice)
Beat good, beat strong, a sugared thrust of the bayonet
and let the gallery feel the violence of the battle of confetti

Trash thought I discard it, logic I renounce
with a secret and prolonged remorse for roads I did not attempt
at daybreaks I forget myself

Hold the mind, hold the mind to keep it from griping about the weather and the time
so that it made a clique with pain and is stingy on the sweetness

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Bάστα το νού, βάστα το νου να μην γκρινιάξει του καιρού
πού ‘φτιαξε με τον πόνο κλίκα και τσιγκουνεύεται στη γλύκα

With the drinking guests was I, celebrating the day
When suddenly a strong man took me out of my chair.
He beat me, whirled me around as if I was a bit of trash.
At the waterfalls of the heavens was I baptized again.

The city where I grew up sent me her kisses.
Only my sweetheart was missing because she was braiding zigres in her hair.
Brass from Goumenissa and from Gida songs played on the clarino,
and from Agiasso old men danced silently.

Near me my prophet, the little sly operator of the neighborhood,
held a primer and had March in his hand.
He opened his book to the first page.
The letters leapt out and became birds

And Joseph who was passing by- whether by fate or by chance-
pulled from his ear and gave to me a carpenter’s pencil.
“Take it and write, my boy with your good hand
whatever your soul longs for on the empty paper.”

On the Jordan I was- or maybe on the Asmaki-
and I wrote with the left- empty life- calm and with love:
“Ah, if I were only better, ah, if I weren’t a liar
and if I were not afraid of the big invitation.”

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Στον Ιορδάνη ήμουνα –η μήπως στο Ασμάκι;-
κι έγραψα με τ’ αριστερό –άδεια ζωή- ήρεμα και μ’ αγάπη:
«Αχ, να ‘μουνα καλύτερος, αχ, να μην ήμουν ψεύτης
και το μεγάλο κάλεσμα να μην φοβούμουνα».

The place where I grew up nurses a secret grievance:
that the sea did not consent to wash its soil.
But for all that, I know that the ocean’s black wave
takes you right into the deep, or all the way to China,
A! and to America, together with Marika, Dousia and Kostis.
The place where I grew up nurses a secret grievance:
that the sea did not consent to wash its soil.
But for all that, I know that the ocean’s black wave
takes you right into the deep, or all the way to China,
A! and to America, together with Marika, Dousia and Kostis.

I watch them inside my eyes, on the old ship,
clinging to the deck like barnacles, all the emigrants:
mute women, unspeaking, saving their strength,
little children who do not realize what road they are walking.
A! Those were heavy cargoes, in the old days, leaving for America.

The curly hair of Katsaros flies in the wind
as he looks backwards to the place of his birth.
The wind brings to his ears beloved songs
that he used to play on his guitar, it has brought them to me too,
A! and to America, together with Marika, Dousia and Kostis.

And as the ragged ship unloads in the harbour,
the foreign policemen will stack them in rows.
Some will find their way and thrive,
and others will never quench their thirst until they die.
A! In America… Greece, like a wild weed, you took root there too.
I watch them inside my eyes, on the old ship,
clinging to the deck like barnacles, all the emigrants.

Και σαν το κουρελόβαρκο αδειάσει στο λιμάνι,
θα τους στοιβάξουν στη σειρά οι ξένοι πολισμάνοι.
Άλλοι θάχουν τον τρόπο τους και θα ευδοκιμήσουν
και άλλοι ως να πεθάνουνε τη δίψα δεν θα σβήσουν.
Α! στην Αμερική Ελλάδα σαν αγριόχορτο φύτρωσες και κει.
Τους βλέπω μες τα μάτια μου μες το παλιό βαπόρι
σα στρείδια στο κατάστρωμα οι μετανάστες όλοι.

The rider had the horse in his heart.
Where could he find a better friend to confide his secrets.
He fed him wild barley, four-leafed clover;
he had decorations on his saddle of shining shell.
He was white, bright white, he was fast and smart,
he galloped on the naked mountain and avoided the shadow.
But one ill-fated day, beneath a fig tree,
he came across a snake which gave its bite.
Five minutes didn’t pass, but centuries passed
the rider sang his death laments and caressed its flanks.
“My companion, confide in me; where are you going, as you are leaving?
Let’s make a vow. In time I will find you or you will find me.”
He returns, bent over, to his house, and opens the door, bent over,
He nails shut the windows and throws himself into drink.
In the meantime, the birds wrapped the horse’s
skeleton, leaving only the tail.
A craftsman passed by, who had learned in Kremona
to make fiddles, violins which would last for years.
He saw the hair of the tail, white and silky,
he took it and made bows of it, one by one.
It took the young man two months to open the window
On the first day of the Third month he goes out to the fair.
There were lute-players who wanted to be asked to play,
and a violin player who turned heads.
“Health and joy to the fiddler. I will give you lots of money.
I want to hear the good stuff, maybe I will feel lighter.”
Ten times he passed resin over the bow,
he fit it to his chin, his instrument, with pride,
and as he began to bow, up and down,
he turned the world upside down, put the earth on a plate.
He throws handfuls of money, the man, and dances
he hears whinnying and his mind leaves.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Ο καβαλάρης τ’ άλογο το ‘χε μες στην καρδιά του.
Που να ‘βρει φίλο πιο καλό να λέει τα μυστικά του.
Το τάιζε αγριοκρίθαρο, τετράφυλλο τριφύλλι,
στολίδια είχε στη σέλα του με λαμπερό κοχύλι.
Ήταν λευκό, ήταν κάτασπρο, ήταν γοργό και ξύπνιο,
κάλπαζε στα γυμνά βουνά και ξέφευγε απ’ τον ίσκιο.
Μα ένα παλιομεσήμερο, σε μια συκιά από κάτω,
αστρίτης στραβογάμησε και δίνει δαγκωσιά του.
Δεν πέρασαν πέντε λεπτά μα πέρασαν αιώνες
ο καβαλάρης το θρηνεί, χαϊδεύει τους λαγώνες.
«Σύντροφε που ξανοίγεσαι, που χάνεσαι και φεύγεις;
Ας δώσουμε όρκο. Με καιρούς θα σ’ εύρω ή θα μ’ εύρεις».
Σκυφτός γυρνάει στο σπίτι του, σκυφτός την πόρτα ανοίγει,
καρφώνει τα παράθυρα και στο πιοτό το ρίχνει.
Το άλογο στο μεταξύ τα όρνια το τυλίξαν
το σκελετό και την ουρά μονάχα που τ’ αφήσαν.
Περνούσε κι ένας μάστορας που ‘μαθε στην Κρεμόνα
να φτιάχνει βιόλες και βιολιά που να κρατάνε χρόνια.
Είδε την τρίχα της ουράς άσπρη και μεταξένια,
την πήρε κι έφτιαξε μ’ αυτή δοξάρια ένα κι ένα.
Δυο μήνες έκανε ο νιος ν’ ανοίξει παραθύρι
την Τρίτη την πρωτομηνιά βγαίνει στο πανηγύρι.
Εκεί ‘ταν λαουτιέρηδες που θέλαν’ παρακάλια
ήταν κι ένας βιολιτζής που έπαιρνε κεφάλια.
«Γεια και χαρά στου βιολιτζή. Χρήμα πολύ θα δώσω.
Θέλω ν’ ακούσω απ’ τα καλά, μήπως και ξαλαφρώσω».
Δέκα φορές το πέρασε ρετσίνι το δοξάρι,
ταιριάζει στο σαγόνι του, τ’ όργανο με καμάρι,
και σαν αρχίζει δοξαριές, μια πάνω και μια κάτω,
τον κόσμο φέρνει ανάποδα, τη γη μέσα στο πιάτο.
Πετάει με χούφτες τα λεφτά, ο άντρας και χορεύει
ακούγεται χλιμίντρισμα και το μυαλό του φεύγει.

The day goes by, who steals it
I knew but I forgot
The ones that worked and the ones that tried
Threw away the dirty clothes

And you my evening star
You blend with the sunset
Guileless are your eyes
Don’t lower them

The cities are always dancing
In a circadian rhythm
The lights lit up to catch up
With the unstable of the night

And you my evening star
You blend with the sunset
Guileless are your eyes
Don’t lower them

Our steps are without our will
Expensive gifts
For those that stay and wait
At nightfall for a hug

And you my evening star
You blend with the sunset
Guileless are your eyes
Don’t lower them

They will come again in the darkness
Distant flickers
To whisper, to remind
Three times in a row

Μες στο σκοτάδι θα ‘ρθουν πάλι
μακρινές μαρμαρυγές
να ψιθυρίσουν να θυμίσουν
τρεις απανωτές φορές

A kiss which I tasted
of the waste of darkness
it could be that I dreamed it,
it could be that I took it.

For days I had it on me
wrapped in my lips
it was an offering of intoxication
and hidden torment.

The shoddy kisses of dizziness
I will put aside
and a sober kiss
I will come to ask from you.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Της ζάλης τα φτηνά φιλιά
στην άκρη θα τ’ αφήσω
κι ένα φιλί αμέθυστο
θα ‘ρθω να σου ζητήσω.