Nena Venetsanou

What I remember from our islands
is the sandy shore of Zakinthos
Kerkyra’s orchards
Rhodes’ big castle

What I remember from our islands
are Crete’s mountain villages
The fragrances of Chios
Kimolas’ sparkling waters
Syros’ upper town…

What I remember from our islands
are the two small snakes that fell in love
under the marbles of the temple
one summer noon on Delos
one summer noon on Delos

On Gavdos, on Folegandros
and on the small islands
a heavy silence has fallen like marble, bats are nesting
like a scarlet bouquet, the blood stays awake
like white flutes, the bones count the Hysperides
a one-eyed patrol harvests the sea
and around and behind the tents
the sirens are howling
Leros, Makronisos, Kythera and Tzia
Tell me who [are the women who] sealed
half a century of memories?

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Τη Λέρο, τη Μακρόνησο, τα Κύθηρα, τη Τζιά
πες μου ποιες τάχα σφράγισαν μισό αιώνα μνήμες. (χ2)

It is not dawn, it isn’t dawn for me to rise
It is not dawn, it isn’t dawn for me to rise
ah, not to sigh
star of dawn, why are you so late coming out?

To go back to, to go back to my pillow
To go back to, to go back to my pillow
ah, and from longing to cry
come out, my sun, and come to me, my sun

The nightingales of, the nightingales of the east
The nightingales of, the nightingales of the east
ah, and the Pleiades of the west
star of dawn, why are you late in coming out?

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Να γείρω στο προσκέφαλο
Να γείρω στο προσκέφαλο
Ααααχ … κι από καημό να κλάψω
Έβγα ήλιε μου κι έλα μήλειε μουΤ’ αηδόνια της Ανατολής
Τ’ αηδόνια της Ανατολής
Ααααχ … και τα πουλιά της Δύσης
Άστρο της αυγής γιατί αργείς να βγεις

My thoughts about you
let them remain in shadow
Beautiful name, Lilith
half-erased writing

Eyes dark as ebony
Light blue, your body
which hands nailed you
in the middle of the abyss?

We live joyless little lives-
Who will break the flow for us?
Inside our houses we live silently
Who will conquer the fear?

You play with magic potions
Witch of the abyss
You live far from the warm
fire of Heaven

Into the darkness they threw you
But you, naked, dance
You brave unheard-of emptinesses
and sow separations

We live joyless little lives-
Who will break the flow for us?
Inside our houses we live silently
Who will conquer the fear?

Flower, night-blooming flower,
My dark nightingale,
you flutter your wings in your pain
on the dark threshing floor

And I feel the throbbing,
the winged sign,
I name nothing-
Lilith, dense darkness.

We live joyless little lives-
Who will break the flow for us?
Inside our houses we live silently
Who will conquer the fear?

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Ζούμε άχαρες μικρές ζωές
ποια τα μάγια θα μας σβήσει
μες τα σπίτια ζούμε σιωπηλές
ποια το φόβο θα νικήσει

In Smyrna, Melpo. Hero, in Thessaloniki.
In Volo, Katinitsa, once upon a time.
Now in Vourla they call me Lela.
My home, which was it? Who were my people?
If I know, may I be damned.
For my house, my country I have the brothels.
And as for my bitter times, my childhood
cloudy, erased drawings.
And it is an empty chest, my memory.
Today worse than yesterday
and tomorrow wants from today to be.
Kisses from unknown mouths, curses
and the police push me around with their speech.
Celebrations, brawls until daylight.
Illnesses, amphitheatre, Syngrou
and six hundred and six injections.
Rotten floorboard of a drowned ship.
All of my life of loss.
But from my hell I yell out to you:
I am a picture of you, society, and I resemble you.
But from my hell I yell out to you:
I am a picture of you, society, and I resemble you.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Στη Σμύρνη, Μέλπω. Ηρώ, στη Σαλονίκη.
Στο Βόλο, Κατινίτσα, έναν καιρό.
Τώρα στα Βούρλα με φωνάζουν Λέλα.
Ο τόπος μου, ποιός ήταν; Ποιοί οι δικοί μου;
Αν ξέρω, ανάθεμά με.
Σπίτι, πατρίδα έχω τα μπορντέλα.
Ως κι οι πικροί μου χρόνοι, οι παιδικοί μου,
θολές, σβησμένες ζωγραφιές.
Κι είν’ αδειανό σεντούκι η θύμησή μου.
Το σήμερα χειρότερο απ’ το χτες.
Και τ’ αύριο απ’ το σήμερα θε να ‘ναι.
Φιλιά από στόματ’ άγνωστα, βρισιές
κι οι χωροφύλακες να με τραβολογάνε.
Γλέντια, καυγάδες ως να φέξει.
Αρρώστιες, αμφιθέατρο, Συγγρού
κι ενέσεις εξακόσια έξι.
Πνιγμένου καραβιού σάπιο σανίδι.
Όλη η ζωή μου του χαμού.
Μ’ από την κόλασή μου, σού φωνάζω:
Εικόνα σου είμαι, κοινωνία, και σού μοιάζω.
Μ’ από την κόλασή μου, σού φωνάζω:
Εικόνα σου είμαι, κοινωνία, και σού μοιάζω.

Το καφέ “Γκρέκο” μέσα μου καίει
ό,τι κι αν λέω ό,τι κι αν φταίει
είναι ο χάρτης των ημερών
είμαι ρολόγιον των καιρών.