Dionysis Savvopoulos

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

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

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.

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 sets the dog loose on the others
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)

Τα πιο ωραία παραμύθια
απ’ όσα μου ‘χεις διηγηθεί
αχ είν’ εκείνα που μιλούσαν
για τα παιδιά που ‘χουν χαθεί
αχ είν’ εκείνα που μιλούσαν
για τα παιδιά που ‘χουν χαθεί.
Για τα παιδιά που χάθηκαν
στο στοιχειωμένο δάσος
στις λίμνες στο βορρά
για τα παιδιά που χάθηκαν
στου δράκου το πηγάδι
στης στρίγκλας τη σπηλιά.
Σε συμμορίες με ζητιάνους
σε αχυρώνες και σ’ αυλές
και σε καράβια του πελάγους
με λαθρεμπόρους πειρατές
και σε καράβια του πελάγους
με λαθρεμπόρους πειρατές.
Για τα παιδιά που τα ‘συραν
στης Αφρικής τις αγορές
εμπόροι και ληστές
και φοβισμένα κι ορφανά
στη Σμύρνη και στη Βενετιά
τα πιάσαν οι φρουρές.
Ψωμί ζητήσαν του φουρνάρη
λίγο νερό του καφετζή
τα διώχνει ο πρώτος μ’ ένα φτυάρι
κι ο άλλος λύνει το σκυλί
τα διώχνει ο πρώτος μ’ ένα φτυάρι
κι ο άλλος λύνει το σκυλί.
Στις λυπημένες πολιτείες
πέφτει μια κίτρινη βροχή
στο σώμα μου έχω ανατριχίλες
και το ‘να δόντι μου πονεί
στο σώμα μου έχω ανατριχίλες
και το ‘να δόντι μου πονεί.
Το γράμμα σου δέκα σελίδες
πάλι η ίδια συμβουλή
μου λες στο σπίτι να γυρίσω
μου λες ν’ αλλάξω πια ζωή
μου λες στο σπίτι να γυρίσω
μου λες ν’ αλλάξω πια ζωή.
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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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 crazy from all the marks, 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 placat 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]

Η πλατεία είναι γεμάτη κι απ’ το πρόσωπό σου κάτι έχει σωθεί
στον αγώνα του συντρόφου, στην αγωνία αυτού του τόπου για ζωή
στα παιδιά και τους εργάτες , στους πολίτες, στους οπλίτες στα πλακάτ και τη σκανδάλη που χτυπά
η συγκέντρωση ανάβει κι όλα είναι συνειδητά.

Η ουρά που αυξάνει φτύνοντάς τον ας λυσσάει, με τον ζουρλό μανδύα
και με τα ηλεκτροσόκ να τον κλονίσει, θα λάβει ότι της αξίζει
Στους λαβυρίνθους του εφιάλτη οδηγημένη, αιώνια, δίχως σωτηρία
Στην τακτική δουλεία του δικαστή, που δεν καταλαβαίνει
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