The CHARIOTEER An Annual Review of Modern Greek Culture
NUMBERS 33/34 1991-1992
SPECIAL DOUBLE ISSUE NIKIFOROS VRETT AKOS
, C. Capri-Karka and R. M. Newton Y UNDER THE ACROPOLIS Tral'M:l~tterl by C. Capri-Karka and I. Karka CHORUS Translated by M. Chambers
SELECTIONS FROM: COLLECTED POEMS VOL. 1 \ COLLECTED POEMS VOL. 2 PROTEST SUN LAMP GIFT IN ABEYANCE ENCOUNTER WITH THE SEA Tunslated by A. Michopoulos, G. Pilit9is, D. Connolly R. M. Newton, M. Chambers, I. Karka and M. Polis INTERVIEWS WITH NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS Translated by A. Michopoulos and M. C. Pantelia A SELECTION OF CRITICAL ESSAYS by A. Argyriou, S. Geranis, K. Haralambides T. Patrikios and Vinzenzo Rotolo T $15.00 THE CHARIOTEER AN ANNUAL REVIEW OF MODERN GREEK CULTURE Formerly published by P ARNASSOS Greek Cultural Society of New York NUMBERS 33/34 1991-1992 Publisher: LEANDROS PAPATHANASIOU Editor: c. CAPRI-KARKA Managing Editor: SOPHIA A. PAPPAS THE CHARIOTEER is published by PELLA PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC. Editorial and subscription address: Pella Publishing Company, 337 West 36th Street, New York, NY 10018. One year subscription $15; Two-year subscription $28; Three-year subscription $40. Copyright 1992 by Pella Publishing Company, Inc. All rights reserved. Printed in U.S.A. by Athens Printing Co., 337 West 36th Street, New York, NY 10018-6401-The CHARIOTEER solicits essays on and English translations from works of modern Greek writers. Translations should be accompanied by a copy of the original Greek text. Manuscripts will not be returned unless accompanied by a stamped self-addressed envelope. No responsibility can be assumed for theft, loss or damage. ISBN 0-933824-20-3 ISSN 0577-5574 THE ANGELS 0 I AffE.I\0 I by REGINA PAGOULATOU Translated by APOSTOLOS ATHANASAKIS Collages by YANNI POSNAKOFF "The twenty-three poems in Regina Pagoulatou's latest collec tion entitled The Angels deal with cosmic themes: love, pain, poverty, earth, motherhood, good, evil, God, Satan, and peace. One has, in reading Pagoulatou's poetry, the impression that she has an uncanny sense of the agony in the world which we are constantly witnessing, and that this agony is caused by cosmic forces but that we human beings as free and responsible agents are accountable but we are certainly no angels." JOHN E. REXINE Modern Greek Studies Yearbook PELLA PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC. 337West 36th Street • New York, NY 10018 ISBN 0-918618-33-9 77 pp. Paper $15.00 Bilingual Edition 23 full color illustrations TABLE OF CONTENTS EDITORIAL C. CAPRI-K.ARKA • . • . . • . . . • . . • • • • • • • • • . • • • • • • • 9 THE PHILOSOPHY OF FLOWERS ...... 21 translated by DAVID CONNOLLY, C. CAPRI-K.ARKA AND RICK M. NEWTON ."Love" ...... 23 Question and Answer ...... 25 Morning Helplessness ...... 27 The Word ...... 29 Reverence ...... 29 The Magnitude ...... 31 The Pulse ...... 31 Reflection ...... 3 3 Plateau With Flowers ...... 33 Rest ...... 35 Visible Evidence ...... 35 Welcoming ...... 3 7 I've Spoken ...... 37 Sermon on the Mount ...... 39 Seminar ...... 39 The Faces of the Flowers ...... 41 The Voices of the Flowers ...... 41 The Flowers Pray for the Children ...... 43 Creation ...... 43 Mosaic ...... 45 From COLLECTED POEMS, VOLUME I ...... 46 translated by DAVID CONNOLLY, ARISTOTLE M!CHOPOULOS, RICK M. NEWTON, GEORGE PILITSIS AND MARGARET POLIS The War ...... 46 9/1/1939 ...... 47 A Soldier Murmurs on the Albanian Front ...... 48 Athens 1944 ...... 50 Without You ...... 51 My Verses Look Like...... 51 In the Transparency of the Morning ...... 52 This Is How Taigetos Treated Me ...... 53 Embittered Withdrawal ...... 54 An Eagle Overtaken by Night ...... 55 The Orange Trees of Sparta ...... 56 The Hawk ...... 56 All the Years I was Away ...... 57 3 Companions ...... 57 Man and Infinity ...... 58 Autobiography ...... 59 From COLLECTED POEMS, VOLUME II ...... 64 translated by DAVID CONNOLLY, ARISTOTLE MICHOPOULOS, RICK M. NEWTON AND GEORGE PILITSIS Poetry and Life ...... 64 Exit ...... 64 The Bitter Day ...... 65 There :is No Loneliness ...... 65 March 31, 1959 ...... 66 Duty ...... 66 Life ...... 67 A Smaller World ...... 69 Waiting ...... 69 I Saw ...... 70 Catharsis ...... 70 Face to Face ...... 71 The Succession of Hands ...... 71 Cocreation ...... 72 The Rifts in Solitude ...... 72 An Interpretation of Loneliness ...... 73 From PROTEST ...... 74 translated by ARISTOTLE MICHOPOULOS AND GEORGE PILITSIS A Citizen ...... 74 I ...... 74 Confession and Repentance ...... 76 Emergency Exit ...... 77 Epilogue ...... 77 Then ...... 78 From THE DISTINGUISHED PLANET (1983) ...... 79 Account To A Mountain ...... 79 LITURGY UNDER THE ACROPOLIS ...... 81 translated by C. CAPRI-KAR.KA AND ILONA KAR.KA Introduction ...... 81 From SUN LAMP ...... 148 translated by ARISTOTLE MICHOPOULOS AND MARGARET POLIS Little Praises for the Sun, 3 ...... 148 Pan-Creation ...... 148 The Water ...... 149 The Small Galaxy ...... , ...... 149 4 Holy Virgin Holding The Child ...... 150 Outside Their Bunkers ...... 150 The Weapons ...... 151 The Keys ...... 151 Nuclear Disaster ...... 152 The Depth of Life ...... 152 Face To Face, 1 ...... 153 Monologue ...... 15 3 From GIFT IN ABEYANCE ...... 154 translated by MARJORIE CHAMBERS, GEORGE PILITSIS AND MARGARET POLIS Euphoria ...... 154 Whatever Happens ...... 154 Short Ode ...... 155 Tree Planting ...... 155 The Greek Language ...... 15 7 The Field of Words ...... 157 The Ten Commandments ...... 158 The Eyes of Insects ...... 158 Choice ...... 159 The Cloud ...... 159 The Tulip ...... 160 The Decay of Hands ...... 161 Memory of Lost Blood ...... 161 The Unknown ...... 162 Out of Superfluity ...... 162 CHORUS ...... 163 translated by MARJORIE CHAMBERS The Cloud ...... 163 Poems for the Same Mountain (I-XIV) ...... 163 Creation ...... 168 The Workshop ...... 169 Poetry ...... 169 Epigram of Life ...... 170 Chorus ...... 170 Neither ...... 171 Pascal Exaltation ...... 171 From ENCOUNTER WITH THE SEA ...... 172 translated by DAVID CONNOLLY, ILONA KARKA AND MARGARET POLIS Prologue ...... 172 Feelings of Love ...... 172 Your Rippling Sounds ...... 173 5 My Ear ...... 173 I Stood ...... 174 Love ...... 174 As If You'd Ceased ...... 175 I Reached Out, Sea ...... 175 My Gaze ...... 176 The Constant Dream ...... 177 I'd Gone ...... 178 Other Waves ...... 178 I Had the Sensation ...... 179 Tossed by the Waves...... • ...... 179 I Pondered Much ...... 180 Poetry ...... 180 Next to My .Other ...... 181 IN SECOND PERSON: AN INTERVIEW WITH NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS ...... 182 BY ANTONIS FOSTIERIS AND THANASIS TH. NIARCHOS translated by ARISTOTLE M!CHOPOULOS THE POET OF TAIGETOS SPEAKS WITH GEORGE PILICHOS ...... 187 translated by MARIA C. PANTELIA NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS' LITURGY UNDER THE ACROPOLIS ...... 195 BY ELLI ALEXIOU translated by MARIA C. PANTELIA A POET FROM KROKEES ...... 197 BY ALEXANDROS ARGYRIOU translated by MARIA C. PANTELIA THE HORIZON OF KROKEES ...... 201 BY ALEXANDROS ARGYRIOU translated by MARIA C. PANTELIA THE POETRY OF NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS ...... 205 BY STELIOS GERANIS translated by MARIA C. PANTELIA A SEARCH FOR HUMANITY IN VRETTAKOS' POEMS ...... 211 BY STELIOS GERANIS translated by MARIA C. PANTELIA 6 DEAR FRIEND ATMAN ...... 213 BY KYRIAKOS HARALAMBIDES translated by RicK M. NEWTON THE POETIC AND HUMAN MESSAGE OF NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS ...... 233 BY TITOS PATRIKIOS translated by C. CAPRI-KARKA AN APPROACH TO THE POETRY OF NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS ...... 243 BY VINZENZO ROTOLO translated by MARIA C. PANTELIA SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ...... 261 CONTRIBUTORS ...... 261 7 NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS EDITORIAL This issue of The CHARIOTEER is dedicated to Nikiforos Vrettakos, one of the outstanding poets of the "generation of the thirties." Like the other great poets of this generation, Seferis, Elytis and Ritsos, V rettakos lived through turbulent times of unjust wars, deprivation and suffering which one can see re flected in parts of his work. Yet, he managed to overcome many difficulties and to convey a message of protest against war and oppression but also of affirmation, hope and peace. In an interview in 1990,1 Vrettakos said that "a prerequisite for Peace can only be Love for the human being that is becom ing lost." In the same interview, he said that what caused him the most pain was this world's "crippled moral dimension." As he said, the primary concern in his life, at the beginning, was not poetry but "the good of mankind," to which, in the end, neither he nor anyone else could contribute anything. When he realized that he could not help the world with his mind, he decided to help it with his heart, that is by writing poetry, which he considers a "divine Word." V rettakos places man in the center of the universe. He does not believe that people are divided into weak and strong. He has said that "the experience of the world and the glow left inside [himJ by man's presence do not allow [him] to think of nothingness." Although he never ignored the dark, cruel side of man, he stressed the potential of man to create a better world around him by fighting his selfishness and by becoming conscious of his responsibility. His praise of nature is not just the escape of a Romantic poet, weary from life· in ·the big cities. It· is his conviction that nature is a reflection of the harmony in the uni verse and a manifestation of God; that man, through nature, will learn of God. * * * In over sixty years of poetic creation, V rettakos received several honors, including five national prizes and three interna tional awards. He was also nominated for the Nobel Prize. He 1An interview with A. Fostieris and Th. Niarchos, included in this issue. 9 10 THE CHARIOTEER ------was honorary chairman of the Greek Writers Guild and chair man of the Greek Pen Club. He published over forty collections of poetry and several works of prose. Late in his life, he began publishing an edition of his collected poems; two of the three projected volumes have appeared, while the third is not yet out but is expected soon. In these collected works, the poet has made a number of changes, omitting, adding or editing several poems. The collections published after the time period covered in the two volumes are still available as individual editions. For this issue of The CHARIOTEER, we have tried to select representative poems from almost all of V rettakos' periods, styles and poetic modes. We began preparing this volume over a year ago, before the unfortunate event of the poet's death. The poet had asked us to include two of his works in their entirety: Liturgy Under the Acropolis and The Philosophy of Flowers, which we did, both in the original Greek and in English translation. We have included fifteen poems from the first volume of his Collected Poems, and sixteen from the second volume. We have also in cluded six poems from a revised version of the collection Protest. Greater emphasis was given to his more recent collections, with twelve poems from Sun Lamp, seventeen from Encounter with the Sea, and fifteen from Gift in Abeyance. The presentation of the poems follows the chronological order in which they were published, with two exceptions: The Philosophy of Flowers which is presented first, in Greek and English, and the "Account to a Mountain" (1983) which precedes instead of following the Liturgy Under the Acropolis (1981). Vrettakos' poems have been translated in all European lan guages and also in Japanese, Hindu, Arabic and Turkish. The translations in this issue are by Marjorie Chambers, David Connolly, Ilona Karka, Aristotle Michopoulos, Rick M. Newton, George Pilitsis, Margaret Polis and myself. In addition to the works of V rettakos, we have selected, as usual, a number of critical essays about both the poet and the man, translated by Aristotle Michopoulos, Rick M. Newton, Maria Pantelia and myself. Included are two interviews, in which the poet himself discusses his views on poetry and on life in general. One is with George Pilichos and the other with two in- C. Capri-Karka: Editorial 11 ------~------~ terviewers, Antonis Fostieris and Thanasis Niarchos. Also included is an article by the poet Kyriakos Haralambides, who intermingles critical comments about V rettakos' work with personal remi niscences from his encounters with the poet. An essay by the poet Titos Patrikios provides another picture of V rettakos as a social being. Vinzenzo Rotolo offers a comprehensive overview of V rettakos' poetic work, as does Alexandros Argyriou in a two-part analysis in which he defines the particularity of his poetic voice within the framework of the generation of the thirties. We have also included two essays by the poet Stelios Geranis. The first gives a brief review of his whole work. The second a short essay stresses the . poet's search for self knowledge and emphasizes the principle which helps him achieve feeling through "an internal path of both essence and action." For V rettakos, Geranis writes, "the only way to feel deeply and understand the world and ourselves is to have loved deeply." There is, finally, a short commentary by Elli Alexiou on the Liturgy Under the Acropolis, in which it is characterized as "a unique achievement." V rettakos created poetry out of tragic times. He experienced terrible difficulties; in his days, as he wrote, "the light was always dimmed" and "the roads led to turbid rivers." Yet, he never stopped dreaming of a better world, never stopped praising life, and above all, emphasizing love and peace, the two most important themes of his work. V rettakos' early poetry is characterized by pessimism and discontent. Having left his small home town to go to Athens, he had a difficult time making the adjustment. He felt isolated among the impersonal crowds of the big city and his despair and lack of direction are evident in the collections Grimaces of Man (1935) and especially in the poems "Solitude," "Conflagra tion" and "The Sad Song of My Youth." This despair and his nos talgia for his hometown and the tranquility of the countryside are conveyed in the poems "Return" of the collection Descending into the Silence of the Centuries, and "Last Night I Returned to Taigetos" of the collection Taigetos and Silence. The tone of all of these poems reflects his inner state, his anguish and frustration, as he searches for direction on an unknown road. 12 THE CHARIOTEER In the years which followed, V rettakos lived through war, resistance, civil war and, later, dictatorship. His reactions to all of these events are reflected in his poetry. But an even earlier event, Mussolini's attack on Ethiopia in 1935, although a remote event for Europe and Greece, was for the poet a very serious issue. He wrote "War," an anti-war poem in which, through the language of biblical overtones, he condemned those who initiated it. When Greece was involved in the war and fought Italy on the Albanian front, the poet found himself in the combat zone. Then he wrote the magnificent anti-heroic poem "A Soldier Murmurs on the Albanian Front," in which he conveys the wearines and suffering of a soldier who confesses that he "wasn't born for war" and that his rifle would be an "offence placed under (his] arm," if it were not to defend his country, ,this "sweet earth tha:t feels as people do." Later, when Greece was occupied by the Germans, V rettakos participated in the National Resistance. The hopes and aspira tions of the Resistance are reflected in several poems of this period, such as the "Thirty Three Days" and "Athens 1946" of the collection Fairyland. However, the poet felt that these hopes were lost in the bloodshed of the civil war that ensued and he became gradually disillusioned. This is evident in the collections that followed, Turbid Rivers and Plumitsa. Two poems from Turbid Rivers, "Embittered Withdrawal" and "An Eagle Over taken by Night," are included in this issue. In a later poem, written in 1954, he addressed himself "To Robert Oppenheimer," raising his voice in protest against the dangers of nuclear war which threatened to annihilate the human race. For the poet, this was an issue of the greatest urgency. He deplored the fact that a man of a tremendous responsibility to the whole of mankind would choose to be loyal to his govern ment and thus become a symbol of "death and terror." In 1967, the military coup that abolished democracy in Greece found the poet in strong opposition. Rather than feeling trapped by the oppressive circumstances, he chose to live in self-exile, first in Switzerland and then in Italy, until the end of the dictatorship. While in Palermo, he wrote the collection C. Capri-Karka: Editorial 13 Protest, in which one can see his indignant wrath directed not only against the brutal Greek regime but also against the two superpowers which shared the responsibility for not securing peace in the world. All poems mentioned above, except for those of the col lection Protest, are from Volume I of the Collected Poems. From those of Volume II we selected, as already mentioned, sixteen poefi!s which cover a variety of themes. "Poetry and Life" is about poetry as a manifestation of warm-heartedness ("poetry will exist as long as people shake hands") . Four of the poems deal with loneliness; in three of them, "There is No Loneliness," "I Saw" and "The Rifts in Solitude," the poet denies the existence of loneliness. The first of these conveys a sense of euphoria at the sight of a tree and the fulfillment a man feels at work or when he whistles a song. In the second, the poet sees in "the translucent blade of yellow espartum" the depth of the world, the wisdom of its creator and this makes him doubt loneliness. In the third, he sees even "the bark of a dog [ ... ] at night" as a reply "from the heights" and "the crack I in the wooden door whence dawn enters" as God, rather than loneliness. Only in the fourth poem, "An Interpretation of Loneliness," solitude is seen as alienation. The poet, after wondering "how [he] was able to stay I so alone in the world," concludes that "on an earth that's covered I with mud through and through," he does not want to compromise, he does not want to "soil the Existence." He discussed this kind of loneliness in specific terms in an inter view with A. Fostieris and Th. Niarchos (included in this issue). In the poem "Waiting," he uses the marvellous image of a wild flower that like a miracle is going to spring from the first "crack in the snow" to convey the idea that life is a blessing. In "Life," the poet begins and ends with the same line, "it was all lovely," which is in sharp contrast with the lines in between. Although he speaks epigrammatically about pain, struggle, life as a dream "deceptive and gigantic," "a corridor in the abyss," "a riddle," "an appendage of death," this is all retracted at the end by the affirmation "It was all lovely." This poem would be ambiguous were it not for the fact that the same theme is repeated in a later poem, "The Tipping of the Scale," which ends with a very explicit statement: although the poet's life was 14 THE CHARIOTEER a dream interrupted by nightmares, when he weighs the pros and cons, he concludes: "I am content." These two poems along with "Choice" from Gift in Abeyance, are very characteristic of the poet's positive attitude toward life, in spite of all its prob lems. A similar attitude is seen in "The Bitter Day," where only the title implies an overwhelming despair, the source of which the poet refuses to reveal. He asks his heart not to speak today, hoping that tomorrow the sun "will send [him} other flowers. I It will dissolve this huge funeral procession." He does not want to talk about his grief, as if this would intensify his misery. He asks his heart to continue with its song, if it wants " [its} last garment" to be "given to love, [its} last word" to be "given to joy." In another poem, "A Smaller World" (included in this issue in both Greek and English) , V rettakos dreams of a better world, a shore with no weapons, no soldiers, no machines and no mer chants "or very few." Also, in the poem "Catharsis," his soul wants to leave behind all the unpleasantness of life, its ugliness, "the odor of weapons" and rediscover its natural colors. He desires to rediscover the world which comes directly from his heart and becomes a song, "like the chirping of a bird." But, in a later poem, "Face to Face," the care-free song does not come easily. He tells us that the tragedy of the world is the poet's mirror which he cannot escape. As mentioned before, V rettakos' praise of nature is not just the poet's escape from the conflicts of life. Although at times he felt disappointed by people, as is reflected in such lines as "I took stock of the good and bad in the world I and decided I that I'd become a little brother to the birds !"2 or "Tyrants, despots, kings I reaped my hopes,"3 these feelings were only temporary. He oscillated, at times, between doubt and faith in man but he finally moved to a position of firm belief in man's potential. Nature gradually becomes a very complex symbol in his poetry. Its various manifestations, especially in three of his latest collections addressed to the mountain (Chorus), the sea (En- 2"Embittered Withdrawal." li''Plumitsa." C. Capri-Karka: Editorial counter with the Sea) and the flowers (The Philosophy of Flowers), are seen by the poet as symbolic expressions of God and the real theme of these poems is not nature per se but peace and love. In Chorus, the peak of Taigetos touches heaven and when the sun sets its "undulating" outline "fills with angels." But the mountain is also personified as a friendly face inspiring peace: I gave you a face. I saw you as a people and I saw you as a planet. And I had a beautiful dream: That smiling thus upon you, I could change [ ... J a hurricane into phosphorescence of peace. The way in which the mountain inspires Vrettakos is en tirely different from the way Switzerland's Mont Blanc inspired the great romantic poet Shelley. What we see in Vrettakos is what Seferis has described as "the process of humanization that there is in the Greek light and landscape," which causes man to experience himself as being in harmony with the universe and dream of peace; this is "the opposite of that state of ceasing to exist, of the abolition of the ego, which one feels in face of the grandeur of certain foreign landscapes,''4 to use Seferis' words once again. In Shelley's eyes, the mountain appears impersonal, cold, vast, inhuman, an unapproachable power inspiring awe: The wilderness has a mysterious tongue which teaches awful doubt The glaciers creep like snakes that watch their prey from their far fountains. There is something threatening in the wilderness of nature that makes the contrast with the Greek landscape of V rettakos very striking. 40, the Greek Style, pp. 103·4. 16 THE CHARIOTEER Just as the mountain is for V rettakos the "stone sculpture of God,"5 in Encounter with the Sea, the rippling sound of the sea is "the language of the Lord." He feels that the spirit of the sea, flowing into the unknown depths of his being, glorified his soul and his "bosom became heaven" for "the queen that in the language of [his] country is called love." Because for the poet, love is the force that binds the universe together. As he writes in "Love" of the same collection, [love] begins from somewhere very high. She unites numbers links planets together. All harmony is this queen. In flowers too, the poet sees the apparition of God. In The Philosophy of Flowers, every flower is a Christ and the tiny white daisies in the hillside are "a vertical stone-tablet I brought down by May I from Mount Sinai," implying the divine origin of the flowers. Looking at the "diaphanous orange-blos som," the arbutus blossom or at a "wild flower," represents com munication with God, as if he were standing "beneath the Pulpit" listening to St. John's Gospel. Also, taking hold of the stem of a geranium in his garden was "as if God I had extended his hand to [him] I and [he] hear[ d] the sound of His pulse." Thinking of death, as he is surrounded by nature, he feels no fear. He knows that when he dies, he "will unite with God," he will "intensify the light that exists in flowers." His soul will merge with the world soul in the same way as Keats' soul in Shelley's "Adonais" merges with the world of flowers. Near the end of The Philosophy of Flowers, Vrettakos uses the sym bol of a dark forest, ominous and bewildering, which has risen out of man's spirit and covers the horizon; and only a few narrow paths appear and "vanish within the fear," with no vision of the future. This image of the forest conveys the psychological impass and the desolation of the modern world. In this world of confusion "children run" care-free, "not suspecting what is tak- 5"Last Night I Returned to Taigetos." C. Capri-Karka: Editorial 17 ing place I overhead, while [ ... } beneath their feet" the flowers are praying for them, as if they were aware of the impending dangers. The collection, however, ends with an optimistic image of life, the magnificent view of a hillside which is like a mosaic made of flowers, where the poet discerns various scenes: horses with "their heads tilted I to the sky, snorting I sending forth light" and young girls running with their multicolor "head scarves I trailing in the wind." The title of the collection Sun Lamp alludes to poetry and its function. As V rettakos writes in the second of three poems entitled "Little Praises for the Sun," "one of the small rising suns of the Earth is poetry." In the third poem of this group, he tells us that he mentions the sun so often because he has commandments: "from the trees that transform it into flowers"; from the bees that bring it to their hives and from his heart that has within it a small tributary, a vein of the sun, from which "it constantly drips drops of poetry." The collection Sun Lamp is divided into five sections, two of which have Peace as their theme: "Peace of Creation" and "Peace on Earth." And although the first conveys the euphoria and the feeling of peace that poetic creation brings, the second ("Peace on Earth") expresses mainly the poet's concern and his anguish for the absence of peace in the world. This is evident in the first poem of this section, "Holy Virgin Holding the Child," in which the poet confesses that he has within him an icon of the Virgin holding the Child while searching in vain for a cave in which to shelter it during a terrible thunderstorm. A similar idea is expressed in "Outside of Their Bunkers," which emphasizes that it is dangerous to be born in such times. In "Nuclear Disaster," although the poet cannot but hope that it will never happen, he presents the fear, the constant nightmare that this earth could become a conflagration. He con cludes the poem with an image of irony and pathos, in which the angels of a neighboring planet descend to earth to stand by the children's pillows for the last requiem, when the last paper "to twirl ablaze in the air" will be Beethoven's "Ode to Joy." 18 THE CHARIOTEER In "Weapons," on the other hand, he reverses the meaning of the word, referring to the flowers (his poems) as his own weapons in the fight for peace. Also in "Keys" he expresses his frustration as well as his longing to deliver to people the keys to peace which "love carries hanging from her belt." The collection Gift in Abeyance is preceded by an epigraph in which the poet explains that poetry is "a magnifying glass which gives us the true dimensions of man and makes us realize the real value of life." Poems such as "Euphoria," "The Field of Words," "Tree Planting" and others of this collection convey the exaltation of poetic creation. In "Euphoria," the poet "gathers light and sketches it," constantly battling the forces of dark ness that threaten to annihilate the universe. This conflict of dark ness and light is presented dramatically in the poem "Erebus." Here, while the poet says that he never gives up, the fear of the abyss overwhelms him. Also, in "Whatever Happens," V rettakos confesses that he will never deny the world, even "if they cut [his] hands off." Thus he alludes to the cruelty of the world but also to his unyielding determination to bring about change. The poem "The Greek Language" is presented in both Greek and English. In it, he envisions that if, after his death, in leaving this light, he were to meet with angels, he would speak to them in Greek, since "they do not know languages. They I speak among themselves with music," which implies harmony, the ideas of justice and humaneness that were born in his country. This thought is expanded upon in the next poem, "The Field of Words," also presented in Greek and English, in which the poet thanks his ancestors who "moulded the voice. I Cutting into links, they created/ meanings." And the voice became "Homer, Aeschylus, the Gospels and other jewels." By using the golden thread of words, he is linked, he takes part in the world; and he singles out the most important of these words, "love," which is a theme reiterated in his poetry. In "Choice," he verbalizes his ability to "retain the bright ness of this life" without letting the darkness overwhelm him. It is the sense of affirmation that appears repeatedly in V rettakos' poetry. Here it is conveyed by the image of a "celestial diamond" inside him, with which he cuts slits in the darkness, each time discovering light at its center. The poem "The Decay of Hands" C Capri-Karka: Editorial 19 of the same collection is again presented in both languages. It does not just reflect nostalgia for the art of a glorious past ("What has become of those hands that made I stone into beauty, walls I into angels?") but also an appeal for a more balanced life, in the classical Greek sense, where spirit and matter coexist harmoniously. He wonders what happened to those hands "that made [ ... } colors into a stream of light I extending earth to heaven I heaven to earth." The poems "Tulip" and "Out of Superfluity" deal with utmost simplicity with the themes of love and giving. The white tulip-a symbol of love planted inside him, makes the poet see every stranger that knocks on his door as a Christ. He says: "there is always a bed left over" to offer him. Also in "Out of Superfl-qity," it is the lack of selfishness that makes a person say that "even from a crumb [he} can have superfluity." And the lines "even nakedness, when I one believes in the light, is I a garment," reflect not only the poet's feeling but the spirit of the classical Greek and Chris tian tradition as well. The Liturgy Under the Acropolis is a poetic oratorio written, as the poet informs us in his prologue, mainly for Greeks of the diaspora. The liturgy takes place under the Acropolis of Athens, where "mother-Liberty maintains her hearth" and is a symbolic presentation of the history of the Greek people through out the centuries, from the time of Homer to the present. A remarkable feature of this inspiring work is the way the poet blends elements from various phases of the Greek tradition. The liturgy essentially follows the form of a Christian mass, but in cludes the chorus of an ancient tragedy. "Apollos and angels" become brothers, "Kouros-Jesus" is tortured on the cross, "Posei don's trident and Odysseus' oar" are found by contemporary shepherds, whose whistles may hide verses from Aeschylus' Persians; and Plato teaches in "Secret Schools" during the Turkish occupation. The "Liturgy" emphasizes the Greeks' heroic struggle for survival and the indestructibility of the Greek spirit, but also the importance of this spirit for the whole world. "The clock of the world," the poet says, has "stopped at time zero"; the implication being that this happened when the values of ancient Greece were replaced by more materialistic principles. "If the 20 THE CHARIOTEER thread had not slipped from the hands [of Greece]," the poet believes that "time would have changed its course." And his reference, at this point, to Aristotle as belonging to a past cut off from the present and future can be seen as an indirect plea to contemporary man for a return to a more rational way of life. This magnificent synthesis, written with great emotional intensity, is the ultimate expression of Vrettakos' philosophical thought and poetic imagination. * * * The CHARIOTEER wishes to thank the poet's widow, Mrs. Calliope V rettakos and his son, Constantinos V rettakos, for their help in the preparation of this issue. C. CAPRI-KARKA Editor H Cll I.1\0I:OCil I A TnN .1\0Y .1\0Y a I.O.N THE PHILOSOPHY OF FLOWERS translated by David Connolly, C. Capri-Karka and Rick M. Newton ... 1i 'Ttapoucr(a: -r&v A.ouA.oDfH&v ~-ra:v !llcX cru!lTia:pacr-ra:crrr £vex '[J.Epoc; &-n:o TI] O"U!l'TtO:pacr'tO:O"TJ 'TtOU €A.a:~a: a' au-ro 'tOV KOO"!lO· npE'TtEl va: -ra Kma:yprovU) a-rov KmaA.oyo "t'&v q>(AQV !lOU ... . . . The flowers' presence was a help; part of the help that I received in the world. I must add them to my list of friends ... (Notes from A Journal) translated by David Connolly 21 22 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER «ΑΓΑΠΗ» 'Αφήνω άνοιχτi] τη σελίδα τοΟ "Ομήρου, σηκώνομαι, ~γα.ίνω νά ρίξω ενα ~λέμμα και στά άλλα ~ι~λία μοu. Σuλλα~(ζω άντικρύ μοu μιά λέξη-έντολή. Ή πλαγιά ·είναι δλόλεuκη. Οί μικρές μαργαρίτες μιά κάθετη nλάκα nou κατέι3ασε δ Μάης άn' τό όρος Σινα. The Philosophy of Flowers 23 "LOVE" Leaving the page of Homer open, I get up, go outside and glance at my other books. I spell out before me a word - a commandment. The hillside is all-white. The tiny daisies are like a vertical stone-tablet brought down by May from Mount Sinai. translated by Carmen Capri-Karka 24 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΕΡΩΤΑΠΟΚΡΙΣΗ Ή όμορφιό: δεν είναι σιωπή. rι· αότο κ· ή φωνή μου δS.ν είναι μονόλογος., της ροδιδ:ς το λουλούδι, παραδείγματος χάρη, είναι ενα άριστοuργημα π οι) το ά'Ιtαyγέλλει ή μέρα. Βλέπω, ά:κοuω φωτα φωνων. rι· αότό και με ~λέπετε περπατώντας (άκόμη και μέσα στην ερημο) συχνό: νό: ύποκλίνομαι. The Philosophy of Flowers 25 QUESTION AND ANSWER Beauty is not silence. That is why my voice is not a monologue. The pommegranate blossom, for instance, is a masterpiece recited by the day. I see, I hear the lights in voices. That is why you see me when I walk (even in the wilderness) often bow my head. translated by Carmen Capri-Karka 26 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΠΡΩ'I'ΝΗ ΑΜΗΧΑΝ Ι Α Κυματίζει ό τόπος γύρω άπ' τα πόδια μου. τ άyριολούλουδα πλfiθος, μοu φέρνουν έμπόδια, .μοϋ κλείνουν το δρόμο δεν με άφήνουνε να περάσω. Νιώθω άμήχανος. θαρρω πως με ζώνουν χιλιάδες μικρά, ώραϊα ποιήματα. Σπουδάζοντας σε δλη μου τη ζωη την τελειότητα, συλλογίζομαι άκίνητος την εύτέλεια των στίχων μου. The Philosophy of Flowers 27 MORNING HELPLESSNESS The ground undulates around my feet. The wild flowers in their abundance present obstacles, block my path, don't let me pass. I feel helpless, imagining I am surrounded by thousands of lovely little poems. While studying perfection all my life, I ponder, immobile, the worthlessness of my verses. translated by Rick M. Newton 28 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Ο ΛΟΓΟΣ ΔΕ.v χρειάστηκε νό: σταθώ κάτω ά:1t' τον "Αμ~ωνα γ ιό: ν' ά:κούσω τον Ίωάννη. Είδα το διάφανο 'ΠΟρτοκαλάνθι, το άνθος της κουμαριάς '!tOU γυρμένο εσταζε cpώς η το άγριο λουλούδι, στη ραγάδα της 'Πέτρας. '!tOU δf:.v θό: μ1tοροϋσε νό: το φτιάξει '!tοτε κανεις Ό'Ιt'Ιtενχά'ίμερ. κ· είδα δλα τό: μάτuα, ά:1t' αύτό: τοΟ 1tαιδιοΟ &ς αύτό: της μικρότερης λιμ1tελούλας τοΟ κή1tου μου, γιομάτα ούρανό: Είδα το Λόγο. ΕΥΣΕΒΕΙΑ ·Όσο κι αν ητανε τό: χέρ~α μου καθαρά, τό: ξανά1tλυνα σήμερα στοϋ Τρί1tοδα την 'Πηγη vό: γίνουνε καθαρότερα έ1tειδi] θό: 'Πιάσουνε ε'!tειτα ενα λουλούδι. The Philosophy of Flowers 29 THE WORD I did not need to stand beneath the pulpit to hear St. John's Gospel. I have seen the diaphanous orange blossom, the arbutus blossom bent down and dripping light or the wild flower in the rock's crevice that no Oppenheimer could ever design. And I have seen all kinds of eyes, from those of the children to those of the tiniest dragonfly in my garden, all full of sky: I have seen the Word. translated by Carmen Capri-Karka REVERENCE However clean my hands might have been, I washed them again today in the spring-water at Tripodas so they might be even cleaner because they're a.bout to take hold of a flower. translated by David Connolly 30 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΤΟ ΜΕΓΕθΟΣ Στην aκρη ένος η:εριστρεφόμενου κόκκου aμμου τοu σόμη:αvτος κ' ~να η:ανόψηλο &κόμη ~ουνΟ εtναι ενα τίη:οτα. Άλλα το μέγεθος ολων των όντων έδω, ~ρίσκεται μέσα τους. Μέσα σε κάθε λουλούδι της γης ύη:άρχει ~να "Ε~ερεστ. Ο ΣΦΥΓΜΟΣ Τό η:ρωί, η:ρtν δ f]λιος χαμηλώσει &ς έδω κ' ένω &κόμη aκουμη:a τη χρυσή του εύλογία στtς κορφες των ~ουvων, Ί<ατε THE MAGNITUDE On the edge of a grain of sand spinning in the universe even the highest mountain is nothing. Yet, down here, the magnitude of all beings is to be found within them. Inside each flower on this earth there is an Everest. translated by Carmen Capri-Karka THE PULSE In the morning, before the sun reaches down here and while it's still laying its golden blessing on the mountain-tops, I go out into the garden. I bend down beside my white rosebush and the yeHow one, I bend down beside my red and my white geraniums. And whichever stem I ta:ke hold of (as if God had extended his hand to me) I hear the sound of his pulse. translated by David Connolly 32 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΣΥΛΛΟΓΙΣΜΟΣ τί σημαίνει «πεθαίνω»; "Οταv φ.ύyω τό ξέρω θό: ένωθω .με τό θεό. Δηλαδη θό: ένισχύσω τό φως τωu ύπά:ρχει μες στό: λουλούδια. ΑΝΘΙΣΜΕΝΟ ΟΡΟΠΕΔΙΟ "Αν δεν είναι κ:ατακλυσμός άτt:ό ούρά:vιες δυvά:μεις τί 'είναι τότε, λοιπόν αύτό: τα λουλούδια; The Philosophy of Flowers 33 REFLECTION What does it mean "to die?" When I leave this earth, I know, I will unite with God. In other words, I will intensify the light that exists in flowers. translated by Carmen Capri-Karka PLATEAU WITH FLOWERS If not a deluge of celestial powers what are they, then, these flowers ? translated by Carmen Capri-Karka 34 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΑΝΑΠΑΥΣΗ τα λοuλοόδια δταν ημοuν κοuρασμέvος μοΟ εκαναν ήσuχία ν· άvα'!tαuτω. Τόσο, '!tOU δέν τοuς ξέφευγε φθόγγος ως το '!tρωί. Και στο σόμ1tαν άκ6μη μέ τα πλέοντα άστρα είχε ή σιω'!d) ( φαινόμενο σπάνιο) σφαλίσει τα χείλη της. κ· ή μητέρα μοu ά'Ιtέσuρε τη φωνή της ποu είναι, και τώρα ποu γέρασα, φαν άπαλόηχη διαρκης .μοuσική: «Κοιμήσοu, '!tαιlδί ,μοu». ΕΠΙΦΑΝΗΣ ΜΑΡΤΥΡΙΑ Κι lXv άκ6μη δέν ηξερα ( lXv μοΟ ηταν &:όρατος) θά μοΟ •φτανε μόνον ενα λοuλοόδι νά μαντέψω δτι κάποιος f]λιος όπάρχει ψηλά στο στερέωμα. The Philosophy of Flowers 35 REST When I was weary the ,£lowers remained quiet that I might rest. So much so that not a sound escaped them until the morning. And in the universe with its floating stars even the silence (a rare phenomenon) had sealed its lips. And my mother withdrew her voice, which is still, even now that I'm grown old, a sound of soft uninterrupted music: "Sleep, my child." translated by David Connolly VISIBLE EVIDENCE Even if I didn't know (if it was concealed from me), one flower alone would be enough for me to divine the existence of a sun high in the firmament. translated by David Connolly 36 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΥΠΟΔΟΧΗ Πατώντας στό: δάχτυλα, δταν έτrέστρεψα ηταvε νύχτα, Ο:νοιξα, Ε.κλεισα, μτrfjκα στο στrίτι~ χωρlς vό: με τrάρουν είδηση τό: λουλούδια νό: μοσ τrαίξουνε εναν ϋμvο στό: φύλλα τους δτrως ε καναν τrάντοτε. ,Αλλό: το Ο:λλο τrρωl εγιναν δλα, μετό: τη συγγνώμη μου, δταν ~γαίνοντας Ε.ξω 'Ερριqα τrάνω τους ενα χαμόγελο σό:ν Ο:νωθεν φως. ΕΧΩ ΜΙΛΗΣΕΙ 'Έχω !μιλήσει τrολu στον έαυτό μου, στοuς Ο:λλους ως καl στό: τrράyματα. Μοναχό: με το Θεο τον ίδιο δεν Ε.τυχε ν' άνταλλάξω κου~έντες. Καl γι' αύτο κάτι ιέλάχιστο, ίσως,. θό: τrρέτrει νό: γνωρίζει γιό: μένα. Περιορίστηκε σέ δσα τοί) μετέφεραν τό: λουλούδια του. The Philosophy of Flowers 37 WELCOMING Walking on tip-toe -'-it was night when I returned ! opened, I closed, I entered the house, without the flowers noticing me and playing a hymn on their petals as they always did. But the next morning all was well once again after I was forgiven, when coming outside, I cast a smile upon them like light from above. translated by Carmen Capri-Karka I'VE SPOKEN I've spoken a lot with myself, with others and even with objects. It's only with God himself that I never happened to exchange a few words. Which is why, perhaps, he must know very little a;bout me. He contented himself with what his flowers related to him translated by David Connolly 38 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΕΠ I ΤΟΥ ΟΡΟΥΣ ΟΜΙΛΙΑ 'Έκλινε το άστrρο τριαντάφυλλο το κεφάλι του, σαν τοΟ Ί ησοϋ. Σε τρεϊς μέρες μόνο, εtτrε κ' έλάλησε· εκαμε ομοια στον κόσμο το χρέος του. (κάθε λουλοόδι, εtναι κ· ενας Ί ησοΟς). ΣΕΜΙΝΑΡΙΟ "Αν με Gλέτrαν να στέκομαι δρθιος, ά:κίνητος, .μες στα λουλοόδια μου, δτrως αίrriJ τη στιγμή, eα νόμιζαν τrως τα ·διδάσκω. Έν& εtμαι έyω τrού ά:κοόω κι αuτa τrού μιλοΟν. '''Εχοντάς ·με στο μέσο ·μοΟ διδάσκουν το ·φ&ς. The Philosophy of Flowers 39 SERMON ON THE MOUNT The white rose bowed its head, just like Jesus. In three days only, it spoke and proclaimed; it too did its duty in the world. (Each flower is itself a Jesus.) translated by David Connolly SEMINAR If anyone were to see me standing upright, motionless, among my flowers, as I am as this very moment, he'd think that I was teaching them. Whereas it is I who am listening and they who are speaking. Having me in their midst, they're teaching me the light. translated by David Connolly 40 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΤΑ ΠΡΟΣΩΠΑ ΤΩΝ ΛΟΥΛΟΥΔΙΩΝ Γιό: μι' ά:κόμη φορά, σταμάτησα σήμερα κι ωρα 1τολλi] κοιτοΟσα τό 1tρόσω1tο έ.νός λουλουδιοΟ. Βρfiκα τό: μάτια του· έσκυψα μέσα του κι ένιωσα δέος. Και γιόμισα ayάΉη γιόμισα εύλά~εια γιόμισα άνθρω1tο. ΟΙ ΦΩΝΕΣ ΤΩΝ ΛΟΥΛΟΥΔΙΩΝ Φωνες άναδόοντιαι μέσ' ά1τ' τό: ~άθη τους 1τοu ένώνονται 'Πάνω τους, γίνονται αίνος κι άνε~αίνουν νό: rφτάσουνε &ς τόν ηλιο τόν 'έσχατο. Ένω άλλες φωνες κατε~αίνουν κι δ αίθέρας γίνεται δλόκληρος ενα «αλ.ληλούία», The Philosophy of Flowers 41 THE FACES OF THE FLOWERS Once more, I stopped today and for a long time I stared at the face of a flower. I found its eyes; I bent down inside it and felt awe. And I was filled with love filled with reverence filled with humanity. translated by Carmen Capri-Karka THE VOICES OF THE FLOWERS Voices emerge from their depths which, unite above them to become a hymn and rise up to reach the ultimate sun. While other voices descend and the entire haeven becomes a "hallelujah." translated by Carmen Capri-Karka 42 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΤΑ ΛΟΥΛΟΥΔΙΑ ΠΡΟΣΕΥΧΟΝΤΑΙ ΓΙΑ ΤΑ ΠΑΙΔΙΑ 'Αναδύθηκε δάσος ζοφερο άπ' το 'ftνεϋμα μας κι έκάλυψε τον δρίζοντα. Μόνο άτρα1tοι τρυπώνουν και χάνονται μέσα στο φόιSο. Μέλλον δεν φαίνεται. Τρέχουν, χορεύουν άνύ'ΠΟ'Πτα γιό: δ,τι γίνεται 'Πάνω τους τό: παιδιά, ένω γέρνοντας γύρω και κάτω ά1τ' τό: 'Πόδια τους (~ς ν' άκοuν τi) ~OfJ και νό: ι3λέ'Πουν το σύννεφο) σό:ν ~να ά'Πέραντο ύ'ftα(θριο έκκλησίασμα, τό: λουλούδια 'Προσεύχονται. ΓΕΝ ΕΣΗ Αότο το γαρύφαλο, ποu κρατώντας το άνάμεσα στό: τρία μου δάχτυλα το σηκώνω στο ψως, μοϋ μίλησε και παρό: τον κοινο νοu μου το κατανόησα. Μι' &λυσίδα ά1το άτέλειωτους γαλαξίες συνεργάστηκαν, διασταύρωσαν κάτω στη γη φωταψίες-το σύμ1ταν δλόκληρο 'Πf]ρε μέρος στη γένεση αότοu τοu γαρύφαλου. Κι αότο 'ΠΟU άκούω εtναι ο[ φωνές των ·μαστόρων του μέσα τοu. The Philosophy of Flowers 43 THE FLOWERS PRAY FOR THE CHILDREN A dark, ominous forest has emerged from our spirit and covered the horizon. Only some narrow paths penetrate it and vanish within the fear. There is no future in sight. Children run and dance not suspecting what is taking place overhead while around and under their feet bending (as if they hear the roar and see the cloud) , like a vast outdoor congregation the flowers are praying. translated by Carmen Capri-Karka CREATION The carnation that I'm holding between my three fingers, raising ,it up to the light, spoke to me and despite my limited intellect, I understood it. A chain of unending galaxies worked together, flashes of light crossed here on earth-the whole universe took part in the creation of this carnation. And what I can hear is the voices of ,its craftsmen deep inside it. translated by David Connolly 44 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΤΟΙΧΟΓΡΑΦΙΑ Τοιχογραφία με ψηφίδες λουλουιδιων ή 1τλαyιό: τοG λόφου και σήμερα. Προσ1ταθω νό: διακρίνω 1τοG χωρίζουν οί 1ταραστάσεις της: Τ ό: άλοyα 1τοu εχοντας τό: κεφάλια στραμμένα στον ούρανο ρουθουνίζουν ~yάζοντας φως, τις κοπέλες ποu τρέχουν και 1τοu τό: μαντήλια τους καθως άνεμίζονται σχηματίζουν aπάνω τους yεφύρια ό:πο χρώματα, τη Ζωή ! Τ'ή Ζωή ! τη Ζωή ! τη ζωη και τον .Ήλιο της! τη ζωη και τον UΗλιο της! τη ζωη και τον UΗλιο της 1τοu είναι ή Ζωή ! Ένω ενα λουλούδι, πεζοπόρος άπόστολος, ξεκομμένο ό:πο τ· ό:λλα, μοναχό, μεταφ,έρει στο σύμτt!αν το «χαίρε» μου. The Philosophy of Flowers 45 MOSAIC Again today, the hillside is a mosaic made up of flowers. I try to make out where its scenes begin and end: Here the horses their heads tilted to the sky, snorting sending forth light, here young girls running, their headscarves trailing in the wind forming overhead bridges of colour, here Life! Life! Life! Life and its Sun! Life and its Sun! Life and its Sun which is Life! While a single flower, a journeying apostle, separated from the others and alone, conveys to the universe my "hail." translated by David Connolly From COLLECTED POEMS, VOLUME I translated by David Connolly, Aristotle Michopoulos, Rick M. Newton, George Pilitsis and Margaret Polis THE WAR* ... Blessed are those who avoid war for they've understood man's destination. Blessed are the fugitives for they've loved the poor whom Christ appointed kings in heaven . . . . Curse upon those who uttered the word "fire." Curse upon those who listened. For they murdered God ... (The Wtlr) translated by George Pilitsis *It refers to Mussolini's attack on Ethiopia. 46 From Collected Poems, Volume I 47 9/1/1939* Innocent children of the Mother of God who looks at us also through the eyes of the most humble of mothers, you who will never again see the sun shining upon you, the shooting stars faHing from the sky, the birds shaking off the apple blossoms, beseech your mother, pray that this cloud that's about to become our destiny, goes away! Let's bow our broad foreheads to the ground, to preserve our days and God's honor. Let's till our fields. Prevent this pointless undertalcing. Take control of your curse. Pray that this cloud that's about to become our destiny, goes away. (The Culmination of Fire, 1940) translated by George Pilitsis *The date the Second World War was declared. 48 THE CHARIOTEER A SOLDIER MURMURS ON THE ALBANIAN FRONT Who'll bring us some sleep here where we stand? Then at least we'd be able to see our mother coming carrying a white sheet under her arm, an apron filled with warmth and marigolds from home. A worn-out monogram in the corner of a handkerchief: a lost world We wander a:bout in the snow with frozen army overcoats. The sun never came up right on the hills of Morava. The sun never went down uninjured by the grip of Trebesina. I stagger in the wind wearing nothing else, holding on to my rifle, frozen and unsteady. (When I was Ht~le, I'd look at my reflection in the streams of my country I wasn't horn for war) This offense placed under my arm wouldn't look good on me, this rifle wouldn't suit me if it wasn't for you, sweet earth that feels as people do, if it wasn't for the murmuring cradles and the graves we've left behind, if it wasn't for the people, if it wasn't for the mountains with their proud brows chiselled, you'd think, by the hand of God to fit the place, the light and his spirit. Night pierces our bones here in the bunkers, we've transferred in there our friends and we embrace them we've transferred the house and our village church, the bird-cage in the window, the girls' eyes, our garden fence, aJll our boundaries, the Madonna with the carnation, a gallant lady, who covers our feet before snowfa:ll, who wraps us up in her kerchief before death. From Collected Poems, Volume 1 49 But whatever the outcome, we'll survive. Countless Men live in the spirit of Freedom, noble Men in their sacrifice, Men. The meaning of virtue is a grand encampment. That they've died doesn't mean they've ceased to exist there, with their sorrows, their tears, their chats. The sun will cost you dearly. If by chance I don't. come back, be well, think for a moment what a price I've paid. (When I was little I'd look at my reflection in the streams of my country I wasn't born for war.) (Omitted Poems) translated by George Pilitsis 50 THE CHARIOTEER ATHENS 1944 ... Rectangular, gigantic Tower founded upon the planet's face garden city of the stars of glory, where the sun of Virtue shines on your unique peak, where the golden eagles of east and west meet, where the people, overflowing with surging feelings, shake their hands, you shine, illuminated by the barbed wires on your head, upon history's Zalogo you dance, singing in the universal night the slogans of your century! Every rag of your hungry children carries the reputation of the fatherland. Your brave young men moan softly in their pride. Nobody hears them but Liberty, now their mother; she puts them all to sleep upon the satne pillow And covers them altl with the constellation of her mantle On the sidewalks, in the concentration camps and prisons ... Athens People point at you from everywhere. Upright, pillar, rebel, from the flares of your fire the clouds of the entire planet shine! (Fairyland, 1947) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos From Collected Poems, Volume I 51 WITHOUT YOU Without you the pigeons wou1d not find the water. W~thout you, God would not turn on the light in His fountains. An apple tree sows 'its blossoms on the wind; in your apron you carry water from heaven, light from the wheat's ears, and upon you a moon of sparrows. (The Book of Margarita, 1949) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos MY VERSES LOOK LIKE ... My verses look like the golden touch of sun upon the snow look like the goodness of the horses' gaze look 'like the weight of dawn on the daisies ·look l1ike the weight of hope on the heart look !like 'the quiet rain falling on the devout sheep. (The Book of Margarita) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos 52 THE CHARIOTEER IN THE TRANSPARENCY OF THE MORNING In the transparency of the morning I opened my windows and from every direction I saw you cheerfully climbing down the sky slope by slope, the hills slope by slope, as if coming from the origin and source of time. Bells and smiles for a dress that the breezes kiss and turn it in the blue and you're everywhere with an armful of roses that shed light on the rocks splashing colors around me at dusk. But when night falls, as I close my four windows, and while in the dark sea-blue the stars begin to blossom, outside I merge with the great light of the universe, your light, dissolving your image into a haze of tiny douds. And while under my roof I bow my head and thus bent down I listen to the bells of my own wodd, outside there is you: rlight, firmament, sky. (The Book of Margarita) translated by George Pilitsis From Collected Poems, Volume I 53 THIS IS HOW TAIGETOS TREATED ME This is how Taigetos treated me: like my mother's bosom. It fed me blue, brusque blood, sun and green, till it turned my soul solid as its stones, till it engraved in my heart its deep ravines to form in my hfe twelve peaks to come up and reach the sun-my only dream. My on!ly thirst the sun. A thirst deep as the ocean, high as the moon. A thirst to be pitied by the Lord! All around my heart the geraniums, wreaths of its cliffs, cracks for animals, streams, fir trees and wild doves. And an eagle above me striking wJth its swords the clouds. And an eagle a!bove me digging into the thunders, to find their spark! This is how Taigetos treated me, until the birth inside me of God's two children: poetry and love! (Taigetos and Silence, 1949) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos 54 THE CHARIOTEER EMBITTERED WITHDRAWAL I'll leave for some high mountain for some firm rock, to make my bed beside the well-spring of the world where the sun's stout veins beat strongly; there to unfold my bitterness and have it melt like snow! Don't seize me by the shoulders and turn me round wind! My tiny moon! My beloved, my morning star, Shed light in the gorge! Help me to ascend! In bundles on my back I bring the arms of the dead. On one side I have the dreams on the other the hopes and between the two bundles the bloodied crown. Don't ask me, dear eagle, don't question me sun. Cast clouds on the path that I might not turn back. I gazed at myself in the water, I sat down and pondered took stock of the good and bad in the world and decided that I'd become a little brother to the birds! (Turbid Rivers) translated by David Connolly From Collected Poems, Volume I 55 AN EAGLE OVERTAKEN BY NIGHT What was secretly said to him, what word, what message came, so that suddenly without cloud Taigetos clouded over and no eagle can console him, no sun can give him warmth? It seems you went and, like a white lily, bowed your head on his slopes and wept. Our old friend must have heard and questioned you. And you sat and recounted how I'd been caught, as it were, in bad weather, rain and mist and you told him how I'd fallen into a turbid river how the morning star can't find me! Go back again, caress his rocks, unfasten your hair let it fall and spread over him, speak to him, tell him it was all lies, or I'll surely die! Tell him to reflect on eternity only, on the world's beauty and blaze! What's come over him that he recalls his old shepherds and grieves ? If we take on like that where will stout hearts go! If we take on like that what's become of our fate! If we take on like that what are summits for, tell him! Just for one night I bowed my head and my wings hung in the air an inch above the earth, and you went and told him that I am, as it were, an eagle whose wings are singed with the rain dripping from its beak as it grows dark motionless, muted, without hope, on a high rock! Tell him it was all lies, or I'll surely die! (Turbid Rivers) translated by David Connolly 56 THE CHARIOTEER THE ORANGE TREES OF SPARTA The orange trees of Sparta, snow, flowers of 1love, turned white from your words and turned down their branches; I filled up my small chest and took some to my mother. She was s,itting under the moon, worrying about me; she was sitting under the moon, scolding me: Yesterday I washed you, yestevday I changed you; where have you been running around? Who Wled your clothes with tears and bitter orange blossoms? (Time and the Rjver, 1957) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos THE HAWK Autumn. Yellow crocuses among the rocks shed light on my hand as it moves to take hold of their stems. And above the Phaedriades cliffs hovers the age-old hawk. Alone, indifferent, a regal hawk. So imperious, as if it were my soul-shot through a thousand times. Imperturbable always with its :breast bared, it shifts position simply by altering height. Nor will it ever crash against the cliffs or down at their feet. Always in its place, it wiU burn up in the sun. When you see the sky above the Phaedriades cliffs empty, don't lower your gaze. Seek me in the solar system and in poetry- alone, indifferent, the age-old hawk. (Time and the Rjver, 1957) translated by David Connolly From Collected Poems, Volume I 57 ALL THE YEARS I WAS AWAY All the years I was away, you know for you I was wandering. I was searching to find the rose that nobody else could bring you. What mountains, what deserts and what seas did I cross; what rains furrowed my forehead, what brines battered me, nobody will ever !learn. I squeezed my heart into a holy chahce, and from it there sprung up this beautiful rose, pure, like the dawning 1ight of Easter. Put it in your belt, your bosom or your hair. It will fit you like the sun fits the world, every morning. (Time and the River, 1957) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos COMPANIONS Like a Gospel, closed, on the table the dark bread lies. And inside, the hands: The hand that held the wheat and sowed it, the one that reaped, the one that kneaded it. I am not alone. (Omitted Poems) translated by Margaret Polis 58 THE CHARIOTEER MAN AND INFINITY I have to be in perfect order. I am the comcience of all the world around and above us: of the green plants and the flowers, the stars, and even of the gold, life-giving sun that ceaselessly flows. Of the heights and the depths. The two ends of the universe meet within me. And I have to be in perfect order. (Omitted Poems) translated by Margaret Polis From Collected Poems, Volume I 59 AUTOBIOGRAPHY I Back then, when I was born, God had saved me the trees. There were stars in the sky. The colors, fresh, lingered on the slopes or lulled on the water. The light branched out upon the shrubs. A sun, :lovely, coronated the mountain tops, birds, roses, insects, waterdrops. So, they did exist back then, and I had time for them. Before me stood T aigetos intact. I found grass and sat, II Invisibly, inaudibly, I felt waves smothering me. And bonded colors touched my eyes. And I was left on peaks petrified in shock. And again I spread my arms upward and felt them sinking enlarged, reaching the outer limits of the universe. And hanging among them 60 THE CHARIOTEER were lush vines and clusters of white Howers with curious buzzings. Lord, I cried, Lord, don't shut the door. The sun is the door that opens and shuts. I've come and gone countless times, my bitter bread is beautiful, drenched in the light. My torment's a garden. I'm transfixed by the water's miracle. I'm astounded before the river and the spring, before the glass and the waterdrop I was clutching in my 'palm and feeling a heavy weight, as if I were clutching a portion of the universe. I saw the root, that sword, piercing the rock and envisioned all the trees as sabres plunged inverted in the earth. And I approached the fire; I looked at it and decided to don it. To become the bramble. Poetry is the bramble, the unsculpted statue my other body-where I live without end in this world. So that my hair never stops waving. So that my hands never lose their touch. So that they fondle the water, the flower, the light, the bird's song. So that I not leave my house. So that, deep inside, between two galaxies, I may search the way; and between two sea-blue rifts in the firmament, full of love, without a staff, I may ever approach as an intimate of the universe. With a harmless smile, with an inobtrusive presence, may I go and come. From Collected Poems, Volume I 61 Lord, what name shall I give you? Love or flame divided into colors? What name shaH I give you? If I could, I wou'ld: I would kiss all mankind's hands, kiss all the bird's wings, kiss all the trees' leaves and aH the scales of the ·fish, the waterdrops and the animals all of them, on the brow. Even down to the snakes. Only thus could I say that I drew near and touched. That I found and kissed your hand, Lord. Only thus would I be certain that I said "Good morning" and you heard me. That you heard, Lord, your crazy bird which finds windows, finds tiny crevices and steals into your house at all hours and plays with you. That you heard the poet of your universal tree of light which shined on his notebooks and on their pages occurred everything that occurs in the universe: flowers sprang up and birds took wing and waters Howed, stars intersected and colors interchanged and everything happened that happens on the sea and on the mountain and in the cloud turning pink; everything that happens inside a cell and oinside a molecule full of maps double-folded, so wide that they can unfold forever-. Take my hands, bind them with a bolt of your white lightning, keep them suspended, hang them-gleaming, 62 THE CHARIOTEER immovable, a dove in the universe. And let it hang forever. * If I've survived the knife, if I've survived the flame and the thousand nai'l.:laden winds like a tree in a mountainpass with its bark consumed by thunder while listening to the canyon bellowing while it brought on the darkness, if both my eyes wrestled in the tempest meeting it glance for glance, crossing their swords 1n the din, if I've survived, it was because of: THIS VOICE which emerges from the cosmos and ascends from its divine seed with 1ts root drenched in blood: "Do not, I pray, kill the water. Do not, I pray, kill the trees. Do not, I pray, rip those divine pages written by ~inconceivable light and inconceivable time which surround me wherever I be. Do not, I pray, kill the poem of the earth!" With aU creatures, scales, wings, leaves, colors, hands, I offer you this great word wrapped in sunbeams and welling from the subterranean river of the heart: Summon eternity to arms while lighting the star, "Love." Summon eternity while lighting, above it all, over the ready abyss, the star, "The Front of Humanity!" Summon it to arms ... From Collected Poems, Volume I 63 * The glance of vineyards, the eyes of birds, mi-llions of pearls doubled around my voice pray for salvation. We beseech you: Leave us our things. Don't burn them. Let the insects find their flowers. DON'T TOUCH! Let this beautiful world perpetuate itself rolling the morrow back to its sources-like the time I was born-age-old and young, as if re-emerging every morning for the first time from the rose-colored gauzes of its birth. Quench the evi·l fire with the sun. Do not kill us! (Autohio grttphy, 1961) * translated by Rick M. Newton *This is the early version of ''Autobiography." A modified version was included in the Collected Poems. From COLLECTED POEMS, VOLUME II translated by David Connolly, Aristotle Michopoulos, Rick M. Newton and George Pilitsis POETRY AND LIFE Poetry is never ending, as the sky never ends; the reflections of life maintain its shape 1inside the poetry. As long as the sea comes and goes, as long as f'lowers and colors are born, as long as people shake hands, there w~ll be poetry. Poetry is born a!long with the things, along with love, along with pain. For example, the poetry of many of my pages was born together with your eyes. (Dialogue with Poetry) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos EXIT At sometime everything comes to an end: murky rivers and nights. It's enough to be able to save you soul, at the end, just like a mother saves her baby crossing a large fire or a sea. (Dialogue with the World) translated by George Pilitsis 64 From Collected Poems, Volume II 65 THE BITTER DAY If you want, my heart, don't talk today. Tomorrow the sun will send us other flowers. It will dissolve this huge funeral procession and rain down other colours. Go on with your song, share out, never ceasing- If you want, my heart, let your last garment be given to love, your last word be given to joy. Borrow from the stones, borrow from the clouds, borrow from nothingness, blood and light. You have nothing, want nothing, need nothing. Let's be slowly on our way my tiny river. (The Struggle with the Everyday Demon) translated by David Connolly THERE IS NO LONELINESS There is no loneliness where a man digs or whistles or washes his hands. There is no !loneliness where a .tree shakes its ,leaves. Where a nameless insect finds a flower and sits, where a brook reflects a star, where a baby sleeps, holding in bliss his mother's nipple in his two small open lips, there is no loneliness. (Dialogue with the World) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos 66 THE CHARIOTEER MARCH 31, 1959 To the friends of other times The sun set. The year dosed this moment. It dosed or became a piece of solid light, a book or a page. Through the hole-filled hands of life I passed flower stems; I made a multicolored kerchief something like a. flower-bed at Easter. My heart, leaning over this beautiful balcony with a view of the universe, shed pearl-like tears. The book's title is: "The Depth of the World." (Peace Comes to the World) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos DUTY I don't want to close my eyes and not see. I won't see and not speak. And I won't speak without pulling out the word from deep inside of me, like an embedded knife. The light has blood inside of it, and the blood has Eght, luckily my heart, pierced with the glance of thousands of children, is filled now with embedded knives. (International Children's Town Pestalozzi) translated by George Pilitsis From Collected Poems, Volume II 67 LIFE It was all 'lovely. Clouds hovering or drifting, gleaming precipices delineated by the jagged lines of thunderbolts in the aether, changes and interludes with colors lucid, beautiful, brilliant or dull, odd. It was at! lovely. That entire journey to mythical landscapes; predicaments of pain resembling mountains lofty, successive. My endless traveling, my endless resistance, my endless hope, my palm on my forehead to announce a star which would not have risen; the obstacles, the stumbling, faUing face-down in the dirt, the cry for help and ·the poetry rushing from the flower of my pierced side. It was all Jovely. · Life: a corridor in the abyss, time rent; a vestibule, an appendage of death life, a dream rirm and fluid, deceptive and gigantic. Expedition in a corridor in which I took part and fall everywhere, staring at the riddle overhead as I lie on my back. Now, that night has not yet ~fallen and I sit and ponder it and remember, truly: It was all lovely. (Inner Adventure) translated by Rick M. Newton 68 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΕΝΑΣ ΜΙΚΡΟΤΕΡΟΣ ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Άναζητω μιό:ν άκτη νό: μπορέσω νό: 'ψράξω με δέντρα fl καλaμια εvα μέρος τοΟ όρίζοντα. Συμμαζiεύοντας το ά'nειρο, νCΧχω την αίσθηση : fl πώς δεν ύπάρχουνε ·μηχανες η πώς ύπάρχοuνε πολu λίγες· η πώς δεν ύπάρχοuν στρατιωτες η πώς ύπάρχουνε πολu λίγοι· η πώς δεν ύπάρχουνε δ·πλα fl πώς ύπάρχουνε πολu λίγα,, στραμμένα ·κι αύτό: πρΟς την fξοδο των δασων με τοuς λύκους· η πώς δεν ύπάpχόuνε fμ'Ιtοροι η πώς ύπάρχοuνε 1!cM.u λίγοι σε ά'Ι!όκ,εντρα σημεϊα της γης δπου άκόμη δεν έγιναν άμαξωτοι δρόμοι. Το έλπLζει ό Θεός πώς τουλάχuστο μες στοuς λυγμοuς των ποιητων δεν θό: πάψει νό: ύ1τάρχει ποτες ό παράδεισος. From Collected Poems, Volume II 69 A SMALLER WORLD I seek a shore where I can fence in a patch of the horizon with trees or reeds. Where, gathering infinity, I can have the sense that: there are no machines or very few; there are no soldiers or very few; there are no weapons or very few, and those few aimed at the exit of the forests with wolves; or that there are no merchants or very few at remote points on the earth where paved roads have not yet been laid. God hopes that at least in the poets' sobs paradise will never cease to exist. (Diary) translated by Rick M. Newton WAITING With cheek glued to the Alps, feet tied up with white ropes, I bless Efe like a silent ascetic. With arm outstretched, ready, I wait, conf.ident that from the first faint crack in the snow a wild flower wiH show forth its miracle. (Pieta) translated by George Pilitsis 70 THE CHARIOTEER I SAW Looking into the translucent blade of yellow espartum, I could see-I thought-the world's depth: the beauty, the wisdom, the finesse of its creator. The same thing also in the eye of the squirrel. The light is a living presence, a comrade. It transcends hare surfaces and that is why, when I f~lt the pain of lone1iness, I doubted it. (Diary) translated by Rick M. Newton CATHARSIS My soul, while -leaning towards the darkness, finds itself again in the starlight. It shakes off the shadow, the coal dust, the rust, the odor of the weapons. It rediscovers its natural colors, the word-a word spout welling up from the fountain of the heart directly, with no intervention; a word which, rather than pass Hke a fragile dart or a suspioious silence or moan, would better vanish in the wind Eke the chirping of a bird. (Diary) translated by Rick M. Newton From Collected Poems, Volume II 71 FACE TO FACE I don't know if I have time left to punish the serpent, this part of me. Self of mine, time has already brought down from the universe the deception of your image. Your day has grown very gray. It's time we went up the mountain and settled things. I don't know, my watch doesn't keep good time and I don't know if we have any time left. Don't 'look here and there, don't look back. The tragedy of the world is in your mirror. Look at yourself and see: You're dressed in rags. Move forward! (Face to Face) translated by George Pilitsis THE SUCCESSION OF HANDS My star is a hand. As I walk in this world, that one, in front of me, e:x:tended, moving, with its index iHuminated, eases my exit from the obstacles of cliffs, whippings of the deserts, crossings of the rivers. And my heart, which since my birth was in danger, !like the deer that comes out of the forest, was not afraid, because without end, in my endless nights, one hand would succeed the other, starting with those of my mother that 'looked like pulpits, others that looked like message transmitters and others that 'looked like angels on horseback. (Face to Face) translated by Aristotle Michopoulos 72 THE CHARIOTEER COCREATION I don't know if the flowing origin of the word is within me. Other voices have joined my voice-like those of the waters I've heard, of the wJnd in an endless variety of hues, of earthly sorrows that perhaps only God hears with His large transparent ears, of the silence of the sky that passes inside of me and in my lips finds the utterance that's missing. I don't know if the World rearranged my words-like un:built stones and created >light. (Afternoon Heliotrope) translated by George Pilitsis THE RIFTS IN SOLITUDE Lord, you are the verdure. You are the arbutus. The azure halo around the flame of the copper lamp. You are the bark of the dog received hy anyone at night like a reply from the heights to the desert. Lord, you are the crack in the wooden door whence dawn enters. You are the blossom of the apple tree which falls upon my shoulder like a heavenly white light. (Afternoon Heliotrope) translated by Rick M. Newton From Collected Poems, Volume II 73 AN INTERPRETATION OF LONELINESS He wonders how he was able to stay so alone in the world. Later he gets up and opens the windows one by one. (The house has views in all directions) : Clouds Clouds Clouds- May be, he says, I've understood what ,it means to be alone. On an earth that's covered with mud through and through, you hesitate to yield. You don't want to soH the Existence. (Afternoon Heliotrope) translated by George Pilitsis From PROTEST translated by Aristotle Michopoulos and George Pilitsis A CITIZEN He was a citizen with deep roots, full of sun and linear, beautifwl mountains; but he was-he no longer is. Because his country, too-known from history for its very fine things, for its wise men, for its tragic poets, for its old and new heroes-was; it is not any more, but a ship of the Sixth f.leet. He 'left. He did not want to feel like one of its sailors. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos I I, in a space of many millennia. I, in a world where people are crammed and transported like the sand. I, under the vertigo of heavenly bodies beyond the numbers of human beings. I saw the sun that rose. I climbed the mountain. I saw in the sky the garden with the peacocks. I wore the red or black tie. 74 From Protest 75 I protested to the police. I had Sruint George and his relatives as my friends. I cleaned away the blood of the dead and planted in its place honorable grass. I put on my hat and roamed under the great sky. I felt, 1 heard, I saw and you were able not to get tired of me for forty long years! I wound the clock. I pulled the curtain. I had a talk with the fate of others. I forgot my pyjamas at the Santa Maria hotel. I counted the colors of the flowers at Porto Germeno during the spring I told the sO'ldier to have pity on the woman. I gathered the pebbles in the sea behind Leningrad. I served as intermediary to God, to take care of the pending matters with His creation. I cut the hair of the youth of Antikythera. I wore my socks inside out. I thought, I did, I said and you were able not to get tired of me for forty ·long years. I had to chase it with the knife by myself, to throw it down and throw it into the same river that carries a:ll the trash of the world, bringing down from all points, to aH directions, soot, sludge and the political trash. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos 76 THE CHARIOTEER CONFESSION AND REPENTANCE ':Phink a Httle bit more; try to remember a bit better and arbove all do not forget: We know everything! And ,if you want to know, our people saw you sitting in your garden-it was around nine in the rooming on the left bench, thinking. Tell us: is it or is it not true that you were thinking and that at that moment-they saw it in your eyes you were setting a hu~lding af,ire? Just try to remember. - I can assure you that I never took up a kn.ife, sir. Nor matches either (I don't smoke). And I don't even know where exactly is the building you are ta:lking about. I was in my garden, indeed, but I was not thinking. At that time my dog was playing, my son was calling me from the window. I still remember his words: "I want an aspirin." Other than that, I don't remember anything, sir. - I see. Your son talked to you and your dog was playing. Just at that moment, our people were watching you from the fence. You were ·sitting on the left bench and, indeed!, you were thinking, sir, yes, you were thinking! Of course you must be aware of the penalty that the ilaw provides for your case: "Innocence or Death." It 'is up to you. It was morning, around nine, ·they saw you ... Well, what we want from you is a signed declaration now. Take any pen you Hke, this or that one, and then you return right away to your garden, to your dog and to your son. You have one hour. Think. And you should also know, that for us it would be of no consequence, even if you prove ·that you never even sat on that bench! translated by Aristotle Michopoulos From Protest 71 EMERGENCY EXIT When ideas become ideas again (because this too may happen, but only in remote times) when images begin to emerge from chaos, when meanings become concrete, when words name specific things, then our planet will stop oscillating from side to side on its axis. translated by George Pilitsis EPILOGUE I had never imagined that some day I'd fill with knives and guns my verses, the space of my beautiful flowers (my lilacs and rushes) the space of my constel•lations. That my small garden would resemble a pock-marked face. That times, jumping over the fence, would fill it with an air of murder. Or that some day friends would mourn its plunder. translated by George Pilitsis 78 THE CHARIOTEER THEN Then, under the glass sm..ile of the 1leaders across the world, the wailings of masses, the laments of infants, turned waterfaUs inside of me. And then, without shelter, in wild weather, bent over the earth, I tried to sow- but the bread of Jove rotted away in my field. translated by George Pilitsis From THE DISTINGUISHED PLANET (1983) ACCOUNT TO A MOUNTAIN I claim no privilege other than existence. I've acquired the wealth to be already a rock, indifferent to vanity, sensitive to light. The snow can't sear my age-old nakedness. I articulate my words as you do your torrents, or the whispers of your forests. Neither storm nor darkness stop me. And when I can't see it I listen to the sun, or Aphrodite's chariot as glittering it sails through the translucent heavens. I gathered the necessities within me, I secured all I need. I'm content. translated by David Connolly 79 ΛΕΙΤΟΥΡΓΙΑ ΚΑΤ.Ω ΑΠΟ ΤΗΝ ΑΚΡΟΠΟΛΗ ΕΙΣΑΓΩΓΉ Ή «ΛεLτοuργία. κά.τω &πό rijν 'Ακρόπολη» γρά.ςpτ.'Υjκε στΎj γεω γρα.ψLκΎj θέσ'Υ/ ΠλοόμLτσα., δποu προσπα.θώ ν~ &ποσόρω τόν έα.uτό μοu, χωρίς Υ~ τό εχω &κόμ"η κα.τα.ςpέρεL έντελώς. Κα.ι μόνον &π' α.uτij τij σκέψ"η ξεκLνώντα.ς, θ~ μποροuσα. y~ γρά.ψω ένα. εuχα.ρLστήρLο προς τον τόπο που γενν1jθ"ηΚIΧ 1 εζφα., προσπά.θ"ησΙΧ ΚIXt εοωσα. έκε!yο τό λίγο ΟUΥΙΧτό που μοu έπέτρεψα.y οί ΚΙΧτα.στιiσεLς μοu, μέσα. στον κuκλώνα. μLΙΧς έποχijς που έντείνετα.L. Το οτL κά.τL θ~ εγρα.ςpα. ώς ενα. είδος εuχα. ρLστ-ίjρLΟU α.uτό ε!να.L βέβα.Lο. Τό οτL δμως εγρα.ψα. α.uτό που &κρLβώς εγρα.ψα., όψειλετα.L σε μL~Υ &λλ"f/ σuγκuρία.: Στίς έπίμονες πα.ρα.κλήσεLς τοu κuρίοu ΓLώργοu Πα.πα.τρέχα.-Στοuρνά.ρα.--στόν δποτο κα.ι &ψLερώ νετα.L--που μώ ζ'ΥjτΟuσε ΕΥΙΧ κείμενο δρα.τορίοu, προκεψέΥΟU Υ~ τό προσςpέρεL στον ·ΕλλψLσμο τijς ΟLΙΧσπορ!Χς. ΧρεLιiστ"f/Κε Υ~ περιiσεL &ρ κετος ΚΙΧLρΟζ ιi>σΠΟt) Υ~ ΟεΟΙΧLωθώ οτL το θέμα. που μοu προσψέροΥτΙΧΥ &π· εςω όπijρχε κα.ί μέσα. μοu κα.ι Υ~ έπLκα.λεστώ τη OLΚ1j μοu &νιiγκ"η κα.ί Π"f/ΎΙΧLότ"ητα.. Εuχομα.L fι προσπιiθεLα. τοu γ"fjρα.Lou ψίλοu ν~ οLκΙΧLω θεt &πο τij σuγκίν"f/~ που τuχον θ~ λιiβοuν οί Άπόδ"f/μοL, κL δχt μόνον α.uτοί, &λλ~ κα.ι οί ψίλΟL μα.ς ξένοL που θ~ το &κοόσοuν fι θ~ το ΟLΙΧΟά. σοuν &πό τlς μετα.ψριiσεLς που ~O"f/ έτοLμιiζοντΙΧL. Ν. Β. uιιιnιιιιuιιιιunιιιιιιnιιιιιιιnιιuιuιιιιιιιΗιιιιιι Άκοόγοντα.L μα.κρuνες κα.μπιiνες που χτuποuν πένθLμα.. "Ένα. πλij θος Κόσμοu, &ντρες, γuνα.!κες, πα.LοLιi, ώς ν~ &να.ζ"ητε! μL~ οLέξοοο κα.t Υ~ μijy τΎjΥ βρίσκεL, τα.λα.yτεόετα.L ΚLΥΟόμεyο πότε προς το lyα. ΚIXt πότε προς τό &λλο σ"ημε!Ο μLΙΧς περLοχijς που δίνεL τΎjν έντόπωσ'Υ/ κα.μένοu τοπίοu . ., ΑλλοL σ"ηκώνοuy στους &'>μοuς fι κρα.τοuν στις μα.σχιiλες σπLτLκ~ πριiγμα.τα., lνα.ς-δuο εικσνίσμα.τα., μερLκες γuνα.!κες, βρέψ"η. Μπρος Π"η γα.ίνεL ενα.ς Γέροντας που μοLιiζεL ώς y' &νLχνεόεL το εοα.ψος με το ρα.βοί τοu, &πα.γγέλλοντα.ς κά.θε τόσο στίχοuς &.πο το «θρijνο τijς Κων στα.ντLνοuπόλεως». Τόσο δ Γέροντας οσο κα.ι δuο &λλοL &ντρες που τον 80 LITURGY UNDER THE ACROPOLIS translated by C. Capri-Karka and Ilona Karka INTRODUCTION Liturgy under the Acropolis was written in Plumitsa a place to which I have been trying to retreat, without complete success so far. Even starting from this thought alone, I could write a text thanking the place where I was born, have lived and have offered whatever little was possible under the cir cumstances, during a period of still increasing turmoil. That I would write some sort of rrthank you" was certain. The fact, however, that I wrote what I actually did, was due to another occurrence, the urgent requests of Mr. George Papatrechas Stournaras-to whom this is dedicated-who kept asking me for the text of an oratorio, to be offered to the Hellenism of Diaspora. It took some time before I felt sure that the subject suggested to me from the outside actually existed within me as well, so that I could draw on my own inner needs and re sources. I wish for the effort of my old friend to be vindicated by the emotion that the Greeks of Diaspora may experience but also by the feeling of our foreign friends who may hear or read it in the translations now being prepared. N.V. 111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111 Distant bells are heard solemnly ringing. A crowd of men, women and children moves around as if seeking an exit which cannot be found, moving from one point to another within a place which resembles a landscape ravaged by fire. Some carry household objects on their shoulders or under their arms, one or two carry icons, a few women carry infants. An Old Man walks ahead of the crowd looking as if he is feeling the ground with his staff, now and then reciting verses from The Lament of Constantinople. The Old Man and two others who follow him 81 82 ΤΗΕ CHλRIOTEER &κολουθοΟν &πο κοντά., κρ~τοσν στις μ~σχά.λες τους μεγά.λ~ σέ πλά.τος κ~ι μά.κρος π~λιωμέν~ 6ι6λι~. Ε!ν~ι οί Άν~γνωστες ποu τά. &νοιγουν uστερ~ &πο το μ-ίjνυμ~ τοσ 'Αγγελtοψόρου κ~ι οt~6ά.ζουν τά. δtά.ψσρ~ κειμενά. τους. Τήν ίοι~ στιγμή ξεχωριζεt &.πο τον Κόσμο κ~ι δ Χορός. Ο ΓεΡΟΝΤΑΣ •·Έρχομαι ά1τ' τ' άνάθεμα κ' έκτο Gαθύν το σκότος ά1τ' την άστρα1τοχάλαζην, ά1τ' την άνεμοζάλην ... Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Μη μaς έyκαταλεί1τεις στην έρημιά μας, ·Κόριε ... Η ΦΩΝΗ ΤΟΥ ΑΓΓεΛ I ΟΦΟΡΟΥ Οόκ έάλω ! Οόκ έάλω ! Οόκ έάλω ! Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ ·εάλω Ι ·εάλω! ·εάλω! Ο ΓεΡΟΝΤΑΣ Πως gχω μάτια και θωρω, 1τως έχω φως και Gλέ1τω, 1tως εχω νοϋν και 1tεp1tατω στον ά:τuχον τον κόσμον ... Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Σ1τίτια στη γης δέν έχουμε δέντρα έκκλησιές δέν εχοu•με, 1τpόστρεξε, Κόριε, 1τpόστρεξε! ... Η ΦΩΝΗ ΤΟΥ ΑΓΓεΛΙΟΦΟΡΟΥ Οόκ έάλω ! Οόκ έάλω ! Οόκ έάλω ! Liturgy Under The Acropolis 83 closely carry large worn books under their arms. They are the Readers who, upon the Messenger's signal, open them and read their various texts. At the same time the Chorus steps forward out of the Crowd. THE OLD MAN I come from the anathema and the profound darkness from the lightning and hailstorm and the whirlwind ... THE PEOPLE Do not abandon us in our desolation, Lord ... THE VOICE OF THE MESSENGER Not conquered! Not conquered! Not conquered !1 THE PEOPLE Conquered! Conquered! Conquered! THE OLD MAN How have I eyes to stare, how have I sight to see. How have I sense to walk in this unfortunate world ... THE PEOPLE We have no homes on this earth we have no trees or churches, help us, Lord, help us! ... THE VOICE OF THE MESSENGER Not conquered! Not conquered! Not conquered! 1The fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453 was announced to the Greek world with the cry "M:A.(r.) f] n6A.tc;" (the [capital] City was conquered). 84 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Ο ΚΟΣΜΟ:Σ ·εάλω ι ·εάλω Ι ·εάλω Ι Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Έσεϊς ~οuνό: θρηνήσετε καί ττέτραι ραγισθf\τε καί ττοταμοί φυράσατε καί ~ρύσες ξεραθεϊτε ... ΟΙ ΤΡΕΙΣ ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΕΣ "'Αλλο δεν ήμττορέσαμε, μ<Χς ττρόλα~ε ή φωτιά, σώσαμ•ε τό: Βαγγέλια τοG 'Έθνους μοναχά ... Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ κ· έσu σελήνη τ· οόρανοG, την γην μη την φωτίσεις κ' έσεϊς νερό: τρεχούμενα, σταθf\τε μη κινεϊσθε ... Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Κύριε, ττοu ξετάζοντας την τάξη των ττραyμάτων σου στοuς οόρανοuς ζuγίζεις τόν t)λιο στην τταλάμη σοu δίχως να νιώθεις ~άρος -η να τταθαίνεις ~γκαuμα -η νό: σοG σκοτειδιάζει το ~λέμμα με τη λάμψη τοu, ττρόστρεξε, Κύριε, ττρόστρεξε I Ο ΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΦΟΡΟΣ (Τρέχοντας και μπαινοντα.ς &.νιΧμεσα στό πλijθος) Οόκ έάλω ή Βασιλεύοuσα ψuχη των •Ελλήνων! Οόκ έάλω ή Βασιλεύοuσα ψuχη των ·ελλήνων! Liturgy Under The Acropolis 85 THE PEOPLE Conquered! Conquered! Conquered! THE OLD MAN Oh mountains mourn, Oh boulders crack, Oh rivers dry up, Oh fountains cease flowing ... THE THREE READERS We could save nothing more, the fire overtook us, we only salvaged the Nation's Holy Books ... THE OLD MAN And you, moon up in the sky don't shine your light on earth and you, coursing waters, cease flowing and stand still ... THE PEOPLE Lord, you who oversee the order of your world from the heavens, balancing the sun in your palm without feeling its weight or experiencing its burn or having your sight darkened by its glare, help us, Lord, help us! THE MESSENGER (Running and joining the crowd) The Reigning2 soul of the Greeks was not conquered! The Reigning soul of the Greeks was not conquered! 2Constantinople, the capital of the Byzantine Empire, was referred to as Tj ~C:XOlAEUOl>OC:X (the Reigning (city) ) . 86 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Ο 'ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Οόκ έάλω ή Βασιλεόουσα; Ο ΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΦΟΡΟΣ Έξαρθρώνονται οί πέτρες, κ·αι το σίδερο καταλόεται· ·έρημώνουνε οί κορφές αιτ· τό: κάστρα πού άφανίζονται, άλλ~ το χτισμένο φώς, δέν ξεχτίζεται ... Ο 'ΚΟΣΜΟΣ (Στό γέροντα., κά.νοντα.ς κύκλο γύρω τοu) Οόκ έάλω ή Βασιλεόουσα; Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ (Άνοlγοντα.ς.τό 6ι6λlο τοu, τα.uτόχρονα. μ! τοuς &λλοuς 8uό Άνα.γνώστες ποu πα.lρνοuy θέσεις οεξιιΧ κα.ι &ρtστερά. τοu) Άπολιόρκητη δταν πολιορκεϊσαι· και δταν συλλαeαί νεσαι άσόλληπτη· κι δταν κουστωδίες σέ πaνε και σέ φέρ νουνε στό: πραιτώρια· κι δταν δένεσαι πάνω σέ πασσάλους και μαστιγώνεσαι· κι δταν δένεσαι πίσω άπο άλογα και ~ρ ματα και σέρνεσαι ~άφοντας κόκκινη τήν δδΟ προς τον 'Άδη ... Κι δταν ένταφιάζεσαι, δέν μένεις έκεϊ, παρό: μόνο γιό: μιό: il γιό: δυό, το πολύ γιό: τέσσερες νόχτες· δπότε «όρθρου ~αθέος» γιομίζεις το φως μέ πίδακες της 'Ανάστασης! Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Ξεχωρίζεις ~ς ~να κινοόμενο ψως στο δλο της γης ... Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Έλαφρό: είν· τό: όρη σου. Σό:ν ίδέες σαλεόουν τό: φόλλα των δέντρων σου. κ· οί άέρες άπάνω σου συναντιωνται σό:ν πνεύματα. Και δέν γίνεται δ flλιος σου άνθος και χόρτο και σταφόλι και κλήματα μόνο. Άλλό: κ· αίμα στίς φλέ~ες, ,μαρ γαρίτης στο νοϋ καί λυχνία πού φέγγει κι &ς μέσα τό: μνή ματα. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 87 THE PEOPLE Wasn't the Reigning City conquered? THE MESSENGER Rocks crumble and iron rusts away; hilltops become desolate as castles are destroyed, but the light once built up cannot be dimmed ... THE PEOPLE (to the Old Man, gathering around him) Wasn't the Reigning City conquered? THE OLD MAN (Opening his book in synchrony with the other two readers who take positions to his right and left.) Unbesieged when under siege; and when captured, free and when cohorts take you to praetoriums, and when tied to stakes and whipped; and when dragged behind horses and chariots and staining the road to Hades red ... And when buried you don't stay there but for one or two or at most four nights, after which "in the early dawn" 3 you fill the light with springs of Resurrection! FIRST READER You stand out like a moving light on the whole of the earth ... THE OLD MAN Your mountains are light. The leaves of your trees stir like ideas. And the winds meet upon you like spirits. And your sun becomes not only flowers and grass and grapes and vines but also blood inside veins, pearls in the mind and lamps which shine even into graves. 3"0pepou aae£cuc; (New Testament). 88 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Είναι εϋνοια θεία νό: γεννιέται κανείς, εστω κι ώς εvας θάμνος στο χώμα σου ... Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Καί ό σκοϊνος σου &:κόμη, το σφεντάμι, ό πρίνος κ• ή μυρτιά σου εύτόχησαν. ·Ως κ· οί πέτρες σου &:κόμη, εχουνε μfjτρες καί λουλο6- δια σαλεόουν άέρινα πάνω τους. Κ" έξόν άπ' τίς δάφνες ποu σοϋ χρειάζονταν πάντοτε, κ· έξόν τον άλίφασκο, το θυμάρι, τη μέντα ποu θυμιάζουν &:πάνω σου, άνοίγουν τό: σπλάχνα σου καl γεννfuιε καί ποιητές. Και συχνό: οί θάλασσές σου μεταλλάζουνε ξαφνικά, σε πεδιάδες άττό ήλιοτρόπια. κ;αι σαλεόουνε θόσανοι ούράνιων χρωμάτων πάνω άπό τό: ~ουνά. Και συχνό: οί κορυδαλοί σου φτερουγίζοντας κατακό ρυφα, δεν κατε€6αίνουν· κάνοντας τρόπες φωλιάζουν στο φως. κ· είναι λόγος ό ηλιος σου· και οί συρμές των νερών καί τοϋ άέρος το ττvό'ίσμα στlς έλιές, είναι λόγος. Καl των άστρων το κάθετο φuσημα-φ,ως, γαλουχεί τις ψυχές των νηπίων σου ... Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΊΉΣ κ;αι τό: &γρια λουλο6δια σου κάνουνε διάλογο· κηρότ τουν τό: πεϋκα σου. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ κ· είναι δλα όρατό: &ς το εσχατο ~άθος τους· γιατί είναι έδ& ποu ό θεός ,ιφανέρωσεν δλα τό: ούράνια του &:πόρρητα. Ο f1ΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Καt το ονομα .Ελλάδα, δέν είναι λέξη, άλλό: λόγος· δλες οί λέξεις ποu όνομάζουν το φ&ς. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 89 SECOND READER It's a divine gift to be born as even a bush in your soil ... THE OLD MAN Even your rushes, maples, holly and myrtles are blessed. Even your rocks have wombs and ethereal flowers stir in the breeze above them. And apart from the laurels that you always need and wpart from the sage, thyme, and mint whose fragrances waft over you, your insides open up and poets are born. And often your seas are suddenly turned to fields of helio tropes. And tufts of celestial colors stir over your mountains. And often your skylarks, flying skyward never come down; piercing and nesting in the light. And your sun is Logos and the flow of water and the breath of wind in the olive trees is Logos.4 And the vertical whiff of light of the stars nourishes the souls of your infants. FIRST READER And your wild flowers talk to each other; your pine trees preach. SECOND READER And everything is visible to its utmost depth, because it is here that God revealed all his heavenly secrets. 'J1HE OLD MAN And the name Greece is not a word but Logos; it is all the words that name the light. 4The Greek "A.6yo<;," which could be literally translated as "word," is rendered here as Logos because it combines both a philosophical meaning (logic, reason) and a theological one, as in The Word of God ("In the beginning was the Word"). 90 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Περικλείνεται μέσ' στό: τρία φωνήεντα καl τό: τρία σου σόμφωνα των ~ι~λίων ή ~ί~λος. Κ' ένανθρω1tίστη στις τρεϊς συλλα~ές σου τό φως. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ Tou Φοιοοu &ppα.οωvια.στικιά., Yj φιλrιμέv'Υj τώv &γγέλωv, τtς έπ!γειες οuv&μεις σε οόpά.vιες μετέοα.λες. Πpώτ'Υj έσU έv τφ μέσφ τijς vuχτός Yj έpχόμεv'Υj· έσU τό πολόα.στρο, πολυχρόνιο χτ!σιμο τοu στερεώμα.τος π&vω σοu πpώτ'Υj έδικα.!ωσες. Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ 'Αλληλοόϊα! 'Αλληλοόϊα! 'Αλληλοό·ία! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ ·Όταν νέφη ά'ΙtειλοΟν ν' Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣlΉΣ Ώς νό: φοροόσανε στέμματα στις κορφές, &χτινο~όλα γαν 1tρός τό: 1tάνω ... Liturgy Under The Acropolis 91 Your three vowels and three consonants contain the bible of books. And in your three syllables5 the light became human. THE CHORUS Betrothed to Phoebus embraced by Angels you have turned earthly powers into heavenly ones you were the first to arrive in the midst of the night; you were the first to vindicate the multi-starred, multiage building of the firmament upon yott. THE PEOPLE Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! THE OLD MAN When clouds threaten to shut out the world and we have no other when strong winds above us sweep away and transpose the Big Bear, when we feel alone and disoriented in the midst of wilderness and see no more it is toward you that we turn our heads. And we see you at times of great light, when even your rocks are dressed with glory as if they were bodies, large and small, standing upright, veils of sun waving over them. And the mountains shone brighter. FIRST READER As if wearing crowns on their peaks they radiated towards the sky. 5In Greek, "Greece" is a three-syllable word ('EA.-A.O:-&a). 92 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΊΉΣ Και φοροϋσε τό: κυριακάτικά του το άνθρώπινο ονομα. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Μετό: ποu &ναδίιθη καν τό: ~ουνά σου άπ' τό: ~άθη και στάθηκαν ορθυα, τό: στεφάνωσε ό flλιος και σχημάτισαν θρό \10, νό: καθίσει το πνεϋμα. Και fjρθε το 11:νεϋμα· και κάθισε κ' !ft!>γαλε τον μέγιστο λόγο του. Κι ά11:όχτησε ό λόγος του, καθως ενα άπρό~λε11:το ου- ράνιο σώμα, τροχιό: στον αίώνα. Ά11:όλλωνες κι άγγελοι άδελφώθηκαν στό: χωράφια σου. Το λίθο ά'!tΟΚόλησαν κι άναστησαν το φως. Και τη γης μετατό11:ισαν έκεϊ 11:0u δέν fjταν: στο κέντρο τοϋ σόμ11:αντος. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣ~ Τοϋ ίερόγλυφου έναστρου οόρανοϋ κατανόησες τό: ση μεϊα· και χάραξες έ'!tειτα κ' έσu τό: δικά σου, στον πηλο και στο μάρμαρο. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Και γεννήθηκε ό λόγος 11:0u προστέθηκε πλά.ί στο τέλειο Ο:νθος και στο τέλειο φως. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ θό: 11:ρέ11:ει νό: έκαμε ό flλιος, σέ καιροuς παλαιότερους, μ,εγάλους κατακλυσμούς. κ· είχε 'Πήξει το φως, κ· είχε γίνει το μάρμαρο. Καl έκλήθης έσu νό: μπορέσεις το θαϋμα. κ· έκαμες '!tάλι το μάρμαρο φως. Καl τό: ~άθρα σου γιόμισες μ· έμ~ια πλάσματα, ποu οί ~λεφαρίδες τους έπαιζαν, τό: χείλη τους σάλευαν, ώς νό: νο οϋσαν κι ώς νό: στοχάζονταν. Καl στων ναών τlς μετωπες, τ' &νάyλuφα άλογα, δρα σκελώντας την ϋλη τους, πηδοϋσαν καl κάλ 11:αζαν €ξ ω ά'lt' το χρόνο. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 93 SECOND READER And the human name was wearing its Sunday best. THE OLD MAN After your mountains emerged from the depths and stood upright, they were crowned by the sun and formed a throne for the spirit to sit on. And the spirit came; and sat and delivered its greatest speech. And its speech, like an unexpected heavenly body attained an eternal orbit. Apollos and angels became brothers in your fields. They moved the stone and resurrected the light and moved the earth to where it had not been: the center of the universe. FIRST READER You understood the hieroglyphics of the starry sky; and then carved your own, in clay and in marble. SECOND READER And the word was born and joined the perfect flower and the perfect light. THE OLD MAN In ancient times the sun must have caused great floods. And the light solidified and marble was created. And you were called upon to perform the miracle. And you turned the marble back into light. And you filled your pedestals with living beings, whose eye lids blinked and lips moved as though possessing thought and feeling. And on the freezes of the temples, carved horses, surpassing their matter leaped and galloped beyond time. 94 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ 'Απ' τfιν Κρ-ήττι &ς τfιν Πέλλιz κι &.π' τfι Γέλιz &ς τfιν Πέργιzμο, τών οδριzνών τό κρούστιzλλο γύρω &.πό τfι Μεσόγειο μέ κολώνες έστ-ήριξες. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ 7 Ηταν κρίνα ποι) φότρωναν στην ψυχή σοu οί κολώνες σου. ,κ· fjταν δρόσημα ένός μεyαλότερου κόσμοι> &π· τόν κό σμο τό: κρίνα σου. κ· fjταν δείχτες δδών πρός τό: πάνω οί κολώνες σου. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ Κσ.t τό κρινο τό νuψικό &.π' τfι γij σοu θ~ πρέπει ν~ τό πijρε δ Άρχ~γγελος Γιz6ρι-ήλ, γιιzτt εlσιzι κ' έσύ θεοτ6κος. Κι &.πό 'δω ξ ε κι νώντιzς ν~ τό πijγε στό πλιθινο χιzμ6γιο σπιτ~κι της Οόρ~νισ,ς Κυριιzς. Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Άλληλοίiία! Άλληλούtα! Άλληλούϊα! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ ΜΕ. Τριήρεις και Σκοϋνες τlς θάλασσες κατακάλuψες. Σχεδόν φτερουγίζοντας στό: κατάρτια τους τό: παιδιά σου, πάλευαν με τό Νεροχάροντα. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 95 THE CHORUS From Crete to Pella and from Yela to Pergamum,6 around the Mediterranean you held aloft on columns the crystal of the heavens. THE OLD MAN The columns were lilies springing up in your soul. And your lilies were landmarks of a greater world beyond. And your columns were signposts of skyward paths. THE CHORUS The nuptial lily must have been taken from your $Oil by the Archangel Gabriel, because you too are a Mother of God, and starting from here he must have taken it to the humble brick house of the Lady of Heavens. THE PEOPLE Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! THE OLD MAN You have covered the seas with triremes7 and scooners. Almost taking flight on their masts, your children struggled against the Water Charon.8 6Centers of ancient Greek civilization in the South (Crete), North (Pella, the capital of Alexander's Macedonia), West (Gela, in Sicily) and East (Pergamum, in Asia Minor) of mainland Greece. 7Trireme ('tPLTtpr]<;), ancient ship having three banks of oars. 8In ancient mythology, Charon was the ferryman of the dead in Hades. In modem Greek usage "xapcx;" is a synonym for "death." 96 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Σό:ν λuμένα έπουράνια σκοινιό: ο[ άστραπΕ.ς έκρεμόν τοuσαν πάνω τους. τα περ~δίνιζε ή α~υσσο, τό: νερά της τα κατασκέπαζαν. θεμελιώνονταν τό: κορμιά τους· των ήπείρων οί γέφυρες στερεώθηκαν πάνω τους. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣ~ Στοuς ~υθοuς με όστa ~αι άμ,φορείς ~εδιάστη,κες. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ ""Εχεις και κάτω άπ' τη θάλασσα το ίfθνος σου. Ο ΓεΡΟΝΤΑΣ κ· ετσι εγιναν τρία στη γης τα δριά σου: τό ενα οί άχτές, τό: νησια και τό: ορη σου· το Ο:λλο οι ~υθοί• το φ&ς σου το τρ1το, δίχως δρια δριο. Ή γης σε ό1tοδέχτηκε σε δλο το πλάτος της. Κι δ τρισελάχιστος χρόνος σου, γίνονταν μέγας· τι ενας άλλος άέρας γυρvοϋσε ά'Π' τό: μέσα σου τοuς δείχτες του άλλιως. 'Κι άλλάζανε διάσταση ή ώρα, ή μέρα, δ 1α:ίώνας σου. Μέσα σΕ. κάποιο σου σημείο ~αθu κρό~εις μια κατα κόμ~η. ποu δεν εtvαι άπο πέτρα ~ άπό σίδερο. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣ~ Μεταλλάχτη σε μέταλλο τό &Ιφθορο φως και δεν 'Παρα ~ιάζεται. Β I ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Άξίvες, λοστοι και πυρές, καταισχόvθηκαν. Ο ΓεΡΟΝΤΑΣ κ· ή Έλευθερία-,μητέρα, έκ,εί συντηρεί την ·εστία της. Έστία τοu Τόπου, ·εστία της Γης και ·εστία του, δπως θάλεγε, ίσως, και δ Κόριος πάνω σου. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 97 Like loose celestial ropes, lightning hung above them. The abyss sent them whirling, its waves engulfed them. The bridges of the continents were erected on the foundations formed by their bodies. FIRST READER In the depths of the sea you were depicted in bones and amphoras. SECOND READER Your nation extends beneath the sea as well. THE OLD MAN Thus you had three borders in the world: the first was your beaches, your islands, your mountains; the second was the bottom of the sea; the third, limitless, border was formed by your light. The earth welcomed you in all its breadth. And your infinitessimal time became great, for another wind from within you, turned the clock hands differently. The hour, the day, your century assumed other dimensions. Somewhere deep within you, are hiding a catacomb, made neither of stone nor of iron. FIRST READER The immortal light turned into metal and could not be penetrated. SECOND READER Axes, crowbars and fires were put to shame. THE OLD MAN And mother-Liberty maintains her hearth there. Hearth of the Land, Hearth of the Earth, and His Hearth, as the Lord might have said, over you. 98 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER •Ασφαλfις στο a~ατό της, είναι itτοιμη ττάντοτε, μαζl μέ τη Νίκη, ττοu ζυγιάζεται άνάλαφρη στο itνα 1τόδι στό ττλάϊ της· καt την είδαν ττολλοί, έττειδη έ1τεφάνη συχνα στό άνα μέσο της γης και τοΟ άέρος σου. Καl τό ττλούσιό της τττέρωμα, σκαλίστηκε, κ· ίΞμεινε μ• δλο τό τάχος του 1τάνω στ' άγάλματα. κ· ή Έλεuθερία σου εχει τόσα στόματα, δσα είναι κι αύτα ττοu ό θεός καταχώρησε είς τοίΥrο τον τόττο, να συζοΟν μέ τό φως κι δταν ερχε't1αι νύχτα να συζοϋν μέ τον ττόνο σου. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Κάθε ττεΟκο σου έδω, φυτρώνει μέ τό τύμ1τανό τοu. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Δέν ύττάρχει οϋτε ενα φύλλο λευκό στο καλεντάρι τοϋ χρόνου σου. •Όλα τους έχουνε ~αφεϊ άττ' τό αίμα σου ττοu μιλάει στοuς ττοιητές• έττειδiJς αUτοι μόνοι τυχαίνει ν· άκοϋνε, τα δσα σιωττοϋνε και τα δσα ~οοϋνε δίχως ν· άκούγονται. Κι δσοι τ· άκοϋνε, ττηγαίνοuν στην "Αγια-Σοφια τοϋ ·ε λικώνα Κ•αι άνε€>αίνουν στον aμ~ωνα. Και κάνουν τό λόγο τοϋ aψευστου μάρτυρος flλιου σου, λόγο τους. Και κηρύχνουνε ττώς, μεγαλύτερο f!ιλλο δέν έφάνη, έξόν άττ' τό φως και τα ττάθη σου. Και καλοϋνε νό: ρθοϋν καl να tδοίίνε τό αίμα σου. Και μιλοϋν για τό φως ττοu ττρο~λέττει ό κανόνας των ού ράνιων διατάξεων. Και ύψώνουν φωνfι τί άκόμη δΕν έγινε δίκαιο στον κόσμο. Και λένε τό: δσα μόνον μττορεϊ να σηκώσει ό λόγος, για τι είναι ώς ή άμμος της θαλάσσης τα ττάθη σου, κ· είναι άσήκωτα. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 99 Safe ~d inaccessible she is always ready, alongside Victory who is balanced lightly on one foot; and many have seen her, as she has often appeared between your earth and your air. And her rich plumage was sculpted and remained on the statues with all its swiftness. And your Liberty has as many mouths as those that God has ordained for this place to live with the light and when night falls, to live with your pain. FIRST READER Each of your pines here sprouts with its drum. THE OLD MAN There is not a single blank page in the calendar of your time. They are all stained with your blood which talks to the poets because they alone happen to listen to that which is silent, and to that which roars without being heard. And those who hear them go to Saint Sophia of Helicon9 and ascend to the pulpit. And they make the word of your sun, the true witness, their own word. And they proclaim that nothing greater has ever appeared th~ your light and your passion. And they call on people to come and see your blood. And they speak of the light that the law of heavenly order provides. And they raise their voices because justice has not yet pre vailed in the world. And they say only as much as word can bear because your sufferings are as numerous as the grains of sand in the sea, and they are unbearable. 9Jn classical mythology, the mountain Helicon was the home of the Muses. Aghia Sofia was the Eastern Orthodox cathedral in Constantinople. This merging of classical Greek and Christian elements is reiterated in several other passages. 100 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣlΉΣ Ποιός άντέχει το ~άρος, να σηκώσει τον πάσχοντα θεό, μαζι μ· δλο τον πόνο του, άπάνω τοu; Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ Πλ~τuτέp~ τοu χώpοu σοu, των ~ίθέpων σοu όΦ'Υ/λοτέp~, &γν~ντ'Υ/ πέτp~ &γν~ντο μ~νuμ~ δ.γν~ντο ψώς &γν~ντ'Υ/ λύπ'Υ/ Μ'Υ/τέp~ δλομόν~χ'Υ/ κ~t όpθι~, fι ~Εμά.σσοuσ~ θp6μ6οuς φωτός ... Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ •Αλληλού·ία! ·ΑλληλούΙα! ·ΑλληλούΙα! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Σταυροφόροι στο ονομα των ·Αyίων σε λήστεψαν, και σε σύλησαν. Πολυώνυμοι, άλλόθρησκοι και όμόθρησκοι, Μ~αροι, παρα~ιάσαν τις πύλες των ~ουνων και των κόρφων σου. Σε δια1τεράσαν με δόρατα, με πελέκια σε άκρωτηριάσα νε· κατακόψαν τα δέντρα και ξεχτίσαν τα χτίσματά σου. Σακατέψανε τα φυτώρια των νέων σου yενε&ν, τrαρα:-rεί νοντας το μαρτύριο τοu Κούρου-Ίησοu, Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣ~ Και οί άθρησκοι τοΟ ηλιου δΕ. νιώθαν δτι έτσι ζυμωμένο δπως ηταν μέ δάκρυα, τραγούδια και αίμα τrολύ, έγινε σ&,μα και πονάει το χώμα σου. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 101 SECOND READER Who can bear the burden of carrying the suffering God along with all his pain? THE CHORUS Vaster than your space, higher than your skies lofty rock lofty message lofty light lofty sorrow lonely Mother erect and bleeding clots of light . .. THE PEOPLE Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! THE OLD MAN Crusaders robbed and pillaged you in the name of Saints.10 Barbarians of many names, of the same or different religions forced the gates of your mountains and your valleys. They pierced you with spears, dismembered you with axes; cut down your trees and tore down your buildings. They destroyed the seedlings of your new generations pro longing the torture of Kouros-Jesus,11 on the prostrate cross of your soil. FIRST READER And the unbelievers of the sun were not aware that your soil, blended as it was with tears, songs and so much blood, became a living body which felt pain. 10Although Byzantium was a Christian empire, it suffered a great deal under the Crusaders, especially during the fourth Crusade. 11Ko0po<; (young man) was an archaic style of statue in Greek sculpture, characterized by simplicity. Here again, the poet blends classical Greek and Christian elements. 102 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ ΚεντοΟσαν ώς λόγχες και τις δόο σου 'ΙtλευρΕ.ς τό: ι;άρ ι;αρα τcόδια τους. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Κι &νει;αίναν άτcάνω στην Άκρότcολη τcou fιταν μουσικη τοu μαρμάρου, ή τcρώτη τcou εγινε σε τοuτο τον κόσμο, νό: δεστcόζει των ϋμνων και νό: είναι γι· αuτη μικρο κάθε «χαί ρε» και κάθε «άλληλοό"ία». Στcρώχναν το φόλακα χρόνο και σκάλωναν σό:ν έρτcετό: στίς Ο:στcρες κολώνες σου. 'Άκρου σε άκρου σε άλώνιζαν, καϊγαν καί γκρέμιζαν. Καί τcαντοu τcαραι;ιάζοντας τό: ίερά σου συλλάι;αιναν το λαο τοu λαοu σου και τον ει;γαζαν σέρνοντας. Μεταφέρναν τ· άyάλματα σό:ν αίχμαλώτους. ΚΑ I Ο I ΤΡΕ I Σ ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΕΣ Και διεμερίσαντο τό: ήλιοτcοίητα ίμάτιά σου τcαντοu ... Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Άτcαρχης τοu καιροu, νόμισμά σου το αtμα σου. Άτc• τη μιά του ό Μιλτιάδης κι άτt' την Ο:λλη δ Άτcόλ λων" άτc' τη μιά του δ Άκρίτας κι άτc' την άλλη ό Σταυρός. Καl μ· αότο έξαyόραζες, οργος τcρος οργος, κάθε τόσο το χώμα τcou fιταν δικό σου. κ· αίμορραγοuσε ή ψυχη σου γιό: νό: εχεις το νόμισμα. Μιά: γραμμη άτtο αtμα κάθε τόσο σημάδευε τά: νέα σου σύνορα. κ· ή γραμμη μετατίθονταν. Καί ό χώρος σου έστένευε κάτcοτε τόσο, δσο τcou γίνον- Liturgy Under The Acropolis 103 SECOND READER Their barbaric legs pierced both your sides like spears. THE OLD MAN And they ascended to the Acropolis12 which was the music of marble, the first created in this world to command all hymns, the one for which all "hails" and all "Hallelujahs" are inadequate. They pushed the guardian-time aside and climbed your white columns like serpents. They moved across your land from end to end, burning and destroying. And everywhere, violating your sacred temples, they seized the best of your people and dragged them out. They transported statues as though they were captives. ALL THREE READERS And they divided up your sun-made garments everywhere ... THE OLD MAN Since the beginning of time your blood has been your coin. Miltiades13 on one side, Apollo on the other; Akritas14 on one side and the Cross on the other. And with that you paid, acre by acre, for the land that was yours, again and again. And your soul bled for you to have the coin. A trail of blood marked your new borders again and again. And the trail kept receding. And your space sometimes shrunk so much that it became 12The Acropolis of Athens, site of the Parthenon and symbol of the highest point of Greek civilization. 13The Athenian general who defeated the Persians at Marathon in 490 B.C. 14Digenis Akritas, a legendary hero guarding the Asian borders of the Byzantine empire. 104 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ταν ένα «άλωνάκι» που δεν χώραγε δ:λλο, έξον dτc' τους δυό σας· έσε και το Χάροντα. κ· έξον dτc' τη ρίζα σου, που έκρυ~ε μέσα της τοϋ εtναι σου το &τταντο: τους άγέννητους ηρωες που περίμεναν πρόσ κληση, το ~ελόνι τοί} ηλιου που κεντοϋσες το μάρμαρο, το χέρι που ε:πλαθε, το &.λλο που ε:γραφε. των θαλασσών σου άναστρέψανε τό: νερό: με μπομπάρ δες και το λίκνο άνατίναξαν της Άφροδίτης, σκορπίζοντας στο τετράνεμο τό: ζαφείρια του. Και μιό: μέρα ~ρεθήκανε ξε~ρασμένα στην άμμουδιά, τοϋ Ποσειδώνα ή τρίαινα και το κουπι τοϋ 'Οδυσσέα. κ· οί ~οσκοί σου τό: περιμάζεψαν. τα ξετάσανε κ· είπανε νό: συνεχίσουν το έργο· κ· έφτια ξαν τις άγγλίτσες τους, νό: στεριώνουν στους έγκρεμους άνε~αίνοντας τό: κατσά~ραχα τοϋ «Παρνασσοϋ που συννέ φιαζε». Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτtiΣ Και τό: σφυρίγμ,ατα τ&ν ~οσκ&ν σου, ηταν συνθήματα των προγόνων στους άπογόνους τους. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτtiΣ κ· ίσως νCΧκρυ~αν μάλιστα και στίχους όλόκληρους ά:π' αύτους ποι) δ Αίσχόλος έπαράλειψεν άπ' τοι)ς Πέρσες του. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ η νό: κρό~αν οί γέροντες στό: φαντά τους ταγάρια σκαρφαλώνοντας στό: ~ουνά; "'Ισως μιό:ν ά:yκωνft κριθαρένιο ψωμί, νό: το κόψουν σε ά:ντίδωρα, γιατι πάνω στ· άκρόκρημνα τό: ζωσμένα ά:πο έλατα, λειτουργούσανε έκκλησιες καί πεινοϋσαν οί χορο στάτες τους. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 105 "a threshing floor" 15 that had room for only the two of you: yourself and Charon; and also for your root that contained within it the whole essence of your being: the unborn heroes waiting to be called, the needle of the sun with which you embroidered the marble, the hand that shaped and the hand that wrote. They reversed the flow of your seas with cannons and blew up Aphrodite's cradle16 scattering its sapphires to the four winds. And one day Poseidon's trident and the oar of Odysseus were found washed up on the shore. And your shepherds picked them up. They examined them and vowed to carry on with the task; and they fashioned staffs to secure their steps while climbing the cragged ravines of "cloudy Parnassus."17 FIRST READER And the whistlings of your shepherds were signals from the ancestors to their descendants. SECOND READER They might even have contained entire verses of those that Aeschylus had omitted from his Persians. 18 THE OLD MAN What might the old men have been hiding in their hand woven sacks as they climbed the mountains? Perhaps a bit of barley loaf to be cut into pieces, like holy bread, because church services were being held on the distant fir-covered cliffs and their choristers were hungry. 15According to legend immortalized in a famous folksong, Digenis wrestled Charon (death) on a "marble threshing floor." This allegory of the indestruc tibility of the Greek nation has been used as a theme or as an allusion by a number of poets, including Solomos and PaJamas. 16Aphrodite's birthplace, Cyprus, was occupied first by various Crusaders and then by the Turks. The island and its Greek population suffered much at the hands of all foreign invaders. 17From a well-known folksong. 18The subject of Aeschylus· tragedy Persians is the naval battle at Salamis, in 480 B.C., in which the Greeks, led by Themistocles, defeated the Persians. 106 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER 'Ή, μπορεϊ και το ίδιο το σ& μα τοΟ 'Ι ησοΟ-στο ταγάρι το σ&μα, στην τσότρα το αίμα του-νά: τον σώσουν d:π' τον Ήρώδη του. Μπορεϊ και τον κεραυνο τοΟ Δία, έντολοδόχοι του. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ 'Ιππείς, &ρψkτοδρόμοt κα.l πεζοπόροt, Άλέξσ.νδpοt κt clλλot &ψα.νείς Όα.σtλtάδες ξuπόλuτοt, ξωμάχοt, ψα.ράδες, μέ μόνο ΕΥΙΧ Οtσάκt ΚΙΧ'ημοu πεpα.σμένο στον ώμο τοuς, Κt &λλοt, ψωστijpες έπώνuμοt κα.l ψωστijpες &νώνuμοt τijς Τρtσ'ηλίοu θεότ'Υjτος, οέν πάψα.ν ποτέ ν~ π'Υjγα.ίνοuν κcιl ν&ρχοντcιt. Δtγενijδες στ~ δtάσελcι, στις πpοσοάσεtς Άt-Γtώpγ'Υjδες, &νεοcιίνcιν, κcιτέ6οctνcιν" &λλάζcιν ψpοupές ΚΟΥτάptΙΧ ΚΙΧ1 &λογcι ... Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Καl φιλεύαν δ ενας τον aλλο τους, ψωμl και άλάτι, του. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Και τά: δισκοπότηρα ποu μεταλα Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Δtακεκριμένη των πληy&ν, άλληλούϊα! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Όρyη ταρτάρου κατέ Or, perhaps the very body of Jesus-his body in the sack, his blood in the wooden flask-to save him from his Herod. Perhaps they carried the thunder of Zeus too, as his emis saries. THE CHORUS Horsemen, charioteers and foot soldiers, Alexanders and other unknown barefoot kings farmhands, fishermen with only a bag for sorrow slung over their shoulders, and others luminaries known and unknown of the Most Splendid Trinity never ceased coming and going like Digenides at the passes and St. Georges at the defiles ascending, descending, changing guards, spears and horses ... FIRST READER And they treated each other to bread and salt from the salt marshes formed by the people's tears. SECOND READER And the chalices they used for their communion, instead of wine contained the nation's suffering. THE PEOPLE Renowned for your wounds, Hallelujah! THE OLD MAN Tartarean wrath descended and covered you with darkness; it grew tall and encircled you. And your children, half awake even in their sleep, thought they saw signs in the horizon, while those were but reflections from within them. 108 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ττρο~αίνουνε στον ορίζοντα· ένω δεν fιταν 'J'Ι)αρα τ' άντιφεy yίσματα ά'lto μέσα τους. τα yελοϋσεν ή χαραυyη το Ο:στρι καt το φεyyά:ρι. Κ' ε~yαιναν νόχτα στα ~ουνα τα ά'Ιtόκοτα. Κι Ο:κουαν τον Ο:νεμο ~αιρο να μαλώνει με τις ~ροντές. Κι άτrοροϋσε κανένας άττο 'ltOU 'Ιtιά:νονταν καt δεν Ε'Ιtε- φταν. Κι ά'Ιtοροϋσε με τί μά:τια ε~λε'Ιtαν· τι το σκότος όρθώ νονταν 'Ιtολυώροφο ττά:νω τους. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ Μ' α.ότά., στΎ)τ~ κα.τά.κοpφα. πα.λεόα. &νω κpεμότα.ν σ~ν 'Άγιο Π νεuμα. fι ά.στpα.π'ij πά.νω στijν κεψα.λ-ή τοuς ... Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Καi το 'Ιtνεϋμα χαμήλωνε καi τοuς Εψεyyε τα yκρεμνά:• καl χαμήλωνε άκόμα και τοuς εφεyyε ως κά:τω τοuς άτέρ μονες φά:ραyyες. Καi κατέ~αιναν ττά:λι· καi κατε~αίνοντας σκήνωναν στις σπηλιά:δες των θαλασσων, στα φαρά:yyια της στερε<Χς, στις χαραδρώσεις της ίστορίας. Κι άyναντεόανε άττο κεΊ:, άφουyκρά:ζονταν και 'Ιtερίμε· ναν. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Άλλα έκεΊ: ττοu δλα έδειχναν δτι εyινες ερημος ψε όλίyο χορτά:ρι» άκουyόντουσαν ψίθυροι και κομμένα σφυρίγματα. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝ.Ω.ΣτΗΣ Άνηφόριζεν δ ξωμά:χος σου στ' &νά:ντια ~ουνά:, με τη Μητέρα- Έλλά:δα, φορτωμένη στο yα'ίδουρά:κι του. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 109 They were deceived by the dawn, the stars and the moon. And at night they went out into the steep mountains. And they heard the wind quarrel with the thunder. And one would wonder what they held on to, that they did not fall. And one would wonder with what eyes they saw, for many layers of darkness loomed over them. THE CHORUS Against these they struggled upright, erect, while lightning hung over their heads like the Holy Spirit. THE OLD MAN And the spirit came down and cast light on the precipices and it came down further and illuminated all the way down the endless canyons. And they descended again, and when they did, they camped in the caves of the sea, in the ravines of land and in the canyons of history. And from there, they listened and waited. FIRST READER Yet, while everything indicated that you had become a desert "with scant grass,"19 whispers and cut off whistles were heard. SECOND READER Your farmhand rode to the opposite mountains with Mother Greece on his small donkey. 19An allusion to a famous epigram by Dionysios Solomos about the destruc tion of the island of Psara by the Turks in 1824. In it, Glory walks alone on the scorched ridge of Psara, wearing on her head a crown made from "the few blades of grass that were left on that desolate land.'" 110 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Άκολουθοϋσαν τό: κλεφτοφάναρα· κ· οι Ά.καδημίες τοΟ Πλάτωνα λειτουργοϋσαν κανονικά. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ 'Ήτανε τό: «Κρυφό: Σκολειό:» οπου μέσα τους, «χιονισμέ νο, (5ρεγμένο» συνάζονταν ολο το 'Έθνος. Καl το κιτρινισμένο ράσο τοϋ παπα, το ύφασμένο πρlν &π· την ., Αλωση, μόριζε σμόρνα άπο κείνη ποu οί μάγοι δδοιποροϋvτες έπi)γαν και φιλέψανε τον • Ι ησοϋ. Μιό: σταγόνα ήλίου καθισμένη άπάνω σ· ενα κερί, έθαμ πόφεγyε yόρω του, πότε τό: μάτια, πότε το μέτωπο, πότε τό: μάγουλα των -rοαιδιων, ποu καθόvταν στο μισοσκόταδο. Κι οπως πάντοτε, ολοι τους, tjταν, πάλι, παρόντες: δ Σο φοκλης, δ Άχιλλέας, δ Όδυσσέας και δ Κυνέγειρος. Άνασκοόμπωνε δ Πλάτων το ράσο και τοuς εδειχν.ε μέ το δάχτυλο τη φωνη τους στο συναξάρια. κ· έκείνα την Ο:κουγαν, καθως έμουρμοόριζαν ολα μαζί την πανάρχαιη •Αλφα(5f]Ί:Ια, ποu ή άδρi] της συ ρ μη flτανε το μακρότερο ζων ϋδωρ τοΟ κόσμου. Ποu διασχίζοντας χιόνια και νόχτες καl στίφη ~αρ~α ρικό: και λουμπάρδες, έρχόταν κατηφορίζοντας άπάνω άπο τα λευκό: μαλλιό: τοσ ·ομηρου. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΊΉΣ κ· οί τόραννοι εσερναν στο κριτi]ριο τα παιδιά σου. Τοuς παζάρευαν την ψυχη, άλλό: δέν την πουλοόσανε. Κι fiλλο τρόπο μη ~ρίσκοντας, εδεναν τότε τον Βασίλη το Ρέμπελο, ποu άτός του δεν flθελε «γελάδια και πρό~ατα». Τον fiστηναν ορθιο και τον ~άζαν στο μέσο καθως οί λσ τόμοι το δρό• και σηκώνανε τό: μ'αστίγιά τους, τί ~λέπαν πως ηταν το πνεϋμα του άπαράδοτο. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 111 Hidden torchlights followed; and Plato's Academies operated regularly.20 THE OLD MAN These were the "Secret Schools" in which the whole nation gathered covered with snow or drenching wet. And the priest's faded robe woven before the capture of the City smelled of myrrh, that the Magi had offered Jesus. A drop of sun atop a candle cast a faint light around it, first on the eyes, then on the foreheads, then on the cheeks of the children sitting in half darkness. And as always, they were all present once again: Sophocles, Achilles, Odysseus and Kynegeiros. 21 Plato rolled up the sleeves of his robe and with his finger showed them their voices in the "synaxarion."22 And the children listened as all together they whispered the ancient alphabet whose powerful stream has been the longest living flow in the world. Which passed through snowstorms and dark nights and hordes of barbarians and leopards as it flowed down directly from Homer's white hair. FIRST READER And tyrants dragged your children off to judgement. They were bargaining for souls but the young men wouldn't sell them. And finding no other way, they tied up Basil the Rebel23 who did not want "cows and sheep" for himself. They stood him up and placed him in the center as wood cutters do with an oak; and they raised their whips, for they saw that his spirit would not surrender. 20 An allusion to the underground "Secret Schools" operating during the centuries of Turkish occupation. 21Kynegeiros, Aeschylus' brother, was killed in the battle of Marathon; his hands were severed as he was trying to hold a Persian ship, singlehandedly. 22"Synaxaria" were biographies of the saints. 23Basil is the hero of a folksong, who refuses to accept the Turkish rule and live a quiet and prosperous life, choosing instead to join the Klefts (rebels) and share their harsh and dangerous but free life. 112 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ 'Ωστόσο το μέγα φως, δΕν ξεχτίζονταν. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ ΣοG κατέ~αζαν την ψυχη και την Εκλειναν στο λαγούμι, κι lΧς μη χώραγε πουθενά, καμωμένη για τον όρίζοντα. Σέ γυμνώναν ώς μέσα, το πετσι και το κόκκαλο δμως, δέν μποροGσαν να ~γάλουν και το πάλεμα άπο μέσα σου. Κι δπου ε~ρισΚ>ες άνοιγμα, ξεσποGσες σέ &:κριτικα τρα γούδια και κλέφτικα. 'Ήτανε οί πετεινοί, πριν άπο την αύγή. Και ποτέ το μαρμάρινο «etλωνάκι» δέν άδειαζε. ΝικοG σεν ό Χάροντας, πήδαε στο ΜαΟρο του κ· εψευγε. ·Υποψιά ζονταν δμως τοuς πεθαμένους, και ξαναγύριζε. Κι άφριζε κεϊνος και χλιμίντραγε ό ΜαGρος του, τι δέν g,~ρισκαν κ· ~ναν Διγενη μια φορα ποu να μην &:νασταίνεται. κ· ετσι οί Βασίληδες, άλλοι στα σίδερα κι άλλοι ποu έλεύθεροι ψηλα στις κορφές περιφέροντ,αν στον όρίζοντα, ηταν το στράτευμα· 'ΠΟU Ο:ν ή ψυχή του δέν ητανε τ· άρματα 'Πριν &:πό τ· άρματα, δέν Θα εφτανε πουθενά. Α' ΑΝΛΓΝΩΣτΗΣ ·ο καθένας τους εtχε κι άπό ~να μικρό Μεσολόγγι στο στiϊθος του. Και μια μουσική, γινωμένη ά:π• τα εμ~ολα των ·ελλή νων, &:π· δταν, δμοια μέ ούράνια πτερωτα τα καρά~ια τους, ριχνόντουσαν 'Πάνω σ· αύτα των Περσωvε στη Σαλαμίνα. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Καt θά:λεγε μάλιστα κανένας πώς φτιάχτηκαν και τα Liturgy Under The Acropolis 113 SECOND READER However, the great light would not fade. THE OLD MAN They would bring your soul down and lock it in a dungeon although it would not be contained anywhere, as it was destined for the wide horizon. They would strip you naked to the skin and bone, but could not take the fighting spirit out of you. And wherever you found an opening, you would burst out into Akritic and Klephtic songs.24 There were the cocks crowing before dawn. And the small "marble threshing floor" was never empty. Charon would win, mount his Black Horse and leave. But then, he would become suspicious of the dead and would return. And he would foam and his Black Horse would whinny for they could never find a Digenis who was not resurrected. And thus the Basils some in iron fetters and others free, roamed the horizon high on the mountain tops; they were your army which would go nowhere if their souls were not their real weapons before any other weapons. FIRST READER Each of them carried a small Mesolonghi on his breasf5 as well as music made by the rams of the Greek ships, since the time when like winged celestial creatures they descended upon the Persian ships at Salamis.26 SECOND READER And one could even say that your mountains were made 24Folksongs recounting the exploits of the "Akrites," border guards of the Byzantine empire and the "Klephts," bands of rebels fighting the Turks. In 1821, the Klephts formed the core of the army that fought in the Greek War of Independence. 25Mesolonghi, a small town in Western Greece, which became famous for its heroic resistance and final "exodus" after a long siege by Turkish and Egyptian land and sea forces. The great philhellene Lord Byron died there in 1824. 26See note No. 18. 114 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ~ουνά σου έξε1tίτηδες ετσι άπόκρημνα κ· όψηλά, να τ· ciνε ~αίνουν οί ·Έλληνες καί ν· άποθέτουvε στις κορφές τήν κι ~ωτό μέ τό 'Έθνος. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Άλλα για να γίνει τέτοιος 1tΟύ ~τανε ό λαός και τέτοια ή γfjς σου, ό 1τρωτος κλαδεύονταν ταχτικα κι άρδευ6vταν άδιάκοπα ή δεύτερη. Καl τό αίμα, 1τολύ καl καλό για φυτείες και μέλλοντα, ποντίζονταν κ· εψrανε εως τό στέρνο της. UΩς έκεϊ οπου φτάνουν των μετάλλων οί ρίζες και μαυ ρίζουν οί μfjτρες των άστέρευτων ποταμων. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ τ~ &νθ'η ποu &.π' τό ιχtμιχ τοtί Ρ~γιχ &.νιχπ-ηδijσιχν πεζοποροtίσιχν πιiνω σοu. «Γt~ lδ!ς; κιχφό ποu δtιiλεζε . . . ,. κ· lγtνιχν &σπριχ, δtιiψιχνιχ σ~ν εlδος; ςpώς; τ~ ριΧσιχ τοtί ΔtιΧκοu ποu &νιχλ~ψτΎ)κε. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Γfj των μαρτύρων και των λουλουδιων Ι ... Liturgy Under The Acropolis 115 so steep and high on purpose, so that the Greeks could climb on them and place the ark of the Nation upon their peaks. THE OLD MAN But for your people and your land to become what they were, the first was trimmed regularly and the second was con- stantly watered. · And the blood, much blood, good for crops and for the future was shed and it reached up to her chest. To the point where the roots of the metals reach and where the wombs of the inexaustible rivers darken. THE CHORUS The flowers which sprang from Rhegas'27 blood marched upon you. "Look at the time Death has chosen .. .''28 And the robe of Diakos who ascended to Heaven became white, transparent like some kind of light. THE OLD MAN Land of martyrs and of flowers! ... 27Rhegas Pheraios or Velestinlis (1757·1798) was a forerunner of the Greek Revolution of 1821. With his teachings, his poems, his songs and the secret organization he founded, he laid the groundwork for the revolution. He was captured in Vienna by the Austrians and handed over to the Turks who strangled him and his companions. 28'Tt0: Me; Katpo 'ltOU ~lCcAEE,£ 6 xapo<; vex ·!lE '1t6:pY]" (look at the time that death has chosen to take me away), words from a famous couplet spoken by the hero of the Greek Revolution Athanasios Diakos. He was captured by the Turks, impaled and burned alive. This took place in April 1821, when, as the second line of the couplet tells us, spring was in full bloom. 116 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER ΟΙ ΔΥΟ ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΕΣ rη των μαρτύρων και των λουλουδιων! ... Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ Γ'ij των μ.οφτόpων κα.t τών λοuλοuοιών! ... Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ 'Αλληλού'ία! 'Αλληλού'ία! 'Αλληλού'ία! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Κι οΟτε χρειαζόσουνα χωμα 1toλu καi νερό yιά νά εtσαι 'Πλούσ~α. Και νό: φαίνεται ά'Πό 1tαντοG τό 'Π!ανύψηλο λάμ1tος τοG 'Πλούτου σου. CΌ'Πως συνέ~ηκε με τις 'Πέτρες των Ψαρωv, λεωχάρη. Κι ο1tως συνέ~ηκε με τlς κακοτράχαλες ά'Ιtοτομες τοG Σουλίου, 1tou iδρώνουνε γάλα ά'lt' οταν των Κλε·φτων ot γυ ναίκες τιναχτi)καν χορεύοντας, 'Πέσαν κάτω ά1t' τό Ζάλογyο και τό γάλα τους έ1tερίσσεψε. Α' ΑΝΑ:ΓΝΩΣ~ ΣοG τό: επαιρv.αν ολα: τό κριθάρι γιά τό ψω'μί, τό δέρμα γιό: τό 'Ιtα'Ιtούτσι, τό λινάρι γιό: τό 'ΠΟυκάμισο. Δυστυχούσανε τό: 'Παιδιά σου· άλλά, μολοντοGιrο, δε φαι νόταν ή γύμνια τους· γιατι τό: κουρέλια τους φωτίζονταν ά'Ιtό μέσα. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Κ' έκεϊνο τό ψως, 'ΠΟU ξε~γαίνοντας ά'Ιtό μέσα τους ίιψαι νότανε σε χιτώνα, είτε φύσαγε, είτε ε~ρεχε, δΕν τό εσGυνε τί'Ιtοτα. Τό μαχαίρι 1tou μ1tήγονταν μέσ' στό σωμα τους κ· lψα χνε νό: τό ~ρεϊ, δεν τό εϋρισκε. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 117 THE TWO READERS Land of martyrs and of flowers! ... THE CHORUS Land of martyrs and of flowers! ... THE PEOPLE Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! THE OLD MAN And you did not even need much soil and water to be rich and for the towering splendor of your wealth to be visible from everywhere. And it happened, with the rocks of Psara,29 for instance. And as it happened, with the craggy cliffs of Souli30 from which milk has oozed since the women of the Klephts, dancing, hurled themselves down from the precipice of Zalongo and their milk was left unused. FIRST READER Everything was taken from you: barley for bread, hides for shoes, flax for shirts. Your children suffered; but, despite this, their nakedness was not visible because their rags were illuminated from within. SECOND READER And this light emanated from within them, was woven into a tunic, and nothing could extinguish it, neither wind nor rain. The knife that was plunged into their bodies sought to find the light but could not. 29See note No. 19. 3°Souli is a mountainous area of Epirus. Several villages of Souli were never conquered by the Turks. In 1803, while the men were away fighting, the women of Souli, to avoid capture by Ali Pasha's army, hurled themselves and their infants from the cliff of Zalongo, after dancing what has since been known as "Zalongo's dance." 118 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ τα 1tαιδιά σου γεννιόντουσαν ντυμένα και φαγωμένα. Και 11ολλά τους γεννιόντουσαν κ· έγγράμματ:α μάλιστα. Τα 1tερσότερα δμως, μf)ν Εχον~ας τρό110 να 11ράξοuν άλ- λι&ς, τι κρατοuσαν άδιάκο11:α στό δεξί τους τα cχρματα, τις τραγούδαγαν τις γραφές τους, κρεμώντας τις μελωδίες τους στό: κράκουρα και στα δέντρα. "Αλλωστε, τό ενα μολΜι και τό ενα χαρτι 1tou ό1tάρχαν στό 'Έθνος, τό: εtχε 11άρει ό Μακρυγιάννης. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣ~ κ· ειsαζε 1tάνω τους σκο1tιές ό θεός τοuς νοήμονες άρ χαγγέλους του, νό: τοu άντιγράφουνε τα τραγούδια τους, γιό: νό: 1tαίρνει άναφορά: τ( μ11ορεί νό: tSαστάξει στόν κόσμο ενας cχνθρω1tος, i1 ενα εθνος. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ ·ο άέρας σου εtναι φορτωμένος ρυθμοuς και γραφές άνε κτέλεστες. Και τα &λλα στοιχεί:α 1tOU διαλλάζονται 1τάνω σου, κάτι 1tαίρνουν κι αύτό: ά1tό σένα, 11ρός 1tλοUτος τους. Παραδείγματος χάρη: άκουμ1τώντας ό ηλιος στις άκμές των ~ουνων, δανείζεται ατμα. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Κ' fjρθαν καιροι 1tOU δλα Εδειχναν σάμ11ως να κρινόταν ό κόσμος. Πνεύματα εφεγγαν, νή11ια εψελναν, 11λήθη μαρτύρων 1tf}γαιναν κ· ερχονταν. ·Ως ν· άνοίγαν και ν' cχδειαζαν τό: μέσα της γης. Κι &λλοι κρατούσανε τοu Ρήγα τό εγχορδο, &λλοι τη λύρα τοu Ά11όλλωνα. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 119 THE OLD MAN Your children were born clothed and nourished. And many were born educated as well. Most of them, however, having no way to do otherwise-as they were always holding their weapons in their hands-sang their themes, hanging their melodies on rocks and trees. After all, the only piece of paper and the only pencil that existed in the Nation had been taken by Makriyannis.31 FIRST READER And God placed his wise archangels as sentinels over them to copy their songs so as to find out how much a man or a nation can endure in this world. SECOND READER Your air is loaded with unperformed rhythms and scripts. And the other elements that move over you take something from you and are enriched. For instance, the sun, leaning on the peaks of the mountains, borrows blood. THE OLD MAN And a time came when everything seemed to suggest that the world were on trial. Spirits shone, infants chanted, multitudes of martyrs came and went. As if the bowels of the earth had opened and were emptying out. And some were holding Rhegas' instrument and others Apollo's lyre. 31Yiannis Makriyannis was one of the noblest and most heroic figures of the Greek Revolution. He rose to the rank of general and later became a liberal leader. He forced the Bavarian king of Greece Othon to accept a constitution. He was a self-educated man who learned to write at the age of thirty-two in order to record his Memoirs, a book admired by many. Seferis considered Makriyannis ''the most important prose writer of modern Greek literature." 120 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Κι άλλοι άνεt;αίνοuνε κατακόρυφα, άλλοι τtαρακάμ mοuν τα σόννεφα. Άναστατώθηκε δ "Αδης κ· οί ούρανοl κινητοποιήθηκαν. Καl κατεt;αίνουνε cΧγγελοι mωχικοl να σηκώσουνε φρά γμα· να άλλάξοuν τον ροίJν τοίJ έλληνιΚΟU' πόνου ποu ή t;οή του τοuς έξόπνησε τρομαγμένους. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣ"ΓΗΣ Κατεt;αίνει δ Ί ησοϋς αιτ· τον ει;δομο οόρανο προς τον πρώτο, να δώσει το χέρι του στον Καλόγερο Σαμουήλ, ποu άνεt;αίνει ζητώντας τον. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΊΉΣ Κατεt;αίνει δ Ίησοϋς αιτ· τον ει;δομο ούρανο προς τον πρώτο, να μαζέψει τα t;ρέφη τών Ψαρών Ι<;αl τf]ς Χίου, ποu δίχως να (;λέπουν, οντας άκέφαλα, άνεt;αίνουν ζητώντας τον. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Κατεt;αίνει δ Ίησοϋς άπ' τον ε<;δομο ούρανο προς τον πρώτο, ν· άκουμπήσει στον ώμο τοu δ Διονόσιος Σολωμός, ποu t;αστάει τοuς «Έλεόθερους Πολιορκημένους» μισόγρα ψτοuς κι άνεt;αίνει ζητώντας τον. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣ1ΉΣ Κατεt;αίνει δ • Ι ησοϋς άπ' τον et;δομο οόρανο προς τον πρώτο, να ι;οηθήσει αύτοuς ποu σηκώνοντας στlς πλάτες τους το Άρκάδι, άνεt;αίνουν ζητώντας τον. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 121 And some ascended vertically while others bypassed the clouds. Hades was in turmoil and the heavens were set in motion. And poor angels descended to build a dam to change the course of the Greek suffering, the roar of which had awoken them with fright. FIRST READER Jesus descends from the seventh heaven to the first to shake the hand of Samuel the Monk32 who ascends to seek him. SECOND READER Jesus descends from the seventh heaven to the first to gather the infants of Psara and Chios33 who, unable to see-having been beheaded-ascend to seek him. FIRST READER Jesus descends from the seventh heaven to the first to offer a shoulder to lean on to Dionysios Solomos34 who, holding the unfinished "Free Besieged," ascends to seek him. SECOND READER Jesus descends from the seventh heaven into the first to help those who, carrying Arkadi35 on their shoulders, ascend to seek him. 32Samuel the Monk blew up the powder magazine at Kougi (in Souli-see note No. 30), in 1803. He himself was killed, along with his companions and a number of Albanians. He is the hero of the poem "Samuel" of Aristotelis V alaori tis. 33Like Psara (see note No. 19), Chios and other islands were completely destroyed by the Turks during the Greek Revolution. Their inhabitants were either killed or sold as slaves. 34Dionysios Solomos (1798-1857), considered as the "National Poet" of Greece, wrote the "Hymn to Liberty" that became the National Anthem of Greece. His poem "The Free Besieged," which was never finished, is a tribute to the heroic resistance of Mesolonghi (see note No. 25). 35During the Cretan revolution against the Turks in 1864, the monk Gabriel, just like the monk Samuel at Kougi (see note No. 32), blew up the powder magazine at the besieged monastery of Arkadi. 122 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ Καλ Κασμάδες Αtτωλοt &.νεοαίνοuν καt μιλοuν &π' τό οijμα των όρέων &.νεμίζοντας τα. ράσα; τοuς σόννεψα; μέσα; στα. σόννεψα;· ενω πάνω &π' δλες τtς γύρω κορψές &.κοόγονται κρόταλα: «"'Ιτε καt 'Ίτε καt 'Ίτε! ... » Γιατt οσοι πέσαν εσω ζοuν &.κόμ'Υ), καt κάθε ποu &.κοuν τijν παμπάλαι'Υ) σάλπιγγα να. σ'Υ)μαίνει εγερτ-ήριο, σ'Υ)κώνονται· ξαναογαίνοuν στό ψώς καt οαοίζοuνε σέ παράταξ'ΥJ: «"Ιτε, καt "Ιτε, καt "'Ιτε! ... » ΦΩΝΕΣ ΑΠΟ ΨΗΛΑ «"lτε καt 'Ίτε καt 'Ίτε! ... » Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Άλληλού"ία! Άλληλού"ία! Άλληλού"ία! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Ό Δικαϊος λησμόνησε τό ψωμί, τό κρασι και τόν ~ρωτα. Τόν ~ρηκαν τό: ~όλια και χόρτασε θάνατο. Κι άλλοι λένε πως πιά:στηκε στόν χορό των ·Αγίων κι δτι &νέ~ηκε έκεϊ ποu δέν άκούγονται τουφεκιές . ., Αλλοι πά:λι πως (),χι, &λλό: πως «μΕ τό καριοψιλάκι του σό:ν κόρη &γκαλιασμένο», διπλώθηκε μέ τή γης, ν' &κούει τό θuμά:ρι της. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 1\23 THE CHORUS And many a Kosmas Aetolos36 ascend and speak from mountain pulpits their robes waving like clouds among the clouds, while above all surrounding peaks cymbals are heard: ttGo on, go on, go on .. .'137 Because those who fell here are still alive and whenever they hear the ancient trumpet blow a clarion call, they risej reemerge into the light and march rn. f ormatron:. ttG o on, go on, go on .I ..." VOICES FROM ABOVE ttG o on.• go on, go on .I ..." THE PEOPLE Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! THE OLD MAN Dikaios38 forgot bread, wine and love. Bullets got him and he had his fill of death. And some say that he joined the dance of the Saints and went up to where no gunshots are heard. Others say he did not; but instead, "embracing his rifle like a girl," he curled up on the ground to listen to the sound of its thyme. 36Kosmas Aetolos ( 1714-1779), a clergyman and teacher, was one of the forerunners of the Greek Revolution, before Rhegas Pheraios. Like him, he was executed by the Turks. 37" ... .Q ncx'l&c.c; •EA.A.i]vcuv 'l-rE !" (Go on, you sons of Hellas!), the battle cry of the Greeks at Salamis (see note No. 18), as related by Aeschylus in his Persians. 38Gregorios Dikaios, better known as Papaflessas ( 1788-1825), a clergyman and war leader. He and all his men were killed in 1825 in the battle of Maniaki, fighting heroically against forces far superior in number led by Imbrahirn Pasha. 124 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Γιατl έκεϊ δπου δ ~λιος χαμηλώνει πολι) τlς ώσαν φοι νικόκλαδα άχτίνες του, δ θάνατος διακρίνεται δόσκολα. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Κ' είναι γι' αύτό ποu οί 'Έλληνες, ζητοϋσαν να τοuς ά:φήνουνε παραθύρια στα μνήματά τους. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ ΔΕ.ν πιστεύαν πως θάπαυαν νάχουν μεράδι στό φως, κληρο στό Πάσχα. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ πως δε θ' άκουαν τ' cΧηδόνια ποu άκόμη θ' άκούyονταν. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Πως δΕ.ν θα ξανά~λεπαν πιό: τοuς συντρόφους τους, ποu δταν θό: χόρευαν θ' άνοιγαν οί δίπλες της φουστανέλας τους, καθως ενας άνεμος άσπρος ποu τρέχει χίλια μίλια την ώρα κ.αι περισσότερο. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ 'Όποιος δΕ.ν άκουσε τlς γυναίκες σου να θρηνοϋν, αύ τός δΕ. μπορεί να κηρύξει άπ' τό 'Όρος. Οί μαϋρες μαντηλες τους, δταν πορεύονταν, συννεφιά ζανε τόν δρίζοντα. Και δΕ.ν ητανε 'Ανάσταση, μήτε yιορτη τοϋ •Αϊ-Γιωρ yιοΟ, χωρlς να μοιρολοyοϋν τόν 'Εσταυρωμένο ποu πρlν λίγο χόρευε. Είχαν μέσα τους μιό:ν άλμυρη πολυπλάνταχτη θάλασ σα, νό: προφτάνουνε τlς άνάγκες τους. Γιατί, άπ' τόν 'Άδωνι ως τόν Ί ησοϋ, τό Λιάκο της Πίνδου ως τόν Πέτρο της Λιάκουρας, στρατιές στρατιων μέσα στ' ayιo κατετέθησαν χ&μα σου. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 125 Because there, where the sun greatly lowers its palmlike rays, death is difficult to discern. FIRST READER And this 1s why Greeks asked that windows be left on their graves. SECOND READER They did not believe that they would no longer share m the light or the feast of Easter. FIRST READER That they would no longer hear the nightingales which would continue to sing. SECOND READER That they would never again see their comrades dancing, the folds of their kilts opening like a white wind blowing a thousand miles an hour and more. THE OLD MAN He who has not heard your women lament, cannot preach from the Mount. When they walked, their black kerchiefs would cloud the horizon. And there was no Resurrection, nor St. George's feast with out lamenting for the Crucified One, who had been dancing just a while before. They had a salty, stormy sea inside them to meet their needs. Because from Adonis to Jesus, from Liakos to Pindos to Petros of Liakoura,39 armies of armies have been buried in your holy earth. 39Liakos of Pindos (in Epirus) and Petros of Liakoura (Central Greece), heroes celebrated in folk songs. 126 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Κι άκουγόνταν οί 1τέτρες 1tou ράγιζαν γύρω τους. Και λυγοΟσαν τα δέντρα μι· ά1tο δω μι' άπο κεί συνο δεύοντας τον άχο τοu δαρμοΟ τους μέ τις κινήσεις τους. Και σχημάτιζε δ θρfiνος τους στον δρίζοντα στέρνα. Κι άντι<6ού'(ζε έκείθε· κ· οί 1ταρόχθιες σκηνές των άγγέ λων ταράζονταν. Α I ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Ένω άρδευε δ ηλιος μέ <6ιάση τη γης, στέλνοντας κά του στα νέα λουλούδια γρήγορη 1τρόσκληση. Β I ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Γιατι δ ηλιος σου άκούει· μετράει τοuς νεκροuς κ· έτοι μάζει για δλους το οόράνιο γεγονός. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Και σειόταν δ "Αδης. Και δέv ftκλαιγαv μόνο 1tεσμένες στα γόνατα 1tάνω στα μνήματα· θρηvούσανε και τοι)ς χωρισμούς. Και σειόνταvε τα <6ασιλικα στις αόλές και στα κεφα λόσκαλα. Γιατt Ε1tαιpνε δ άνεμος στη λίχνη τοu τα 1ταιδιά σου και τα σκόρ1tαε μακρυα στης ξενιτειας το άνάθεμα, μόνα και άσκε1tα. Κι Ο:φηvαν 1tίσω τους μια γριά, εvα γέρο, 1tέντε δέντρα στον άνεμο, η εναv •Άργο να φυλάει τα μνήματα. Και τ· άναφυλητα 1tou άκουγόντουσαν μέσ' στα σ1tίτια δταν εφευγ:αν fj-rαv 1tερισσότερα άπ' τα 1τρόσω1tα 1tou Εκλαι γαν. Γιατι fi1τεφτε ·μεγάλη λύπη στα είκοvοστάσια. Α' ΑRΑΓΝΩΣ1ΉΣ "Ολους τοuς άέρες τοϋ κόσμου τοuς dρμύρισαν μέ τα δάκρυα τους. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 127 And rocks were heard cracking around them. And trees were bending to and fro, accompanying the sound of their thrashing with their movements. And the tears from their sobbing formed a cistern in the horizon. And it resounded thence. And the tents of the angels by the banks were shaken. FIRST READER While the sun hastily watered the earth, sending an urgent invitation down to the new flowers. SECOND READER Because your sun listens; it counts the dead and prepares the celestial event for everyone. THE OLD MAN And Hades was shaking. And they not only cried kneeling on the graves; they also lamented the separations. And the basil plants in yards and stair landings trembled. Because the wind, in its winnowing, carried your children faraway and scattered them in the anathema of foreign lands alone and homeless. And they left behind an old woman, an old man, five trees in the wind or an Argus40 to watch the graves. And the sobbing heard in the houses as they were leaving was greater than the people crying. Because great sorrow had fallen on the iconostases.41 FIRST READER They made all the winds of the world taste salty with their tears. 40Argus was Odysseus' old dog who recognized his master returning to Ithaca in disguise after 19 years and promptly expired. There may also be over tones here of another mythological Argus who had eyes all over his body, some of them always open, a symbol of the never-sleeping guardian. 41A shelf or cabinet where holy icons are kept in Orthodox Christian homes. 128 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Σμίγαν τοuς στεναγμοός τους καl σχη:μάτιζαν ε'Πος. κ· ητανε τα τραyοόδια της ξενιτειcχς οί ό:έρινες γέφυρες 'ΠΟU τlς εριχναν ε'Πειτα 'Πάνω ό:'Π' τlς θάλασσες ν• ό:κοuμ'Πή· σουν στο ό:vτί'Περο: Στα λ~ακωτά, στα χαγιάτια, στα ~ουνα και στον 'Πόνο έκείνων 'ΠΟU τα 'Περίμεναν. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣ"ΓΗΣ Άλλα έξόν το δισάκι με το μαϋρο ψωμι 'ΠΟU οί δικοί τους τα 'Πόρευαν ωσ'ΠΟU να 'Περάσουν το 'Πέλαγο, κ• έξον ό:'Π' τον δρκο, μεταφέρνανε μέσα τους και ό:ρχαϊες λυχνίες και κερfiθρες ό:1tό ό:γριομέλισσο. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Και φτιάχναν 1tαντοϋ νησάκια τοϋ εθνους, 'ΠΟU ξεχώρι ζαν είJκολα, ό:'Π' το ~να σημείο τους 'ΠΟU ηταν το ψως. ΟΙ ΔΥΟ ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΕΣ κ· ένώ ή έρημία κι δ έ'Πιτάφιος θρfiνος ~ασιλεόαν στή γη της, ή ·ελλάδα φοροϋσε το νuφικό της ό:λλοϋ. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ κ· έξόν δτι είχες κρόmες 'Παντοϋ, και τα δσα σuζοϋν είς τοϋτο τον τό'Πο, είχαν γίνει λαός σου. Μοιραζόνταν στα ~σα τήν 1tερφάvεια τοϋ 'Έθνους. Τα ~ουνά σου 'ΠΟU 'Πρώτα ηταν ~ουνά, ό:λλά γίνηκαν επειτα ίερα των θεών κ· εuσε~είς ό:ετοι 'Περιίπταντο 'Πάνω τους, δταν τοuς φαίνονταν δτι δ λαός δεν ό:κοόγεται, ~ρόν ταγαν κι άστραφτ·αν ό:'Πό μόνα τους για να μην τα'Πεινώ νεται δ τό'Πος. κ· είναι 'ΠΟλλοl 'ΠΟU ό:κοϋσαν ~ως «τρ(α 'ΠΟUλάκια» CX'ΠLO· Liturgy Under The Acropolis 129 THE OLD MAN They merged their sighs and formed an epic. And the songs of the migrants were bridges of air later thrown over the seas to touch the opposite shore. To reach the sundecks and porches, the mountains and the pain of those awaiting them. SECOND READER But apart from the sack with the wheat bread provided by their relatives to get them through the ocean crossing and besides the oath, within them they also carried ancient lamps and wild-bee honeycombs. 1/HE OLD MAN And they were building little islands of the nation every where which could be easily distinguished by a sign, which was the light. THE TWO READERS And while desolation and funeral lament prevailed on its own land, Greece wore its wedding gown elsewhere. THE OLD MAN And apart from the fact that you had hiding places every where, all that existed in this land had become your people. The pride of the Nation was shared equally by all. Your mountains initially were mountains but then turned into temples of the gods and pious eagles hovered over them; when they felt that the people were not being heard, they created thunder and lightning on their own, so that the land would not be humbled. And many heard "three little birds"42-taking neither drink 42Several Greek folk songs start with the image of three little birds that do not want to eat or drink because they are very sad about the tragic events described in the song, often the death of a hero. 130 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER τα κι ό:φαyα, να ρωτcχνε για τοuς δικοός τους, τό Μηλιώνη-, το Μ'Πότσαρη, ώς να flτανε 1tρωτοξάδερφα. Α' ΑΝΑ!ΓΝΩΣΤ~ Κ' οί όξυές καl τα Ελατα· καl τα μουλάρια 'ΠΟu μετα φέρνανε το ψωμl καl κατέ~αζαν ά'lto 'Πάνω τους τοuς λα ~ωμένους ... ΚΑΙ ΟΙ ΔΥΟ ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΕΣ ... "Ο λα μαζl fιταν τό εθνος. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ Κρ1jν'Υj πολόιχuλος τών θεοφόρων φωνών, τών σοφών, τών ποt'Υjτών, τών λιχrκών μελωδών ... Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ πως 'Πεθαίνει ενα εθνος; πως 'Πεθαίνει εvα εθνος, δταν δλες οί θόελλες καταιγίζονται ά'Πάνω του, δίχως να ~ρί σκουν το σωμα του; πως 'Πεθαίνει δταν δλα εtναι τό εθνος; Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ ... της &.γpά.φοu, τptσέμνοu κιχt &.μώμοu φωνής τοu Δεσπότ'Υ/ Ήσιχtιχ ποu lψελνε κλέφτικα ... Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Άλληλοόϊα! Άλληλοόϊα! 'Αλληλοόϊα! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ οι θεοl καθαρίζοντας τη γη σου, λησμόνησαν να ξερι ζώσουν τό κώνειο. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 131 nor food-ask about their folks: Milionis, Botsaris,48 as if they were first cousins. FIRST READER And the beeches and the firs; and the mules carrying the bread and bringing down the wounded ... BOTH READERS ... All of them together were the nation. THE CHORUS Oh musical fountain of godlike voices, of sages, of poets, of folk melodists ... THE OLD MAN How does a nation die? How does a nation die, when all storms strike it but cannot find its body? How can it die when the nation is all? THE CHORUS ... of the unwritten, most decent and pure voice of Bishop Isaias44 who chanted Klephtic tunes ... THE PEOPLE Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! THE OLD MAN The gods forgot to uproot the hemlock while purifying your earth. 4SChristos Milionis and Markos Botsaris, celebrated fighters against the Turks, were both heroes of folk songs starting with "three little birds" (see previous note). 44Jsaias, bishop of Salona, fought and was killed in the battle of Alamana at the side of Athanasios Diakos (see note No. 28). 132 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Και να σόρουνε ff.ξω στό «ττΟρ τό έξώτερον» τόν ·ι οόδα τό δόλιο, ττοu είχε την κρότττη του 1tλάϊ στις Κερκό'!tορτες. Σε 1tικράναν οί άγκαθωνες σου. κ· ~ρθαν άλλοι καιροι ττοu δ ηλιος σου ff.γινε κόκκινος, τό φ~γγάρι σου μαΟρο. •Ό'!tου '!tάνω σου σάλος 1tολuς έμαχόνταν ν· ά'!tοκόψει ά'!t• τό αίώνιο χωμα τη ρίζα σου. Και δέν ~ρίσκονταν άλογα να ζευχτοuνε στην άμαξα τοΟ Άριστοτέλη Βαλαωρίτη· ττοu γιομάτη με έλιές, δάφνες και φοίνικες, ζητοΟσε μια δίοδο να φτάσει ώς έκεϊ, να δια νείμει στοuς ηρωες τ· άνεττίδοτα στέφανα. Α I ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Κι οϋτε ή χάρη σοΟ δόθηκε να ~ρεθεϊς για ττολu κάτω άττό έναν δρίζοντα χωρις καταιγίδες. Β I ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Οϋτε τόσο δσο χρειάζεται ά'!t. τό σττόρο ώς τη ~λάστηση. Α I ΑΝΑ,ΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Και τα κρίνα ττοu άδιάκοττα φότρωναν μέσα σοu, δέν ττρολά~αιναν ff.τσι να δέσουνε τ· aνθη τους. Β I ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Και δΕ ~γαίναν στό φως οί νέες κολωνες σου. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Ξεραινόνταν nηγές και ττοτάμια στερεόανε, έξόν ά'!t' τη φλέ~α σου· και τό αίμα κανάλιζε ~ξω άττ" τό σωμα σου. Άθλοφόρος των δλων, νικοΟσες στη μάχη, '!tou ~ταν και μάχη τους. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 133 ------ And to drag treacherous Judas, whose hiding place was near the Kerkoportes,45 to the "fire of hell."46 Your thorn bushes embittered you. And other times came, when your sun turned red and your moon black. When great upheavals threatened to sever your roots from their eternal soil. And no horses could be found to be harnessed to the carriage of Aristotelis V alaoritis,47 which, loaded with olive branches, laurels and palms, sought passage to distribute undelivered wreaths to the heroes. FIRST READER And you were not granted the grace to remain for long under a horizon without storms. SECOND READER Not even as long as it takes for seeds to sprout. FIRST READER And thus the lilies that constantly sprouted within you had no time to blossom. SECOND READER And your new pillars could not emerge into the light. THE OLD MAN The springs dried up and the rivers ran dry except for your vein; and the blood kept flowing from your body. Champion of all, you won the battle, which was also their battle. 45Kerkoporta, a small gate at the wall of Constantinople which was left un· guarded and through which the Turks entered the city. 46"To -rrGp -ro ,~E,&t'Epov," New Testament. 47Aristotelis Valaoritis, a poet from the Heptanesian island of Lefkada. He wrote patriotic poems about heroes of the Greek Revolution. 134 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Μα άντι CΧλλης δάφνης, έλά~αινες τοuς τrροστάτες· τrou δΕν νοιάζονταν άλλο, έξόν να σκετrάσοuν τις ζωσες σοu κρfjνες με άγκάθια και άγριόχορτα. Να σφραyίσοuν τό στόμα σοu, να μην ε~γει τό φως, τι δέν ηταν τrρός κέρδος τοuς. "Ακοuροι ~άρ~αροι, κι άλλοι τrou είχαν φορτωμένες τό μάλαμα και τό άσήμι τις μοuλες τοuς, διαστ:αuρώνονταν τrάνω σοu. n ό Πανάγιος Τάφος σοu 'flτανε τrέρασμα. Και δΕ. σταματο6σανε να σΕ. Lδοuν, δτrοu 'flσouν ό •Αϊ Γιώργης τi]ς άνθρωτrότητας· να τrροστrέσοuν στό ψως τrou κατέ~αινε άτcό τrάνω η αύτό τrou άναδίνοντ:αν άτcό μέσα σοu. Τοuς χρειαζότανε τό αίμα σοu, τrou fιτανε νόμισμα, να ξοφλήσοuν δικούς τοuς λογαριασμούς. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ Καθως οί καρδιές τό tδιο κ· οί τrόρτες Cfνοιγαν εΟκολα εlς τοuτο τόν τότrο. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣlΉΣ Και ζητούσανε τη,ν καλΟ'Πιστία των τα'Ιtεινων και τi]ν ίf~ρισκαν. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Τοuς τrαρατrλάναyαν την ψuχη μΕ. τrανοuργίες, τοuς θό- λωναν τό μuαλό ώστrοu ~λέτrαν άλλαντάλλω τα μάτια τοuς. Καl τοuς ρίχναν στόν άλληλοσκοτωμό. n άδελφός με άδελφό μετα δέν γνωρίζονταν. Και δsν fjταν τό θέαμα τrou τοuς άρεσε μόνο. eα ελεγαν ετrειτα τrως καί πρ&yμα η πνεϋμα δεν ύτrάρ χει στη γfjς τrou να είναι άκατάλuτο, δτrως λέγανε οί .Έλ ληνες. 'Οσμίζονταν τό αίμα κ· ή ψuχή τοuς εuφραίνονταν. Μα δΕν εφταναν σε άτrοτέλεσμα. Θες ό flλιος χαμήλωνε, θές τό φεγγάρι, ά'Πό κάποu εφεγ γε πάντως. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 135 ------ But instead of other laurels you were given "protectors," who cared for nothing else except to cover your living fountain§ with thorns and weeds. To seal your lips, to block the light, for it was not to their advantage. Unshorn barbarians and others whose mules were loaded with gold and silver crossed paths over you. For your Most Holy Sepulchre became a passage. And they would not stop to look at you, you who were humanity's St. George;48 to kneel before the light that descended from above or the one emanating from within you. They needed your blood, which was currency to pay off their own debts. FIRST READER Like hearts, the doors too, opened easily in this land. SECOND READER And they sought the trust of the humble and found it. THE OLD MAN They deceived their souls with cunning, confused their minds until they couldn't see straight. And made them kill each other. For, brother would no longer know his own brother. And it was not only the spectacle that they enjoyed. They would later claim that neither object nor spirit exists on earth which is indestructible, as the Greeks had said. They smelled the blood and their souls rejoiced. But this led them nowhere. Whether the sun came down or the moon, anyhow some light remained . 48St. George, usually depicted on horseback slaying a dragon, is considered the protector of those who fight for Christianity. 136 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Κι άδελφός με όδελφο γ,νωρίζονταν πάλι. Κι άπ' τό: μέσα τfjς γfjς, ένωμένο το αtμα το άπο δω κι άπο κεί, φύτρωνε ενα μόνο λουλούδι που άρωμάτιζε τον άyέρα με τη συγγνώμη του. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣlΉΣ Και δεν ~σουνα μόνο t.συ που το τίμημα έπλήρωνες άκρι~ά· άλλά, και το μέλλον τοΟ κόσμου. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Έξόν αιτ· το άμάρτημα: που παράκουες τον ηλιο σου. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ "'Αν χτυποϋσεν ή σάλπιγγα, σαλευόνταν ή γfjς και ση κώνονταν δρθιοι, δεν θό: ~ρίσκανε τόπο νό: σταθοϋνε ο[ μάρ τυρες. Δέ θό: φτάναν τό: δέντρα σου ν· άκουμπήσουν τις πλά τες, δσο που δ ηλιος νό: τους κλείσει τό: τραύματα, νό: μn:ο ρέσοuν νό: περπατήσουν. Κι dv μποροϋσαν ν· άναττλαστοϋν αιτ· τη φθορά τους τό: σύνεργα τοϋ άμολόγητου σκότους, τό: μαστίγια, τό: ~έλη, τό: καρφιά, τό: παλούκια, οι κρεμάλες, ο[ φάλαγγες, οι θη λιές που τους ~σερναν στους Βοσττόρους και στό: ποτάμια, και μετό: συγκεντρώνονταν σ· εναν κάμπο άσύνορο, θό: σχη μάτιζαν δρος μέγα· και άπότομο. κ· ή πανσέληνος θό: άνάτελνε πολυ ~τcειτα αιτ· τό: μεσά νυχτα. !και αιτ· δποιο σημείο κι dv θεόταν τόν δγκο τους, θ. άποροϋσε κανείς: πως άπόμεινε μήτρα, τcως άπόμεινε μάτι, τcως άπόμεινε πόδι, ττως άπόμεινε χέρι, νό: σηκώνει τοϋ .Έθνους σου τη σημαuα άνάμεσα στις άλλες σημαίες των Ένωμένων Έθνων. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ •Απ' τόν πλοuτο πλοuσι6τεp'Υ) τΥjν όμ.ορψt~ δμ.οpψότερ'Υ) Liturgy Under The Acropolis 137 And brother recognized brother once more. And from inside the soil, as the blood from both sides blended, a single flower sprouted, that scented the air with its forgiveness. FIRST READER And it was not only you who paid dearly; but the future of the world as well. SECOND READER Except for the sin of disobeying your sun. THE OLD MAN If the trumpet were to blow, the earth were to shake and the dead were to rise, there would not be enough space for the martyrs to stand. There would not be enough trees for them to lean against, until the sun could heal their wounds so that they could walk. And if the tools of the unspeakable darkness-whips, ar rows, nails, stakes, gallows, stocks, nooses dragging the martyrs to Bosporus and to the rivers-could be rebuilt from their rem nants and then gathered in a boundless plain, they would form a huge, steep mountain. And the full moon would rise long after midnight. And from whatever point their enormity were seen, one would wonder: how could any womb, any leg, any hand be left to raise the nation's flag among the other flags of the United Nations. THE CHORUS Richer than riches, more beautiful than beauty, 138 ΤΗΕ CHΛRIOTEER το ψώς ψωτεtνότερ'Υj, &να.σσα. τώy ΟεL yώy μεγα.λομά.ρτuς τών lσχuρών δδόΥ'Υj τών Δώδεκα. θεών κα.t τοu Ένός, τοu Πα.τρος το\J nou κα.t το\J π νείιμα.τος τοu Άγιοu ... Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Άλληλούϊα! Άλληλούϊα! Άλληλούϊα! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ "Αν δtv είχε τό νf}μα ξε,φύγει άττ' τα χέρια σου τότε οί καιροί, e· άλλάζανε ρεύματα. Καl δέv Θα σταμάταε τό ρολόι τοΟ κόσμου έκεϊ nou στα μάτησε. Καl τότες δέν θaμνεσκε ώς ενας Gουνός άnοκομμένος δ •Αριστοτέλης, μττρός στη γέφυρα nou άττοσύνδεσε τό nα ρελθόv καl τό μέλλον, να κυττάζει τοuς δεϊχτες του στην ώρα μηδέν. Κι οϋτε λέει κανεlς ττώς Θα μάθαιναν τότε να ψελίζουν οί τίγρεις άvθρώττινα γράμματα. "Ή ττώς οί ϋαινες Θα nηγαίναν στην έκκλησία. <Ωστόσο ή Είρήvη, ττοu άκόμη την σέρνουν άττό δ& κι άττό κεϊ άνέστια οί άνεμοι, Θα είχε καλύGηv. Α' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Ό νοήμων έργάτης τοΟ τταvτός ττοu έγιόμισε τη γης με nηγές ύγρ&ν καl ,μετάλλων έττρονόησε κι άλλες, ττρός στήριξη της ψυχης. Β' ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Φύτεψε καl GoλGouς ήλίου στη γη· κ· εtvαι άττό κεϊ ττοu Gγηκαν τα κρίνα σου. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 139 brighter than light, priestess of suffering, holy martyr of the powerful, sorrow of the Twelve Gods and of the One, of the Father of the Son and of the Holy Spirit ... THE PEOPLE Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! THE OLD MAN If the thread had not slipped from your hands, then time would have changed its course. And the world's clock would not have stopped where it did. And Aristotle would not have been left cut off, like a mountain before the bridge that separated the past from the future, looking at the hands of the clock pointing to zero hour. And no one claims that tigers would then learn to mumble human sounds. Or that hyaenas would go to church. Yet Peace, still homeless and dragged here and there by the winds, would have a hut. FIRST READER The wise builder of the universe who filled the earth with fountains of liquids and veins of metals also thought of sources to sustain the soul. SECOND READER He also planted bulbs of sun in the earth; and it is from these that your lilies have sprung. 140 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Α ι ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΗΣ 'Έρχονται ώρες σιωτci)ς 1tou ή σελήνη καί τα άστρα σοu άκοόγονται. Β ι ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣτΗΣ Κι &νατέλλει δ fiλιος σοu κάθε 1tρωl σαν ~να άλληλοό"ία, 1tOU τό άκοϋν τα λοuλοόδια κ' ύφαίνοuv μέ τlς ούράνιες τοu έφτά:χρωμες μελωδίες τα φόλλα τοuς. Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ ΟΟτε ή δάφνη «>έμαράνθη» οΟτε τό «λά:λον uδωρ» ά1tέ σ~ετο. "'Αν αότό είχε γίνει, <Χτrό 1tou θα ύδρεuόταν τοϋτος δ λόγος, 1tou λικνίζεται, ύψώνεται, mερuγίζει ώς ζέφυρος, 1tάνω Ο I ΔΥΟ ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΕΣ Κι δ ~ολ~ός τοϋ ήλίου, 1tαραμένει άμετά:θετος. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ Σώσον, Κύριε, τον λσ.όν σοu κσ.t δtσ.cpόλσ.ξον τfιν δtσ.θ1jκ"ην σοu τη γρσ.μ.μ.έν"η στ!.ς πέτρες μ.σ.ς τη γρσ.μ.μ.έν"η στ~% μ.έτωπσ. τfι γρσ.μ.μ.έν"η στ~% χ έρ tσ., προπσ.ντος στ!.ς κσ.ρδιeς οποu μ.έσσ. τοuς εκλεtσες το οόρ&.νtο σοu τόμ.πσ.νο κσ.ι τούς πέντες σοu σσ.λπtχτές ... Liturgy Under The Acropolis 141 FIRST READER Hours of silence come when your moon and stars can be heard. SECOND READER And your sun rises every morning like a "Hallelujah" which the flowers hear and weave their petals with its seven-colored telestial melodies. THE OLD MAN Neither the laurel "has withered" nor the "talking water" has been silenced.49 If this had happened, Acropolis, what would have watered this word, which waves, rises and flutters like a zephyr over your church, or like flower of music within which flow honey and milk for your future infants ? And Orpheus' lyre, hanging from olive-tree branches and from the edges of the lacy coastline of rippling seas can still be heard. ffiE TWO READERS And the bulb of the sun remains transfixed. THE CHORUS Lord, save thy people and guard thine legacy written on our stones written on our foreheads written on our hands and above all in our hearts within which you have enclosed your celestial drum and your five trumpeteers ...50 49Echoes from the last Delphic oracle by which Emperor Julian the Apostate (331·363 A.D.) was told that it was not possible to revive the pagan religion. 50From St. John's Apokalypse (Revelation). 142 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Στήνω το αότί μου στις κινήσεις τ&ν στrλάχνων σου και d:κοόω το έμ0ρυο τrοό Ρωμαίοι στρατιώτες το λογχίζουν στην κόηοή του. κ· είναι αύτο τrοό eα γιόμιζε την άνθρώτrινη d:δειοσόνη, δτrου έκτρέφεται μέσα της το θηρίο Άρμαγεδών. Ή γfiς περιστρέφεται ·μέσ· στις λα0ίδες των μεγάλων σιαγόνων του, και d:κοόyεται δ φό0ος της. Κι dν γεννοϋσες το 0ρέφος σου Θα fjταν καλό. e· d:ναοήκωνες τότε το μαστο με το χέρι και eα τrρόσ φερνες γόρω τη θηλi] με το φως, να ταγίσεις τα 0ρέφη, τrοό d:ντι δάχτυλια d:yγέλων λί0ες τrυρηνικοι τοός θω1τεόουν τα τrρόσωτrα. Και θα είναι καλό, τι eα λά'0ουν d:τrόκριση· δτι τrάνω τους κάθε ούράνιο σώμα, εχει τον ~λιο του. 'Ότι κάθε τους ~λιος όνομάζεται d:λλι&ς· κι δτι λέγε ται Είρήνη δ ~λιος της Γης. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ ... κα.t τούς πέντε σοu σα.λπιχτές. 'Απο ijπειρο σέ ijπεtpo νιΧ σrιμιiνοuν τijν ώρα. τοσ πρωtνοu τijς &yά.πΎjς των λα.ών. Σωσον, Κύριε! Ο ΓΕΡΟΝΤΑΣ Ούκ έάλω ~ ρίζα! Ούκ έάλω το φ&ς! Ο I ΔΥΟ ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΤΕΣ Ένυτrάρχει στο ψως ~ ψυχή σου, στη ρίζα το σώμα σου. Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ «Τα. πά.ντα. ρε!» προς τ'ήν rδια. κα.τεόθuνσ'Υj πά.ντοτε· Liturgy Under The Acropolis 143 THE OLD MAN I strain to hear the movements of your innards and hear the embryo being pierced by the spears of Roman soldiers while in gestation. And it is the one that would fill the void of humanity, within which the beast of Armageddon51 is nurtured. The earth rotates inside its huge jaws and its fear can be sensed. And if you were to give birth, your infant would be good. You would then lift your breast with your hand and you would offer the nipple of light to feed the infants, whose faces are caressed not by angels' fingers but by nuclear winds. And it will be good, for they will be answered that high above them every celestial body has its own sun. That each one's sun has a different name; and that the sun of the Earth is called Peace. THE CHORUS ... and your five trumpeteers. From continent to continent signal the time for the dawn of love amongst peoples. Save us, Lord. THE OLD MAN The root was not conquered! The light was not conquered! THE TWO READERS Your soul is inherent in the light, your body in the root. THE CHORUS ''All flows" 52 in the same direction always,· 5lAgain from the Apocalypse: Armageddon, the final war that will bring about the annihilation of mankind. 52The poet uses here the ancient Greek "Ta 'ltavra: pEt" (everything is in constant flux), of Herakleitos. 144 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER &π' τόν i]λto aτόν τ~ψο κt &π' τόν τ~ψο πρός τijν ρο8ο8~χτuλ7J Άν~στσ.σ7J ... Ο ΚΟΣΜΟΣ Άλληλοό'ία! •ΑλληλοόΤα! 'ΑλληλοόΤα! (' Ακοόγοντσ.t κσ.μπά.νες ποu χτuποuν χσ.pμόσuνσ., ένώ δ κόσμος ψεόγεt πpός δλες τις κσ.τεuθύνσεtς, κpσ.τώντα.ς ά.να.μμένα. κεpt~) . Ο ΠΟΙΗΊΉΣ Έγώ, δ σε λίγο άπερχόμενος, ό ~αθια εύτυχής, ό τιμη μένος έγω να είμαι &1t' τό χώμα σου, δεν «έ'Πέμφθην εί1tείν ούραvόθεν τό χαίρε». Άνε~αίνω &'Π' τα σ'Πλάχvα σου κ' έ'Π:ιστρέφω στα στcλά χνα σου. Στlς ρυτίδες μου ρέουν φως &'Π' τό φως σου και θλίψη &'Π' τη θλίψη σου. Δεν γνωρίζω dν με δσα εί1tα τό χρέος έξοφλώ της φι λοξενίας σου. ΟΟτε dv με ηλιον ίtχω dντα1tοκριθεί στό ηλιον 'Π:Vεί3μα σου. Γιατl είναι έδώ 'ΠΟU &νάmεα τόν &έρα σου κι δλο τό σώμα μου ίtφεγγε. ., Ακουσια μέσα μου την ψυχή μου 'ΠΟu συνομιλοuσε μαζί του και την άνακάλυψα. Γιατl είναι έδώ δ1tου 'Πίνοντας τό νερό σου τό ίtκαμα αίώνια 'Πόσιμο. κ· έδώ Ο'ΠΟυ ίtστρεψε δ ηλιος μία δέσμη του &είροη στην καρδιά μου· ~αι τα δόο τους κέντρα συνδέθηκαν μό νψα. Κι άπό κεί ακοντίστηκε σε δλο τό σώμα μου άνοίγον τας και νέα φλε~ίδια, έκεί 'ΠΟU ή Γέινεση δεν είχε 'Προ~λέ ψει. Στα ·μαλλια και στα κόκκαλα. κ· ή ψυχή μου δλόκληρη ίtγινε ήλιόστικτη. κ· ~'Πια &'Π' τ' άμ'Πέλι σου 1tou σκαλώνει στόν ούραvό· και κρε~~ατώνει στό φως ά'rtάνω &'Π' τη θάλασσα. Liturgy Under The Acropolis 145 for the sun to the grave and from the grave 3 to the rose-fingered Resurrection. 5 THE PEOPLE Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! (Bells are heard ringing joyously while people holding candles leave in all directions.) THE POET I, who am about to depart, profoundly happy, honored to be born in your soil, was not "sent from heaven to say hail."54 I rose from your innards and return to your innards. In my wrinkles flows light from your light and sadness from your sadness. I do not know whether what I have said has paid off my debt for your hospitality. Nor whether I have given sun in response to the sun of your spirit. Because it is here that I breathed your air and my whole body glowed. I discovered my soul by hearing it within me, con versing with this air. Because it is here that, drinking your water, I made it eter nally drinkable. And it was here that the sun sent bundles of ever-flowing rays into my heart at their two centers were joined for ever. And from here it radiated throughout my whole body creat- ing new veins where Genesis had not foreseen any. In my hair and in my bones. And my whole soul was bathed in sun. And I drank from your vineyard which climbs up to the sky; and spreads itself in the light over the sea. 53A blending of a Homeric adjective, "rose-fingered" ("po6o56:K1.'U'Ao<;''), with a Christian term (Resurrection), 54From a hymn to the Holy Virgin: an angel is "sent from heaven to say hail to the Mother of God," 146 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Κι δταν στό στόμια μοu εφερνα τό σταφύλι, τό μοϋρο f\ τό ροδάκινο, ενιωθα ώς να μέ θήλα~ες. Καί δ λόγος σου δ άφατος, μέ δίδαξε τό άτrαντο. Πληρωθηκαν σοφίας ή άκοη καί σοφtας τό (;λέμμα μου. 'Έτσι 1tou δταν fiλεγα «•Ήλιος» f\ «Φώς» f\ «θεός» να ξέρω τ( λέω. Γιατί έσu την άγία δωρεα της άyά1tης το1tοθέτησες μέ σα μου, καμωμένη ά1t' άληθανθοός. Κ' εtναι μ• αύτοuς 'ΙtOU fiχω 1tλέξει αύτό τό σav gναν μικρό κόκλο Jiλιου στεφάνι σοu, σήμερα. Καl τώρα, tδοό· μέ τό ίδιο αύτό χέρι 1tou εγραφε τοuς ϋμνους στό φως, 1tαίρνω χώμα αιτ· τό χώμα σου. Σέ φιλώ καl σοu είJχομαι, Ζωη έσαε(· Φώς έσαε(· Λόγο ~σαε(• ιέγώ δ τρισχιλιο-μυριοστός σοu μικρός uίός Νικηφόρος 1980 Liturgy Under The Acropolis 147 And when to my mouth I brought a grape, a berry or a peach, I felt as if you were suckling me. And your unspoken word taught me everything. My ears and my eyes were filled with wisdom. So that when I said "Sun" or "Light" or "God" I knew what I was talking about. Because you placed within me the holy gift of love, made of flowers of truth. And it is with these flowers that I have woven this wreath for you, today, like a small circle of sun. And now behold; with this very hand that used to write hymns to the light, I take some earth from your earth. I kiss you and wish you: "Eternal Life, Eternal Light," Eternal Logos" I, your thrice-thousand-millionth little son Nikiforos 1980 From SUN LAMP translated by Aristotle Michopoulos and Margaret Polis LITTLE PRAISES FOR THE SUN 3 If I mention the sun so much, it's not because I was a naked child and it clothed me. I have commandments: from the trees that transform it into flowers; from the bees that, piece by piece, bring it ceaselessly to their beehives. And from my heart that inside it carries a small tributary, a vein from which it constantly drips drops of poetry. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos PAN-CREATION Behold, here I am using your mathematics, my Lord, writing, though I never studied it anywhere, like your composers, the larks. I don't know how many of your numbers make up a syllable, a word, a verse, an entire poem; nor how they line up, to finally form the harmony. I imagine that everything is formed the same way. A star, for instance, within the sky's untrodden blue, a lily to the innermost of life's springs. The same: like that eternal human light, poetry. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos 148 From Sun Lamp 149 THE WATER Throw a stone in me, as if down a well, that I may hear the sound. W auld the water sink much, I wonder? Its beginning is my beginning, its end my end. My time is that water. So many years, my God, and to think I never realized that I was a song. translated by Margaret Polis THE SMALL GALAXY Suddenly, it became softer inside me the continuous small galaxy that flows through me by means of lights or poems, doves or visible voices ... With a lily in your hand, you light the abyss. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos 150 THE CHARIOTEER HOLY VIRGIN HOLDING THE CHILD Your hand is hovering, searching, finding, here and there, my scarred face; a roaming leaf of light, it lowers and sits upon it like a blessing, soothing the scars. And I, too, have inside me an icon with the Holy Virgin of my dream, searching in the rain for a cave, while thunders, like navigable rivers, divide the dark firmament into separate domains. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos OUTSIDE THEIR BUNKERS Iran-Iraq 200,000 dead. With the sun in the day, the moon in the night, their mothers searched for them everywhere. They didn't find them relaxing by the beach; they didn't find them in their gardens. And what if they could find them? Where could they take them? Where could they hide them? They repent for their mistake: They thanked God who helped them give birth to them. They didn't know that in our time, it is dangerous for a human being to get out of its womb. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos From Sun Lamp 151 THE WEAPONS I never, even for a moment, left my lab, where I make weapons, executing the orders I receive from peace. I believe that all the earth's ants have a soul and I make flowers with seven colors. Empower, oh Lord, my hands; bless me, to create more weapons, to strengthen my army. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos THE KEYS I have not yet transmitted the articulate silence of my soul (especially to the children that are born in our days with a dubious luck), the keys to the entrance to the earthly light, the keys to Peace that everywhere they seek, yet cannot see, that love carries them hanging from her belt. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos 152 THE CHARIOTEER NUCLEAR DISASTER If there were a neighboring heaven with angels, it would get desolate, just before the explosion. They would all come down, to stand silent by the pillows of the children and near the dwellings of the rest of our planet's life, for the last requiem, when everything will light up and when, Beethoven's "Ode to Joy," will be the last paper, to twirl ablaze in the air. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos THE DEPTH OF LIFE It was morning and he was walking alone in the meadow. He stopped and kneeled in front of a flower. And touching almost with his ear its petals, he listened to: divine rivers, limpid and musical, passing through it. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos From Sun Lamp 153 FACE TO FACE 1 We see each other face to face, Lord; You are that close to me. Whenever I open the window, whatever the time might be, we see each other. I have my eyes and You, too, have the eyes of all our world around. The flowers look at me. translated by Aristotle Michopoulos MONOLOGUE My heart was burdened with worlds upon worlds and endured. Tears upon tears and endured. Torrents of celestial light and endured. It raised the flag of peace high up, on a sky-high pole, above the passions and endured. With tempests of beauty on one side and of darkness on the other, and endured. And I said: Sun, my Lord, how did your servant seem to you? If he seemed good to you, cut off from your own radiance my golden shroud and dress me alive, for I will not die. translated by Aristotle MichopouloJ From GIFT IN ABEYANCE translated by Marjorie Chambers, George Pilitsis and Margaret Polis EUPHORIA This evening my soul ascended, a full moon rising. And I said: I do not see an end. It seems that evermore these hands of mine will caress the young leaves on the trees will gather the light, will sketch it. They will give themselves. Dawn awakening, I climb higher. I gaze at the horizon. I do not see an end. translated by Marjorie Chambers WHATEVER HAPPENS Whatever happens, I will not deny the world. And if they cut off my hands and I cannot clasp them, I shall be able to lean my forehead on the tree my forehead on the stone, my cheek worn by solitude, on the light. translated by Marjorie Chambers 154 From Gift in Abeyance 155 SHORT ODE Sitting opposite my gracious mountain, I consider and reflect. Our world an exquisite chain of colours, of things. Perfection and light. And I say that it must not be inhabited by hate in arms but be a garden, the marvellous church of the created universe. And only visitors from other planets, bare of beauty, should come in to worship. translated by Marjorie Chambers TREE PLANTING Words are the tree on which my soul branches out and turns into flowers that will bloom forever. Fruits for the hungering who have not yet been born. I feel joy that I planted almond trees, pear trees but also other trees, like these short poems of mine. translated by Marjorie Chambers 156 ΤΗΕ CHARIOTEER Η ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΉ ΓΛ.Ω.ΣΣΑ u Οταν κά1tοτε φόyω ά'lto τοΟτο το φως θό: έλιχθω 1tρος τό: 1taνω ο1tως εvα ρυακάκι 'ltOU μοuρμουρί:ζει. Κι Ο:ν τυχον κά1tου ανάμεσα στοuς γαλάζ~ους διαδρόμους συναντήσω ό:yγέλους, θό: τοuς μιλήσ'ω έλληνικά, έ1tειδη δέν ξέρουνε yλωσσες. ΜιλcΧνε μεταξό τους μέ μουσική. Ο ΑΓΡΟΣ ΤΩΝ ΛΕΞΕΩ.Ν 'Ό1tως ή μέλισσα yόρω άτrο ενα Ο:yριο λουλσόδι, όμοια κ' έyώ. Τριγυρίζω διαρκως yόρω ά:τr' τη λέξη. Εύχαριστω τlς μακριές σειρές των τrροyόνων, τrou δοόλεψαν τη φωνή, την τεμαχίσαν σέ κρίκους, την κάμαν νοήματα, τη σφυρηλάτησαν ο1tως το χρυσάφι οί μεταλλουρyοl κ' ε:yινε 'Όμηροι, Αίσχό~οι, Εύαyyέλια κι Ο:λλα κοσμήματα. Μέ το νflμα των λέξεων, αύτον το χρυσο τοϋ χρυσοί}, 'ltOU ~yαίνει ά:'lt' τό: ~άθη της καρδιδ:ς μου, σuνδ·έσμαι,. συμμετέχω στον κόσμο. Σκeφτεϊτε: Εί1tα καl ε:yραψα, «'Αyατrω». From Gift in Abeyance 157 THE GREEK LANGUAGE When I sometime leave this light I shall meander upwards like a murmuring stream. And if by chance somewhere among the azure corridors I meet with angels, I shall speak to them in Greek, since they do not know languages. They speak among themselves with music. translated by Marjorie Chambers THE FIELD OF WORDS Like the bee round a wild flower, so am I. I prowl continuously around the word. I thank the long lines of ancestors who moulded the voice. Cutting it into links, they made meanings. Like smelters they forged it into gold and it became Homer, Aeschylus, the Gospels and other jewels. With the thread of words, this gold from gold, which comes from the depths of my heart, I am linked, I take part in the world. Consider: I said and wrote, "I love." translated by Marjorie Chambers 158 THE CHARIOTEER THE TEN COMMANDMENTS I minister to the pain of life, but I must not forget that I was also born a priest of beauty and I ought to celebrate our world, to make a scripture of its radiance. First and Tenth Commandment of beauty: love. translated by Marjorie Chambers THE EYES OF INSECTS I often try to fathom the depth of insects' eyes. All together they would form above us a starlit, glowing, lower sky. It is wonderful to know how many suns filled worlds, cleverly wrought, compose our world. translated by Marjorie Chambers From Gift in Abeyance 159 CHOICE I've tried to retain only the brightness of this life. Besides I had within me something like a celestial diamond and I cut slits in the darkness. And each time I discovered that it, too, like the pit of a fruit, had a light hidden in its kernel. translated by Margaret Polis THE CLOUD The pain the earth shouldered became an invisible great cloud that moves about in space and continuously expands. If it had turned to stone here there wouldn't be valleys, soil for vegetation, and water. Dark, compact, it would move among the other stars that would girt its darkness with a distinctive circle, a comforting light. With a universal wreath of mercy. translated by George Pilitsis 160 THE CHARIOTEER H nAPAKMH T.QN XEPI.QN Tt vex ytvav EKELVCX: '!Cx XEPLCX: 'JtOU ~Kavav TI]v 'ltE'!pa: 6f:lopq>L6:, •ouc; •otxou<; ayyEA.ouc;, '!a XPWlJ.CX:Ta: p£ov cp&'><; 1tpOEXT.clVOVTCX:<; TIJ y~ 1tpo<; '!OV oupav6, '!OV oupavo 1tpo<; TO X&'>lJ.CX: Tll<;; THE TULIP He who will come in the night may be Jesus. Or his first cousin. It may be his mother's youngest sister or his father. Or maybe a villager soaked by the rain, overtaken by night. There's always a bed left over. God has paid the rent for me, planting within me a white tulip: Love. translated by Marjorie Chambers From Gift in Abeyance 161 THE DECAY OF HANDS What has become of those hands that made stone into beauty, walls into angels, colours into a stream of light extending earth to heaven, heaven to earth? translated by Marjorie Chambers MEMORY OF LOST BLOOD And those who have been killed for the dream that remained a dream, frequently setting off, for no reason, from the ends of time, visit me. They swarm in the garden, in my surrounding hills. A shadow hides the moon. They thin away, then dissolve, like the waters of a great flood receding. (That we might become all together one person, a Jesus, who in the icon facing me weeps for his blood.) translated by Marjorie Chambers 162 THE CHARIOTEER THE UNKNOWN The water I thought dried up sprang up again like a fountain-a lily from my inner depths. I have 'learnt everything, God, ask me what you like and I'll tell you. Only about my most intimate concern please do not ask me. (You and I, myseH, might be two different worlds, I know; I shall leave without ever coming to know you.) translated by Margaret Polis OUT OF SUPERFLUITY The plan was greater, Lord. But I accomplished only what time and earning my bread allowed me. I did not beg, I had no need. Because even nakedness, when one believes in the light, is a garment. And even from a crumb you can have superfluity. And nothing is not nothing, Lord. You will see. When I come to you I will bring you flowers. translated by Marjorie Chambers CHORUS translated by Marjorie Chambers THE CLOUD It is not the cloud that today, the fifth of May, at six in the evening, gilded the horizon. It is my love that broke through the boundal'ies of my heart and enveloped the whole world in a diaphanous garland. POEMS FOR THE SAME MOUNTAIN (I) Not yet, have I come to say farewell to you my brother, whom I climbed for the first time when I was a light on a stem. Most of my verses are buildings on you. And if my words became the Word, we would stay upright then the two of us like parallel stones. But within the jumbled forest of the world today the Word is hardly heard. Yet I know that from my books tomorrow children 163 164 THE CHARIOTEER will gather £lowers and they will talk of the miracle-life, gazing at the world through my verses. (II) I climbed you up and down, carrying the sky for my needs. My words, flower cups, had to fill with light. My verses flower pots in God's window. (III) When I came into the world and saw the sun, I said: I will have to -leave something behind me departing. And this was enough: to climb up to your peak, and throw a flower to the earth. (IV) I saw the lightning, its snake-like quiver. Wavering in the air it lit your peak from bottom to top. And a thought played in my skuH like a lightning flash: jumping on the first step I could climb one by one, from bottom to top its slanting stair. (V) The heavenly lace of your outlines undulating almost you would think that when the sun sets fi'lls with angels. Chorus 165 They advance climbing from the two ridges up to your mighty peak. They come together upon it like a chorus. Until at last one of them stretches out his hand and Hghts the evening star. (VI) Up here death is unknown I sometimes said and wrote. And it was true. It often happened. The ravines would close. The cold wind and shades of night found no passage. The light outside and inside me would meet and spread boundless around me. (VII) I was ten years o'ld when I carved my name with a penknife on your slate, for the rising sun to spell out its letters. It was then that I stiU had "I," but later I erased it, as did the rain my name from your slate. 166 THE CHARIOTEER My name the voice of a nightingale that comes from the forest without my name. It is enough for me to know that the light of words drips God ,into the souls of children. (VIII) I promised the one who was al'l things. I smiled at the one who was all things. You were not the one, my good mountain. I gave you a face. I saw you as a people and I saw you as a planet. And I had a beautiful dream: that smiling thus upon you I could change all the clouds into the sun's fringe a hurricane into phosphorescence of peace. (IX) I needed you to exist. To find somewhere to rest my grief. At times when everything, people, feel,ings, ideas, were shifting I needed a solid stone to lay my papers on. Do not take away your stone, Lord, and leave my hands in the void. I have more to write. (X) I travelled struggling through many winds that found my breast exposed and froze me. Guttering thunderbolts corroded my brow Chorus 167 and now we stand one facing the other Eke two gray brother rocks. But your peace always my peace. Sitting at your feet covered with wounds, I bless existence. Out of all the great r-iches that I hymn, fate has aaowed that I too have a stone in the universe. (XI) It tried hard this rough weather, but 1n the end did not lay waste my soul which stayed here standing beside you, to dress you, at the time of joyful days, and tidings. This will be your festive robe. (XII) I want to weave, render in words the rhythm of the water, beating on the stones beneath your ferns. That my soul too may be heard rolling along, word by word, tn my verses, that it may flow unceasing, clear, tender (heaven on either side) 1ike music in a room within time. 168 THE CHARIOTEER (XIII) I spoke to you with the words of the shepherds that I guarded in my 'blood. The words were naked and my blood dressed them in a garment to match my discourse with the world-with all creatures and things. Together they form a river of beauty, that right here, between us two and around us, cuts through the abyss in the length and breadth of this earth. (XIV) I know that you were before I was horn. Yet your height came from within me. CREATION I reckon I have stiH a thousand poems to write. I am going to buy paper for six days. And 'I wonder: with how many thousand poems did the Lord make his sun? Chorus 169 THE WORKSHOP I do not know where the poems come from which, like doves one behind the other flutter from within me. I do not know where the messages come from. (There is a place within me, where belts revolve pistons move things happen I don't exactly know) Love and pain work ceaselessly. POETRY Poetry is: God who marches towards all the world with his hands open. 170 THE CHARIOTEER EPIGRAM OF LIFE Every day I see him, as H for the first time, rising from sea or mountain. Always new created, he grows ushering into our life his spreading river. Rarely it happens that I do not catch him, but even then I hear him rolling golden in my sleep. CHORUS Church lit to its depths above me, this evening, the universe anew. And I born at its extreme point was able, alone, uncovered and barefoot to present myself. And I became its cantor. I lean my shoulder against the trunk on one side of a tree, (on the other a cricket at the top a nightinga:le) and the 'light streams unceasing from my lips. Chorus 171 NEITHER Neither loneliness nor the night hold fear for me. I am well, I live without want. I have found the breasts with the milk of the universe. PASCAL EXALTATION The sky blows golden light into things. I know it from my own heart where colours chase one another, a thousand Castalian1 fountains chant and an Evrotas.2 The Lord tamed and bound his tempests over the abyss. And so it was Easter. And I do not know if the world has given its peace to me, or if I have given it my peace. Even these mountains surrounding me that were always love, gentle and soft cannot in this diaphanous boundless day hide their movements. They march in the sky. lAn ancient name for a fountain near Delphi, today called Aiyannis. 2A river in Laconia, near Sparta. From ENCOUNTER WITH THE SEA translated by David Connolly, Ilona Karka and Margaret Polis PROLOGUE The good ship "Archangel"1 surfaced again with the help of God, but without stem or stern with its rigging torn and almost all its large crew lost. And it managed at last to come this far, to the sea's edge (the edge of the world), continuing or perhaps ending its voyage. translated by David Connolly FEELINGS OF LOVE ... Feelings of love emanated from my breast for every single thing I saw and for all my soul perceived behind the things I saw. I caressed your water my soul spoke so very tenderly to you and I was filled with sorrow. The sky held you in its arms yet I could not. translated by David Connolly 1The Voyage of the "Archangel," Athens, 1938. 172 From Encounter with the Sea 173 YOUR RIPPLING SOUNDS .. . Your rippling sounds, language of the Lord, which I understood like all the other tongues I tried to speak in, composing the perfect language, that it might flow from me like a transparent river (Sun? Love? Water? Music?) forming a wide delta to stream in aU directions of the universe. translated by Margaret Polis MY EAR ... My ear, especially at night, is a sea-shell of the centuries in which I heard you roaring. And this music which I felt coming from the depths of the universe, traveling for years and years of light, now that I set my memories in order and I know about sounds, I think it was the loveliest music I've heard. translated by Ilona Karka 174 THE CHARIOTEER I STOOD ... I stood here, looking at you for hours and I felt your spirit flow into the inner depths of my being. And my soul was glorified and my chest widened and my bosom turned into the heaven of the queen that in the tongue of my country is called love. translated by Ilona Karka LOVE This great queen, sea, begins from somewhere very high. She unites numbers links planets together. All harmony is this queen. (In the heavens, I saw the stars converging bringing harmony in the infinite spaces to the body of the universe.) translated by David Connolly From Encoun-ter with the Sea 175 AS IF YOU'D CEASED ... As if you'd ceased at times to be water, becoming light or air or nothing I would no longer hear you. Your calm was such that I thought you'd left me and gone. All that could be heard was the incessant murmur within me which received no response. And I was seized with the terror that I had remained alone. translated by David Connolly I REACHED OUT, SEA ... I reached out, sea, in all directions, seeking help and love from all things. All of them gave to me. And besides your whispering waves and the babbling sky, my soul partook of everything, amassing a wealth of objects. And became a likeness, a miniature of the universe. Its voice became my voice, its light, my light. My soul, the world that becomes word. My soul, the word that becomes world. translated by Margaret Polis 176 THE CHARIOTEER MY GAZE ... My gaze served as your mirror, sea. In it appeared your watery body. You never knew your form, your roar, your sometimes radiant sometimes turbulent transformations. Just as your fine neighbour Taigetos. And even the sun. Shedding light on us at this very moment is the blind giant of the universe. Mine is the fortune, the honour and the glory. For aU of you existed without knowing that you exist, sea. The affirmation was there in my gaze. translated by David Connolly From Encounter with the Sea 177 THE CONSTANT DREAM ... The constant dream of my life appeared to me, sea, beside you: the abyss within man was flooded with light, the colours of the different races merged, becoming one colour, and all followed the same path. And the path led to a point from which something was about to dawn. Then I saw the one man walking on water and standing upright. And next I saw the stars suddenly 'leaving their positions and all of them together forming circles around the man, who walked (face to face with the infinite), toweringly tall, upon you. (And I whispered under my breath to the first stranger I afterwards chanced to meet in the world: "Friend, I know you, I saw you walking on the sea.") translated by David Connolly 178 THE CHARIOTEER I'D GONE ... I'd gone into a world that reminded me of your darkest hours-when separated into waves, you went, turned back, you surged almost erect into the horizon, forming an opaque screen behind which the sun made a great effort to rise-as did I, who was no sun, no star, merely a luminous insect caught up in the web of the world. translated by David Connolly OTHER WAVES . .. Other waves within me tossed and sank the ark with the word. I found myself in a ceaseless struggle for my barley bread and together, for the tears of my brother Jesus, so many of which your rivers must have borne to you. Yet where are you to find them! For restless as you are, sea, these droplets (a second sea) have mingled with your own. translated by David Connolly From Encounter with the Sea 179 I HAD THE SENSATION ... I had the sensation, sea, of having fallen from some high place, where successive garlands of Hght encircled me, very low to where great darkness covered the horizon, where tempests and violent winds swept the innocent like straw. And poetry, my sole raft, God's own steed, bore aloft the mortal Nikiforos from one wave to the next until I was made worthy to watch my rising friend once again from your shore. translated by David Connolly TOSSED BY THE WAVES .. . Tossed by the waves of the world I had gone into, I was carried at times close to your own, close to innocence, where the whole world above and around us enveloped me in its friendship. Sitting one night on the commanding rock that surveys your marvel (desolation, darkness, though not desertion), I saw the lightning extending its band to me. translated by David Connolly 180 THE CHARIOTEER I PONDERED MUCH ... I pondered much beside you, sea, until I was content simply to regard the light around me. One droplet of yours is a clew of wisdom; life is a clew of wisdom; the universe is a clew of wisdom not to be unwound. translated by David Connolly POETRY ... Whatever I was able to rescue (in the world I went into) I rescued, sea. My soul was a flock of countless birds lashed by the storm. Those that survived found their tree. They fluttered and lived inside my words. translated by David Connolly From Encounter with the Sea 181 NEXT TO MY OTHER ... Next to my other books, invisible, there nonetheless, is a volume of silence. Contained in it are all the things I hid from view and all that failed to make the ·long journey within me and emerge into the light. Too weighty to lift, its pages vast, no one will ever read it. God will take it just as it is and place it on his celestial bookshelves. translated by David Connolly IN SECOND PERSON: AN INTERVIEW WITH NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS BY ANTONI'S foSTIERIS AND THANASIS TH. NIARCHOS translated by Aristotle Michopoulos Q. "The postwar poetry follows new, more difficult roads, hermetically sealed for the uninitiated reader. Your poetic work, despite the differentiations it underwent with the passing of time, is always characterized by a lucidity and simplicity, which allows and invites a closer approach. Is this simplcity of form and expression due to a conscious choice that aims at a more effective communication or is it the natural color of your voice?" A. "I am very pleased you ask me such a truly important question. Coming from a spiritually arid province-what Greek province was not spiritually arid in those years ?-I started to write verses without clearly understanding what I really wanted to do. The poetry was inside me and I was obeying it, without really knowing what poetry exactly was. In interviews I gave to some magazines of that time-unfortunately I never kept an archive to be able to remember and refer you to them-I was con tending that poetry did not constitute the main goal of my life. I have a manuscript of my student days, which has accidental·ly survived, in which I deal with the 'light' and the 'fission of matter,' expressing there some views that later on science proved wrong. A child's urges and desires about the global good, to which finally we contributed nothing. Thus the careless writing of my first collections, up to a point, was due to my, as yet, not clearly formed view of esthetics. It was mainly due, to what I pointed earlier: I considered poetry a simple, a necessary function of venting my emotions. Today if I am a poet, as you seem to believe, I am only a poet and nothing else, something that I learned quite late." "Maybe it was an illusion that I would be able to help the world, at which I look, from my childhood to this day, with utter amazement. Things inside a poet start happening on their 182 In Second Person: An Interview with Nikiforos Vrettakos 183 own. Since I was una:ble to help the world with my head, I decided, someone within me decided, to help it with my hear·t. Then I discovered that poetry was the only way. And that poetry is a kind of a divine 'logos,' and I was very wrong to place it among my secondary interests. I must confess that that was the first sin of my life. With your permission, I would like to refer to three of my verses related to this problem: 'Because what will be left of me, will not be my work/the houses that I built, the dams that I raised/against the cataclysms of my time. It will only be my heart.' " "And the 'logos' was towards man. I got self-assured that poetry is the logos that is addressed to the fellow human being and the omens tell me today that I was not wrong and I will not be proven wrong in the future. I return to what you said earlier about my poetry, i.e. 'lucidity and simplicity.' Here I should add that, as painting, in its agonizing quests for renewal, quite often ends up being simply decorative, the same also hap pens to poetry. Only that the 'decoration' occupies the vision and the philologists, who find the opportunity to make some un founded as far as the essence is concerned, esthetic analyses. The way I express myself is not due to a backwardness, but is totally conscious. In the 'Open Cards' ("'AvoLX'r siasm the appearance of the new poetess. I don't know how those critics felt or if it bothered them at all, that the following day this poetess appeared and stated that she wrote aH these poems in one night only, just to 'uncover' and ridicule surrealism." "I have to tell you that many times I was concerned about some verses that were prone to surrealism and I was troubled by their mixed-up writing. I insisted on a fixed point of refer ence. What you call 'simplicity,' I would call 'lucidity.' The loaded but also lucid verse is the most difficult form of writ ing. I don't think I should recall here the complaint of Seferis, his bitter verse: 'to speak simply.' Or that other verse: 'the art is sinking with its face eaten away beneath the gilt.' I have a feeling that the words 'is sinking' would later on acquire a special historical meaning. I do not believe that there is someone who believes that a million poets like Tristan Tzara would be able to write a verse of Sappho, that is, a clear and com plete verse. Lately, we have become accustomed to see in the lucidity of the expression the simplicity of the everyday words, without paying attention to the orchestration of these words, within the deeper rhythm that operates inside the poet. We do not see the silent distances that separate the words and which are bridged by other unexpressed words, thus completing the po etic magic of the speech, which to a student remains almost inexplicable. But if we wished to turn our discussion to the depth of poetry and its diachronic functionality, we would be able to complete an entire oral dissertation. I think what we said is sufficient.'' Q. "Your poetry also served a social ideal, parallel to its poetic ideal. After so many years of active poetic presence, can we say that it had some effectiveness in that area?" A. "There is a basic eternal ideal. From time immemorial there are the strong and the weak, individuals or groups that clash. There are victors and victims. I-excuse me for my T-gave a broader dimension to the human being. I believe that it is the most wonderful creation in the universe. What caused me the most pain in this world, is its crippled moral dimension. Thus, as I wrote in one of my poems, I carry this basic social ideal within me 'from my crib.' I had to travel along the same route In Second Person: An Interview with Nikiforos Vrettakos 185 with the scientific practice, any scientific practice that would promise restoration of harmonious social relations within a world of peace. I think that we are all born with a debt to our fellow human beings. If you think that I made a mistake, I will an swer you that I fulfilled my duty, even if I ignored at times the imponderables that interfere and sometimes bring you too close, while at other times ta:ke you far away from your childhood, that is, from your very human, from your very real dream. In 1949, in my lyrical essay 'Two men speak about world peace' ("86o avfrpUYIToL t-uA.oOv yLa -r~v ctp~VTJ -roO K6cr[..tou'), which was not accepted by any political party, with the only exception of its author, I pointed out: I don't care who is going to save mankind. What I only care about is that mankind be saved. That meant that we should not allow our political ideas to become prejudices. When that book, which at that time brought me a lot of loneliness, will be published again, you will not need to ask me explanations of this subject. Maybe my poems of that time might have played some role in that direction. However, even at that time I had the ambition that my speech would have a different effect. To humanize the op pressed and crippled human conscience. The world is endan gered by the stubborn separation of the two camps into which mankind has been divided. A prerequisite for Peace can only be the Love for the human being that is becoming lost. My duty continues to lead me to point out a possible exit from today's impasse. And if you tell me again that I am making a mistake, I will answer you that I am doing my duty." Q. "During this great span of time that you have been in the literary world, you met, worked and travelled together with many important creative men. Which of these people have, through their talents and ethos, a special place within you?" A. "If I would mention one or two or even more persons, I could be accused of playing the judge and thus be asked by what right I'm doing this. All of us have experienced great damages. The current tragedy of the world is not just an accident." Q. "What are, in your opinion, the political, spirtual and so cial events of our modern history that decisively affected, directly or 186 THE CHARIOTEER indirectly, the creation of important works of poetry, and what are the ones whose absence seems to you unjustified?" A. "Of course, you are referring to our country. I think that our poetry and our art in general would have been different, if after the Revolution of '21 things had evolved normally, if in other words we had become a nation with self-sufficiency and independence and would thus have avoided our repeated national disasters, for which we are primarily responsible. I bring as an example the generation of the '30s. The poetry of all the splendid representatives of this last fifty year period is connected with the rises and falls of this period. The great event that is absent there is the one that I mentioned previously. The one hundred fifty lost years of our recent history. Some contemporary texts show that only now we are returning to the true Greece, from which we had been expatriated either as mercenaries or as merchants." February, 1982. THE POET OF TAIGETOS SPEAKS WITH GEORGE PILICHOS translated by Maria C. Pantelia G. PILICHOS: You have already had a continuous fifty-year presence in the Greek letters or Greek poetry. At the same time, many events, social, political, cultural have marked, positively or negatively, these last fifty years. Which people and events have influenced you as a man and as a poet in the last fifty years and have formed Nikiforos V rettakos as we know him today? N. VRETTAKOS: I do not know how I reached this stage to be considered a poet and an intellectual. I never believed that I would overcome the storms I have encountered in my life, the ones I summarized in the Voyage of the Archangel, a boat which I used as a symbol of myself. This ambitious boat set out one morning decorated with flags to fulfill a mission in this world. It felt that its capabilities surpassed natural possibi:lities. But it fell in the midst of bad weather. Now it can neither reach its destination, nor does it wish to return "dishonored." It cuts its anchor and sinks in this big stormy ocean. The poem, written when I was twenty-five years old, in 1937, suspects-prophesies, so to speak-"that this wretched weather will bring something bad to the world." And wars followed. My confidence in my resistance was shaken, I lost hope. The ending of the Voyage of the Archangel looks like a kind of final will to my heirs. NormaUy silence should have foHowed but it seems that there is inex haustible hidden strength in some people. 11his lack of balance in the world, these unwritten laws that brought a:bout a con flict between the strong and the weak, the sane and the insane, the rich and the poor, was a shock to me. I had different ex pectations from the world. We all know the events that charac terized its disorderly appearance. I do not think any particular 187 188 THE CHARIOTEER people influenced me during that period. However, what did play a role in my inner development was my opposition to that world. From the time I opened my eyes I was in constant con flict with it. My persistence to believe in this life also played a role. G. PILICHOS: What phases, what stages have you gone through as a poet in this fifty-year journey? What difficulties and disappointments did you have? For example, do you con sider yourself overlooked because you were not included in the Nobel Laureates? N. VRETTAKOS: An important stage in this development which I mentioned earlier was my childhood years, which I spent in loneliness. Nature gave me my first lessons. I had the feeling that the mountain chain of T aigetos, the trees, the flowers and the stars at night, had taught me the beauty and harmonious co-existence, which I did not find in the world later. This was my first, great blow. The stages that followed were: my effort to adjust, my need to participate in those struggles that promised to make the world better, the realization th~t there are evil forces that change the course of history and humiliate this wretched human race, the belief that life on this planet deserved a better fate. These phases are easily distinguishable in my poems. After all, my poetry is my autobiography. I said at the beginning that I do not know how I managed to be considered today a poet. My life has been the sum of very bitter details. I have travelled a road of life which could be called deadly. My greatest satis faction is that I managed to leave this road behind me; that I was able to see and talk about the incredibly beautiful natural sight of the world we live in. As for the rest, since I lacked the non-intellectual titles which supplement the intellectual ones, I tried to overcome my disappointments by fighting inside me per sonal vanity which has caused so much damage to humanity. I am content that nature has not wronged me, to the point that I consider this to be enough for myself. I love and honor those who honor Greece by winning prizes. I say this in answer to your The Poet of Taigetos Speaks with George Pilichos 189 question whether I consider myself overlooked because I have not been included in the Greek Nobel Laureates. The Poets and Their Role G. PILICHOS: Writers such as Palamas, Varnalis, Sicelianos, Kazantzakis, leading figures of the Greek letters fifty years ago, are almost ignored today by the Greek reading public. Do you think that this happened because these poets, as some suggest, wrote in a style and language which does not move people today, especially the young generation, or because the climate today is rather anti-poetic? N. VRETI'AKos: I do not consider the public anti-poetic, especially a public which buys thousands of poetry books, some thing which did not happen until a few years ago. I think that the poets you just mentioned lived in a particularly transitional period and the discourse they used was somewhat transcendental. They did not have the moderation and down to earth quality of later poets such as Elytis, Seferis and Ritsos. The people to day are in need of light and human expression, in the broad sense. The poets I just mentioned were able to give this. G. PILICHOS: You personally, how do you define recent Greek poetry? Which works, which poets, do you think, have played, one way or another, a decisive role in the development of the "landscape" of Greek poetry that we see today? N. VRETI'AKOS: I think that the poets you and I have men tioned-we may also add to them Solomos, Kalvos and Cavafy have formed with their work our poetic history, this multiform "landscape" you are talking about, which is the starting point from which the poetry of the younger generation is being de veloped. However, isn't it true that less important poets such as Kariotakis, Malakasis, Gryparis, Papantoniou, Porphyras and others, have also played a role? Is there anyone today who is not moved by some of their poems? 190 THE CHARIOTEER G. PILICHOS: In which cases, do you think, that critics and audience did not understand on time the ''poet" Vrettakos? What were the reasons that obstructed-whenever that happened-the approach to your work? N. VRETTAKOS: This happened because of both internal and external reasons. A typical example is the Voyage of the Archangel. When it first came out, in 1938, only one good, well documented review was written by a journalist named Tetenes, in a paper whose title I do not recalL He wrote what would be said much later. The others, even the perceptive Cleon Paraschos, treated it with an air of condensation. It took fifteen years be fore three critics appeared, Renos A:postolides, Aris Diktaios and Petros Spandonidis, who reviewed it very highly. Some histories of literature also called it a "poetic achievement." The same thing happened with the Depth of the World which was published in 1961. They are still discovering it. You see, dominant modernist waves have put pressure on critics not to appreciate this kind of direct, pure speech which is the funda mental element of Greek expression. Then, there were also external reasons, as I said. When I returned from my voluntary exile, my name had been thrown to obscurity. This was the decision of the various establishments. I remember the words of a colleague of mine-not a poet-who is still alive: "Starting today you cease to be a poet." End of the appointment. Sometimes we become so foolish as to think that we can replace nature. I endured all this with calmness and indifference. Not so much because I was secure about my alliance with time, but because I had started my fight against conceit and a debate would belittle me since I knew that I had natural law on my side. The fact that today you consider me a poet worthy of tak ing part in this discussion, means that, in the war against my rivals, without ever passing in the offensive and without setting up a defense, I was a worthy fighter. The Keys and Time G. PILICHOS: What are the most important messages of The Poet of Taigetos Speaks with George Pilichos 191 your work? In other words, what is the central axis around which your work revolves? Could you yourself give an answer to this question and at the same time predict what parts of your work will ultimately survive its struggle against time? N. VRETTAKOS: My work moves around the two poles of this world: nature and man . .In one of my poems I write that the universe consists of two hemispheres: man and t'he world. Actually, in a recent poem, I placed man in the center of the universe. This is how I like it. This way I can respect him more. As for predictions, what can I say? Perhaps my anti-nuclear poems will be remembered, like the "Letter to Robert Oppen heimer," "My Mother at the Church," "Autobiography." The first one was written 28 years ago. These poems have become very appropriate today. If humanity survives, a note will be made some day: "This man protested." It does not matter if it says: "this man" and not "this poet." Time has the keys. We are not in a position to know anything. G. PILICHOS: Despite all this, there are poets who do not protest against anything; intellectuals who remain completely in different and disengaged from the problems of our times, con trary to what Leopardi says in one of his poems: "Forgetfulness covers him who brought pain upon his time ..." N. VRETTAKOS: This works against them. Problems provide the stimulation for the soul, forcing the mind to operate. What explanation can we give? They must have mediocre inner sensitivity, and this mediocrity must, by the same token, be trace able in their work. Expression is life and it survives only when it is perfectly expressed. G. PILICHOS: And a last question from me-the quesbions that will follow were formulated in cooperation with young people, students, workers, people of the generation of the Poly technic School events and younger. Here is the question: Some time ago, approximately ten years, intellectuals of Xenakis' and Axelos' caHbre, expressed their pessimism about modern Greece suggesting that "Athena's owl" has flown away. How do you see today' s Greece? 192 THE CHARIOTEER N. VRETTAKOS: I wonder how these people could make such a mistake. The audience attended the performance of my Liturgy by Katrakis at Gythion and Sparta (also the Herodes Atticus Theater in Athens) with tears in their eyes. In fact there were some people sobbing. Apparently we have forgotten the people and we leave them at the point bad politics have reduced The Influence of Poetry Here are some questions that today's young Greeks would like to address to the poet of this interview, Nikiforos V rettakos in particular, and to any modern Greek poet, in generaL Question: What should be the process or method of trans ferring emotion from the teacher to the student? How should poems be taught? N. VRETTAKos: Poetry influences through suggestion. It moves the heart. The poem, in other words, works by itself when it is true. Teachers should teach true poems so that they have no need for analyses. Certainly from that point on, they can speak about the meaning of words, the abstractions neces sary for the composition of a poem, for its harmonious structur ing as a whole. Question: Whenever poems of yours were included in high school readers, were you consulted, did you participate in their selection, have you ever suggested a certain method of teaching them? Would you eventually be interested in teaching your own writings? N. VRETTAKOS: I have not been consulted concerning my poems which have been included in high school readers. Al though I believe that the selection is the responsibility of each particular government, I think we should be consulted. What concerns me is that the poems included in high school textbooks The Poet of Taigetos Speaks with George Pilichos 193 be representative of my spirit and have some aesthetic perfec tion. For, no matter what we do, our writings are not always of the same level. As for the question of teaching, I think that a poet is not in a position to teach his own poetry. What he can do ds to provide some explanations about its meaning. Others can better interpret intoxicated "Pythia's" words. For the crea tion of poetry is not totally unrelated to Pythia. Sociology and Poetry Question: What is your position on the relationship of soci ology to poetry? Is poetry determined by sociological rules? N. VRETTAKOS: Both the conscious and subconscious of the poet are directly related to life and its problems. Poetry is determined by reality-inside or outside of us. Everything de pends on the way we express, directly or indirectly, the events. Provided, of course, that the poem does not become a victim of expediency. Question: Let's come to the function of aesthetics. What do we mean when we say aesthetic criteria? How should aesrhel'ics define a work of art or a poem? N. VRETTAKOS: We should not study a poem trying to £ind whether it is suitable for our work; look at it on the basis of political, religious, or I don't know what other kind of criteria. A poem may say anything, as long as it is a poem. A true poem convinces us the way a dirge does, no matter how opl'imistic we might be. Question: When you write, are your emotions released or crystallized? What does writing mean to you, whom ll!re you addressing? N. VRETTAKOS: Here I will remind you of Rilke's words: " ... You think that if you do not write you will die? Then write. If not, don't write ..." Which means tha.t writing is a 194 THE CHARIOTEER personal need. A need of existence itself. Therefore, writing for me means life. And, of course, by writing, I confess. I speak to others. Before I even start writing, I feel the need to speak to them. Question: Regardless of what young people think of you, what is your opinion about young people in Greece today? N. VRETTAKOS: Our youth is coming of age in a period of confusion. Nevertheless, young people are far more interesting ·than those of my generation. I have met children, whole school classes, I talked to them and I was amazed with their knowl edge, their judgment, their position on today's problems. Let us older ones have something to admire. Question: More than one year has passed from the day ·that a change took place in the polWcs of our country. To what degree, does this change extend to the political and cultural problems? Where does this change in our cultural affairs stumble, if it does? Do you have any suggestions? N. VRETTAKOS: The new government will encounter many obstacles in the area of cultural development, but it should per sist. The most important obstacle is the lack of foundation. The lack of cadres who could help it. Everything has to start from the beginning. And 1t will! I base my hope on the young people I mentioned earlier. They multiply and mature acquiring the nec essary new conscience which will raise "Athena's owl" high up. NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS, LITURGY UNDER THE ACROPOLIS BY ELLI ALEXIOU translated by Maria C. Pantelia Nikiforos V rettakos' recent poetic work, entitled Liturgy Under the Acropolis (1981) moves the reader deeply. It is a sharp, exhilarating drink in its conception, poetic art and aesthetic delight. It is a hymn to the ever-fighting and always triumphant Greek cell which survives victoriously in the midst of tempests, ruins, rises and faills, lights and shadows. Deep into its nucleus there seems to be an invisible eterna'l force, which is rekindled each time its light is about to fade lighting up the universe with new power. The critic wonders which aspect of this work deserves the greatest praise: the conception of the main idea, the collection of material most appropriate for its exposition, or the aesthetic, poetic result. . The work is a symbolic presentation of the journey of our nation through the centuries and miHenia. V rettakos recalls it in his own mind. The events come to life in a phrase, in a name. No need for comments and explanations. The Greek family is a continuous line. The children know their fathers, their grand fathers, their siblings. You say one word to them and it is enough to remind them of weddings and fairs or funerals and laments: "Conquered," "Unconquered," "Speaking water," "Go, chil dren," "What must be done," "As Glory walks ailone," "Fire and axe." The events succeed one another, without ever becoming explicit; they are always implicit and suggestive. The poetic feeling, however, remains at the same level from the beginning to the end, without losing its force. In this work of V rettakos, the reader does not touch land at any point; he is constantly flying on the wings of poetry. 195 196 THE CHARIOTEER The dialogue of the 01ld man: the old man represents the Greek nation, which, in its continuing struggle against implacable forces has its ups and downs, sometimes loses strength but never dies down. There is an edge of an abyss which it never crosses and it never tumbles into nothingness. The Greek nation has always been "distinguished for its wounds." And all the struggles, legendary victories, falls, r~li gious movements, invasions and revolutions take place under the Acropolis. In two pages (the conclusion is something dif ferent) , the whole history of the nation marches in front of our eyes. From Miltiades to Makriyiannis and from Aeschylus to Valaoritis. This is the very essence of history. In this sequence of events the re3'der is seized by a feeling of increasing excite ment and perseverance at the same time. The poet's spirit is transmitted like a divine perception of events to the reader through the persuasion of great art. The "Liturgy" combines high inspiration, philosophical thought and wisdom. This combination sprouted, blossomed and bore fruit on a granite soul. V rettakos' strong philosophical position and his incomparable poetic processing produced this great work. We are grateful, V rettakos, for the pleasure you have given us with your poetry, and also for the pride we felt as we whis pered: "We are fellow country-men of the poet." (Rizospastis, June 28, 1981) A POET FROM KROKEES BY ALEXANDROS ARGYRIOU translated by Maria C. Pantelia The prolonged celebrations of Nikiforos V rettakos' fifty years of poetic production should not be ·interpreted as an emergence from oblivion, a state into which he has never slipped although he made no effort in this respect. V rettakos is a poet who has played an important role in the forming of the char acter of the famous generation of the 30s and the importance of his presence has not been questioned by his fellow travelers. Despite the fact that we may be a:ble to overlook the effect of a certain work during its time or the immediately following period -due to external intervening factors-are we objectively justified in acknowledging the positive impact of one poetic work among poetic production in its entirety? The determining factor is, I think, whether we can discern signs of originality, namely those elements which constitute personal style of poetic composition. I would add for further clarification, that such elements must be found both in the form and in the content of a work. Let us explore this idea as much as space allows. I consider V rettakos' poems published roughly until 1945- twelve collections, in total-as the production of the poet's youth (with no intention of lessening their importance). I would add the later published Fairyland (1947) and I would exclude the poems from his collection Margarita's Book (1949) which were published before 1945. My suggestion for such a division is supported by the fact that the poet himself made the greatest omissions, corrections and reductions, to the poems of this particular period in subsequent editions. We have, in other words, the direct testimony of the "host," as Palamas used to say, pointing not to any imperfections of these poems but to their critical revision in periods of more mature or different out -look of poetry. During this early period of Vrettakos' poetry, we do not find 197 198 THE CHARIOTEER unity of tone and style, but, as we would naturally expect, an intense search for them. My personal view is that his poetry goes through many phases while it follows two tendencies. I point out these tendencies immediately, because they can be verified through their external characteristics. It should be expected that the young student from Krokees of Laconia would start off with the education he had and the poetic environment of his time. Af·ter aU, his humble (humble, not low) descent had not offered him the luxury of not beginning his career as "un educated," the way Seferis used the word. Therefore, his first and subsequent efforts belong to a traditional type of poetry. However, already since 1935 (this critica·l year in the history of our poetry) , V rettakos presents poems reflecting modernistic views. The free verse we see in some poems of the Grimaces of Man and The Letter of the Swan have elements which I would consider transitional although they do not cease to reflect an honest and painstaking search for a different presentation of poetic discourse under the pressure of an unsubmissive mind. If we did not have the Journey of the Archangel in 1938 (the longest poem-! count 517 hendecasyllables in its last edition ever written by V rettakos, a poet of mostly short poems) we would be able to consider the year 1935 as the decisive point of his departure from traditional poetry and mentality. Before we conclude that it is an exception to the rule, let us keep the question open for a whHe. When we speak of phases of "a work in progress" we usually refer to its content or its spirit. On the basis of this as sessment, V rettakos has been viewed as starting out from the same point of view as Kariotakis. If we limit ourselves to signs of expression, I submit that I have been :rble to find very few Jines possibly suggesting the poetic ways of the poet who com mi·tted suicide in 1928. This is insufficient evidence which we may as well ·disregard. Besides, I find no reason to attribute all signs of pessimism to Kariotakis. Especially in the case of V:rettakos, where the pessimism of his first poems (some of the 1ater ones, as well) is accompanied by an outlook which I would call dignified deniaL In order to avoid ambiguous terminology I would rather refer to a poem he wrote at the age of 21: A Poet from Krokees 199 I wanted, before silencing for ever to encompass you with the eternal light of two verses. And whenever the ages to come distort and annihilate what you see in front of you, my two verses will keep watch in front of the sun and guard your grave with raised spears. I think that here (like elsewhere) we see dearly the dif· ference from Kariotakis' pessimism. In any case, the study of a work of poetry in terms of the optimism-pessimism polarity, can give us useful information, only in extreme cases, leaving aside the issue of esthetic eX'pression which is uLtimately most important. Kleon Paraschos, an experienced and careful critic referred once to influences from Butrel, especially because of the "dae· monic" element which appears in some of V rettakos' poems written before and unt11 1935. It wrll be difficul·t to make this argument acceptable to the modern reader, who has the benefit of a two volume critical selection of V rettakos' Poems from ·this period (30 poems out of a total of almost 100 poems, many of which have been greatly reduced). Likewise, we would not be able to find traces of this in fluence in the selection of poems done by the poet as early as 1940, namely very close to the period we are discussing. Even if we were to take a look at the Grimaces of Man of 1935 we would be convinced that Butrel did have an influence on young V rettakos, but this influence was temporary and partial. I believe it was not affinity by choice but rather a quick crossing of "two proud minds." Even so, the phenomenon is of minor importance, since every poet (and writer, in general) begins from somewhere and in the course of his journey crosses other poets' paths. Sterile imitations and extensive influences (whenever pres ent) must be pointed out because they indicate a secondary source of inspiration, limited resistance to other voices and there fore, a smal·l inner sphere of expression. On the contrary, what I find in V rettakos' early period of writing is almost an absence of influence from other writers. If I were to record the phases his early poetry went through, I would say that they are as many as h1s collections and even more. We only need to con- 200 THE CHARIOTEER centrate on the rejections and corrections of previous work he made in each subsequent edition to see it. This period in par >ticular is characterized by his constant transition to other spheres, his continuous tendency for revision and his persistent search for the meaning of life. He is a poet of both "the city" and "loneli ness," at the same time and without any particular order, like Palamas had been at another time (and in a different way, ac cording to his time) . But we wiU continue. Vima, February 19, 1982 THE HORIZON OF KROKEES BY ALEXANDROS ARGYRIOU translated by Maria C. Pantelia It is evident that fifty years of poetic existence with a cor responding equal, in terms of quality and quantity, production make the use of philological sources (glossaries, charts, and the like) necessary in order to approach the poetic corpus ~n ques tion. This is the only way we can verify those theories which are now based solely on a limited sampling, and possibly sub stantiate some critical observations which are usually referred to as intuieive. To what degree this intuition is the product of accumulated impressions-in which case we have real results-depends on the critic's level of familiarity with the text he works on. In terms of objeceive measurement, it depends on the number of hours the critic has invested in his research as well as the space of time into which it is spread over. If we attempt a qualitative measurement, we would fall into the vagueness of observations that depend upon the sensitivity of the critic, which is not that vague because it can be tested diachronically. We are going too far. Like last rime, I will focus on the poetry of Nikiforos V rettakos. What I said earlier was a necessary preface in order to define his individual poetic char acter within the framework of the generation of the 30s, although I cannot make use of the objectivity of arithmetic. The fact that he is at the same time and in no particular order, a poet of both the "city" and "loneliness," as I wrote in the preceding article, is a common characteristic of aU poets of his time. Despite the fact that this characteristic does not distinguish him, it places him in the most progressive wing of his generation, its forefront. A phenom enon which leads to the conclusion that he expresses through his work certain inherent signals of his time. Even in those areas the city and loneliness-his disposition has its own character. Let's take a look at it. I notice the distinct use of the first person 201 202 THE CHARIOTEER singular in a large number of his poems. If we add those in stances where we justifiably suspect an alias of the first person, we have a characteristic projection of the poetic ego. At a sec ond ievel of reading, I am convinced that we are dealing with a: non-reflected ego. I do not intend to go into easy psychological interpretations. I will limit myself to what I ·derive from repeated readings of the text. I am a synthesis of foreign grandeur. What you see in me is all foreign. A part from the sea, from the sun, and from you, A part from the woods and the night. And when I die, the light, the sea, the woods, The moon each will take its part And in my place there wiH be nothing but silence. And this soul which I carried in my chest When I fel'l from the heights of heaven Will have dispersed like love, over the earth. ("Dawn at Sounion") If I choose one poem (written in 1936) from the first phase of V rettakos' poetry-which represents something less than a fifth of his production until 1976, the part; let us note, that was preserved by his own choice-this is due to the fact that the dominant features of poetic perception can already be discerned, even at this early stage. Let:S list them, even though this may diminish their importance. In any case, I begin from the particular poem without limiting myself to what we gain from its reading. a) The presence of the poetic ego dearly determines the perspective from which the world and . its manifestations are being viewed. This determination comes down to self~Hmitation; a pride which contains its own humiliation. b) An almost paganistic view of nature, a nature which is part of the universe. However, the transition to this large scale does not reduce man since his existence must be compared to the whole, in terms of the truth it revea·ls. c) The element of vision together with Christian symbols The Horizon of Krokees 203 often named (Christ, Virgin Mary, etc.) seem to define the background in which abstract moral principles acquire concrete value. I wonder whether the combination of (b) and (c) 'and their not so strange reconciliation does not compel us to recall Kant's famous words: "Over me the starry sky and inside me the moral law." d) Love, I will dare say, has almost metaphorical mean ing; in any case, it it does not have a body. The absence of materia'lity in V rettakos' poetry could make us think that it con sists of ideas and abstract images, if we did not have a con tinuous hail of words with clearly concrete meaning. e) I trace no fear of death in his late work Even the word death, when it does not refer to those killed, is almost absent, or at least is not connected to a state of defeat. f) On the contrary, painful situations which become dra matic, do not originate in metaphysical sources-perhaps, be cause the phenomenon "life" in its totality, is not treated with mistrust-'but are the result of specific circumstances of the rea'l world. This is apparently why the emotional pendulum, like the circumstances-laid out by the human factor, with a Cainian logic-make it move from the city to loneliness in alternating moves. As a result, the view of the city reHects the broken pieces of modern history, while loneliness, like an escape from the dead end, produces poetry by the way of autobiography. A good and direct way of understanding V rettakos' "poetics" is to read his brief poem entitled "Inner Monologue": Make your words as brief as you can, use the whole word, of course, since otherwise · continuous expression is not achieved. ·But in any case •be brief. For the sun does not wait. And the few hours left for you do not have room for many poems. It is obvious that litotes and lucidity of expression are the main characteristics of Vrettakos' poetry. But his writing, un adorned by his own choice and belief, goes sometimes unnoticed and familiarity with it presupposes a reader who has the patience 204 THE CHARIOTEER to enter its rhythm. I refer both to its interna:l and external rhythm, with the latter being definitely comprehensible. For the particularity of Vrettakos' free verse, especia:lly of the poems of his volume The Depth of the World, is that he does not follow a free tone, but is subjected to an almost traditional rhythm. Indicative, in this aspect, are the frequent overleaping of his verses and, in genera>!, their endings that are not imposed by a syntactic completeness, but they seem to come from a need for rhythmic sequence with regular tones, pointing to the classical verse from which they are derived. The phenomenon helps me define the area into which Vrettakos' poetry moves as neo-romantic-in the sense the term romantic is used in histories of literature-with the addition neo- in order to indicate thos·e elements which survive dia chronically as positions in life. Despite the fact that surrealism is considered part of the broader spectrum of romanticism and V rettakos comes and stays out of the choices of the surrealistic movement, his romantic reaction to issues of social >life and his also romantic relationship with nature, constitute the strong in dividual character of his voice, in a time and in a world where the denial of its cruelty seems to undermine our seriousness. Vima, March 19, 1982 THE POETRY OF NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS BY STELIOS GERANIS translated by Maria C. Pantelia Every time I read the poems of Nikiforos V rettakos, I am convinced that man's inner balance can be restored, even in the midst of this insane and unbalanced world we live in, if only one dares to attempt some sort of inner exercise. In other words, to "dose" into himself and be relieved from his daily burden, to "descend"-as the poet suggests-"down to the point where man's nucleus is stirred." The modern man and the sensitive poet can greatly benefrit from his submersion, which does not take the character of an escape, giving unnatural and distorted dimensions to the subject. For, in this speedy sequence of pic tures and images of our time, especially given the harshness with which they overrun us, "many things escape our attention, many things we did not count correctly, as we should." Nikiforos V rettakos is an experienced diver in the oceans where "man's nucleus is stirred." In his frequent dives he has found out that there are sorrows that no one knows. There are depths that the sun does not trace. Mountains of silence surround the lips, and all witnesses remain silent. The eyes do not tell. There are no ladders, big enough to descend where man's nucleus is stirred. If silence could speak if it blew, if it bursted-it would uproot all the trees of the world. This "dosing" of the soul does not isolate the poet from the outside world. It is a position in life and an essentia'l part of his personal philosophy. After all, Vrettakos' resistance and occasional protest of actions which offend human dignity, is weH known. Therefore, in difficult times, this "lowering" of the soul 205 206 THE CHARIOTEER and. discussion with ourselves "behind closed doors" are actions necessary for our inner reorganization and coping not only with "the harshness of words" but also the harshness of our times, through another exercise, through a different J:<.ind of sensitivity. This other exercise, this other sensitivity, allows the poet to see even on the surface, "the bottom of the sea reversed." In Vrettakos' poetry, we see not only the light of knowl edge but also the miracle of sensibility. There is also "enchant ment of the eyes and ears" and dso of "the mind and intel lect" with love as the p1'imary moving force. In t'he first edi tion of his collection, The Depth of the World in 1981, V rettakos assessed this human value, love, in a daring and un usual fashion, by adding it to the ninety elements of the natural world. In the poem entitled "The Word," he says: Of all the things that are in the world word is made. Without colors, air, soil, water, without sun, it is not. Word is not formed without the ninety elements; and one more: love. And love. And love, again-for all the things that are in the world and word is made, love. However, if the "miracle of the world is a fire which reaches the depths," there are depths-as the poet tells us-that the sun does not trace. In these dark depths, man's soul feels cold. And Vrettakos, "secluded" in the "largest red cave of the universe," which is his heart, will feel his human duty and "wiH spin the sun's wool, his blood" to keep us warm. Here it is worth rep:tembering the famous words of the poet: 1 carry on my shoulders pillars of light to sustain the world. There. are many such "bright stalactites" in Vrettakos' poetry, in countless variations, which reveal his genuine passion to re lieve our souls from anguish and pain. And he is, perhaps, the only modern poet who .had the courage to question the very existence of human loneliness, by telling us. in one of his poems that "he can be left with the friendship of a tree," a statement which shows his rare inner wholeness. And if we wanted to The Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 207 verify his genuine passion for sharing the pain of his fellow men, we would only have to read the last lines of his exceptional poem "The Coal-Miner": ( ... ) I want to become a different kind of water. A different kind of language. Like golden rays to drill my words through your pores, without you knowing it, going forward and throwing light, deeper, even deeper in your hearts, like a coal-miner, descending in the earth's black caves with his oil lamp. The fact that a poet can speak about love, joy and light, about the miracle of the world and at the same time work his way into things, into the innermost folds of human ··soul, re vealing its tragic qualif:!ies, indicates not orrly penetrating ability but also spiritu I want to exhaust the word which I have always felt turning like celestial wind of light, turning the bones in me 208 THE CHAlUOTEER to flutes; to dig all the way to the bottom of my being; to exhaust my forehead already full of deep to the bone lines; to become at the end, writing upon writing, a tablet engraved like T aigetos. And despite the fact that he sees "our planet captive of bombs and rockets" and "his voice isolated by the lasso of fear" nevertheless he does not cease to "absorb the light." His primary care remains the "transmutation" of darkness into light. He expresses this idea eloquently in a poem: My luggage and my belongings, almost all of it, when I came to the world, a handful of darkness. I had nothing more. What was given to me. If I had become a musician, I would only have to make my notes. If I had become a painter, my paintings. If I had become a sage, my useful numbers. But the incredible happened. With each milligram of darkness I make an armful of daisies. In the end, things and words disappear in Vrettakos' poetry. His statement that "they become a continuous light" contains no displeasure or exaggeration. The .poet offers us the light with which we can "bridge the earth with its rainbow," and "each one of us can become a thinking sun," as he epigram matically says in his poem "Speech in a Peace Conference." In order to complete to a certa:in extent the presentation of V rettakos, it would be appropriate to add some brief reactions to his recent poetic compositions, which are different in form and substance and have not been included in the two-volume collection of his fifty-year work, which was published in the fall of 1980. The Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 209 These compos1tlons are: Prometheus or A Day's Game, which is written in the form of a theat1'1ical play, and the oratorio Liturgy Under the Acropolis which was performed at the theatre of Herodes Atticus in the summer of 1983. In Prometheus, the poet reconstructs the mythological con:filiot of Zeus with the rebel Titan who stole fire from Olym pus and gave it to men as a gift. This conflict symbolizes the sacrifices of all forerunning and gifted men throughout time who fight unselfishly against those who oppress the world. But, "darkness, the whip and the shadow of fear" prevail. And the poet comes to a bitter reflection: "Is it really impossible for the human race to sail over the abyss?" Prometheus' advice to men revive some remote hopes: Man's soul is a program which one day will become action in the world. Do not look from the outside at what is happening or what may happen in the world and lose hope. The victory is inside you. This is what I wanted to tell you; that the world is full of doors, your hands are the divine keys. And as you gaze these masses and these entangled rivers of the cities, one day you will perfectly count their sand; and some day you will fill even this deep sky up there with motion, moving the stars. The oratorio Liuturgy Under the Acropolis begins with the fall of Constantinople and branches out with a "nationa1l lyricism" to ·the "entire course of the Greek race throughout the centuries and millenia." There, on the Acropolis, the poet tells us, "Mother Liberty keeps its Hearth." And this Hearth was "music of the marble, the first in this world." In this text the first word belongs to the light. Even "the sun touching the tops of the mountains borrows blood." 210 THE CHARIOTEER The work is an achievement of inspiration with lyric exalta tions that incite national pride. In an interview, Nilciforos Vrettakos said: "The soul of a Greek is a brave root. But we do not know what we have in us." We are grateful to him for having revealed it to us so brilliantly. In the times we live, we have need for the joyous word of the Poet, with its deeply human substance. I think that, de servedly, listeners, readers and the State recognize him and honor him for the rewarding stimulation he has caused to our minds and hearts. A SEARCH FOR HUMANITY IN VRETTAKOS' POEMS BY STELIOS GERANIS translated by Maria C. Pantelia 'The experience of the world and the glow left inside me by man's presence do not allow me to think of nothingness.'' NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS The poet's personal position on life, which transcends the individual and rises to an il·lumined view of the world, has its roots in a flowing feeling which is constantly refined to assume finally the expression of an intellectual experience. Love is the central element of this feeling; the kind of love which is viewed by the poet not as a passive inner disposition, but as energy for life and creativity, which can increase by one unit the remaining ninety elements of the natural world. Equipped with such an element of active passion and spiritual radiance, the poet sets out in his search for knowledge and mastery of things. In his journey he does not follow the rough naturalistic principle: "We'll have lived fuHy if we have felt deeply," but a different principle which helps him achieve feeling through an internal pa,.th of essence and action together, one which leads to infinite discoveries. We wiH have deeply felt and understood the world and ourselves, if we have loved deeply; if our inner world has been prepared to experience inside "a sense of boundlessness." A feeling which does not lead to chaos but to a reconstruction of chaos; to a single conception and a single exeprience, the apollonian conception and the dionysiac experience of things, which will bring us closer to the essence of human existence, to a deeper understanding of ourselves and the natural movement of the soul in the eternal becoming. Therefore, ·the poet attempts, by means of endlessly flow ing poetry, to explore man and comprehend the deeper meaning of human existence in its undivided unity with the universe. For man himself is another infinite space, another world. He is an 211 212 THE CHARIOTEER immense map on which the human face has been drawn, "a face with countless wrinkles, parallels, centers, lines," a sphere "with seven curvilinear celes•tial systems, which he (the poet) turns and studies in order to read and write with small flashes of lightning (the poems) the song of the world." Bending over this immense map, day and night, Nikiforos Vrettakos makes this "in depth" journey of his in order to arrive at ideal simplifications and symbolic reformations which in their bright process prove to us that "the sun and the suns of the sun and man" are "an undivided entity." This movement of the soul, which aM:empts to conceive the BY KYRIAKOS HARALAMBIDES translated by Rick M. Newton The well-water was sparkling in the glass FRANCISZAM I The First Meeting I am looking at the book of poems by Francis Zam in Petros A. Demos' fine translation, puhlished in Agrinion in 1957. I open the book to the first page and read: "Gift from N. Vrettakos. Athens, 10 December 1960." My emphasis here on the exact date preserves the imprint of the moment by marking the generosity of a distinctive individual. That was the year I first met him. I was a student in Athens. (I will be pardoned, I hope, for revealing personal events of mine which coincide with his own presence. I ask that my words be viewed not as boast but, rather, as an echo of the soul of the man who has evoked them.) Truly, there are times when I believe that our lives had no other goal but this: the meeting of our souls. We have been created by all the things we have known, by all we have found in our path, and we have been shaped especially 'by the things which invalidate death within us. I think that Nikiforos V rettakos has been given to the Greeks as a blessing in order to remind us of the human beings we once were and which, "eventually and laboriously," we hope to rediscover: the human being who does not exist without an other human being standing beside him, without that freshness and tenderness before the miracle of life at hand. 213 214 THE CHARIOTEER I give you my heart twenty-four years old, my ironic sprrrt, my conceit, my rose-like poems. (Francis Zam, Roses and Wasps) This, then, was our first encounter: in the name of Saint Poetry, whose hand I was awkwardly clutching. My roommate Zeno took my poems to Vrettakos (I was too shy then to undertake such a thing). In a few days Vrettakos sent me a message to meet him at the printing office of Andreas Matarangas ( 37 Asclepius Street) , which was publishing his massive collection of poems, The Depth of the World. With what joy I recal'l our first meeting! He was as sweet as a twinkling star, his entire person smiled, the look in his eyes precise and gentle, his presence confident, radiating delight, He told me that I could proceed to publish with no mis givings. I had no money for such a thing. He then asked Matarangas how much it would cost to publish the poems, adding, "As if you were publishing a book of mine." "If that's the case, Nikiforos," replied the pub!lisher, "he will pay me only for the paper." With the money collected from donations of enthusiastic friends and fellow students I set out on the path to publication. I had V rettakos nearby showing me how to make corrections and suggesting a title for the book-"First Spring." He in troduced me to his friends who would come by the office, in sisted that I call him by his first name and-most disarming of all-said how happy he was that our books would be released at the same time. And how can I forget the first review of my book ("Art Review," May 1961) which he wrote and signed? Vrettakos is just such a soul: generous and self-sacrificing. At the time, we young people thought that this was something we were entitled to-that's how lightly we weigh the world against that "ours" which we want to take. What a long struggle it takes for us eventually to understand that the va'lue of life lies only in giving and sacrifice! I was fortunate enough in those days, nevertheless, to feel Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 215 gratitude, and I dedicated one poem to him from my first collection whose title perfectly suited him, "Light and Love." I remember one professor in the School of Philosophy who, the moment I gave him the book, opened it and noticed the dedication. "Nikiforos V rettakos ?" he said. "But isn't he a communist?" I replied that V rettakos was the poet of love and that, besides, the poem was about St. Francis. That smoothed things over. The issue does arise elsewhere, however. The professor could not imagine-nor could I at the time-the mystical relation ship which existed between what V rettakos signified and that which each individual is capable of becoming. I truly could not surmise that "philosophy of the flowers" of his love, that philosophy elaborated by the clarity of his soul, as the final realization of life at the moment when, only intuitively and in a random and disorderly fashion, we grasped a bit of it in our poems. Nevertheless, as I look at the poem dedicated to Nikiforos V rettakos, I am thrilled now to recognize that at some moment I felt "the fragrance of the light in the thicket," but, most significantly, that I perceived how "small" our realm was which could not contain our votive offering, and love overflowed. The daisies spread their umbrellas in the sun. It sHll gives me pause that, without V rettakos' life example and presence, without the sweetness of his verses, we would have lost the certainty of a fixed standard which enables us to ebmrace the world with all the innocence of childhood and all the excessiveness of youth. I don't know how necessary this is deemed in today' s ir rational and unfeeling age nor how much it sounds like a dissonant note within the chaos: what is certain is that this miracle has been missing from mankind. The perfect miracle you will find only within man: white extensions radiating truly 216 THE CHARIOTEER into the universe and reaching perfection. The clearest thing in creation then [ .. ] is love. ("The Clearest Thing in Creation" Time and the River) It is easy for us to say, "the poet of love." But what is love and how is it achieved? This "mystically achieved body" of love presupposes the soul's ability to remain simple. Simplicity, whether we are speaking of art or a mode of life, is the result of internal truth wrought on the anvil of exercise and practice. It is obtained only through toil. This is made clear in Vrettakos' verse, "to sculpt a bas-relief in the sky's blue." This sky sym bolizes the boundlessness of his heart: What do you think, then? Deep down, poetry is a human heart laden with all the world. ("The World and Poetry" The Depth of the World) II The Second Meeting Seventeen years 'later I met this Heart once again at the "Evening of Poetry" at the Lefkosia Festival in Cyprus. Nikiforos Vrettakos had been invited that year, along with Manolis Anagnostakis and Yevgeny Y evtushenko. As luck would have it, I introduced the first two. There in the Public Park, next to the Green Line which cut Lefkosia in two, Vrettakos recited his odes. to humanity and reminded us that the word of poetry is the candle which we light in the darkness of the irrational. Next to the spectacular Yevtushenko and the dazzling display of his theatrical recitation, V rettakos reminded me for a second time of "God's little pauper" with the wisdom of the soul, which tends toward the direction of simplicity. "Un fortunately, there are moments when one becomes simple and naive when telling the truth." (Speech to the Academy of Athens, 9 February 1988). Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 217 And yet this "naivete" is no different from the incarnation of the poetic word as it makes its way toward its "voluntary passion." To cite one example: when he speaks of the light, he seems to be describing his own natural innocence which unites him to the utmost sensitivity: Behind its fluid simplicity I try to detect a depth ( ... ) I mean, if I could have connected poetry to a more profound light. ("Groping" Afternoon Heliotrope) This light flows into the sea of sanctity "to the point where the core of mankind is stirred" or, to take two other lines from Vrettakos, "as it heads straight for perfect time, I perfect music, perfect poetry." His aim is the perfection of aU things, "the depth of the world, that I blossom of sounds" within the perfection of the soul. But there is no perfection without love. Love takes every thing in and produces models for a "document of light" and sublime simplicity. Inscrutable is the will of this illiterate wpman as inscrutable as nature and even God who know all things on account of love. Well then, I saw her climbing strenuously to reach a star at the top of an acorn oak. (In order to place it on the wooden table where I write against the night). ("Remembering Evgenia" Afternoon Heliotrope) This engraving terminology of V rettakos' -indeed, the im ages of his poems correspond at times to certain etchings by the wonderful Telemachus Kanthos-gives additional meaning 218 THE CHARIOTEER to his own self-description: "I am a villager who has come down from the countryside of the universe!" The simple, il literate woman of the people, like nature and God, is engraved on the bright circle of Love, whose sponsor is the poet. Within this open-air community, therefore, aLl things are identical-: man, nature, God-and they holster the poet "with the talent of love." Thanks to this talent, "behold, the world has grown anew." In V retta:kos' eyes, even death "is a star crowning our hair!" The verses which are engendered could be a haiku on the edges of his poems: "My soul, my joy, why are you sitting, bee?" Or, to cite another example of tenderness, "And the rabbit erect heard the infinite!" If, as a rule, Vrettakos takes upon himself the responsibility for this beauty, it is because he speaks and feels for all of us, because he recites the world in the name of mankind, of whom he is the representative! "Over my cradle" -and over ours "the azure uttered verbs." Let us not consider this an easy feat. "Few have recog nized that his tenderness was a piercing drill, that this sweet word was the slaughtered lamb of God. Within his tenderest poems ( ... ) he may be more harrowing and harsher than when he looks at the world directly and dispassionately" (Tatiana Milliex). To this I would add that heart-rending anguish is love's other face, the burdensome poetry of pain which materializes over it. Harshness is the stark reality which he struggles to render invalid. The elimination of evil, of sterility, of depriva tion and denial is accomplished precisely through the applica tion of simplicity, "that heavenly aggrandizement" or, to cite another passage of his, "the painful sun I which exudes my blood." We can now understand why, on that evening at the Lefkosia Festival, V rettakos chose to recite "The Fourteen Children" from his collection, Time and the River. Whatever he would have chosen, of course, would have been in keeping with the theme. But that number of "fourteen" children who were asking for warm clothing in frozen Kalentzi just as, elsewhere, six cha·racters were searching for an author, Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 219 was soul-rending. And it provided a fitting frame for the suf fering children of exile-and the wound was still fresh. "Their eyes resembled I drops of water on windowpanes ( ... ) sorrow strolls in their eyes I like a sparrow on a fence. " The poet, like a mighty tailor, takes care of these scat tered naked sparrows in the poem: "You measured them with your eye as if you meant to cut them each a piece of happiness according to their size ( ... ) You opened your compassion and covered them I the way heaven covers the earth." V rettakos' poetry is such that many of his verses could easily be replaced by others: their setting and arrangement would differ, but they would nevertheless operate in the same spirit. As you read certain lines, therefore, the others hidden within them take shape within you. The story reminds us of inter changeable parts, and the poet himself says as much: "Within us there are also other hands." The issue lies in finding these hands, in marking them, and in activating our soul. For V rettakos, of course, this is a simple matter: "I have found where the mystery of the translucent I day lies hidden ( ... ) I I have discovered all I its hiding places." If we take this mystery as our foundation and transport ourselves to his stance, we understand that the fourteen chil dren are identified with every sort of anguished cry for help which judges "our empty hands." And then we recognize that ·~the bullets search their little bodies in order to strike oil." The poem is written "in the memory of them. Of aH those I lost little poets." I do not know exactly how much sensitivity V rettakos in stils within us nor how much he makes our soul tremble. But ,this much is certain: his poetry operates essentially like a sob of love. The poet may cry from joy and sorrow: "From the tip of my pen I flowed tears." Even the icon of Christ sitting on his judgment throne "is torn by puzzlement": Don't leave him on display for the children to see, give him a book so that he can pretend to read give him a book so that he can hide his eyes. And when Vrettakos writes elsewhere that "I ran out of 220 THE CHARIOTEER numbers while measuring the depth of a single drop," you wonder if perhaps this infinite drop is a substitute for the tear unless the tear is the substitute. This was the lesson I learned from Vrettakos that evening of our second meeting. I saw before me man in his entirety, man who wanted "to stand out in the world I as an apparition of love." III The Third Meeting But a third blessing was destined to be bestowed on me: "the scent of the .thyme entering on tip toe I lest it awaken my sorrow." The very man "whom my soul longed for" -although for years I concealed from him my signs of my 'love-came into my house one day over the television! It was 1987, and Nasos Athanasiou had prepared a film for broadcasting in Greece entitled, "Two Voices from Cyprus." It featured Michael Pasiardis and me. Also to be fea,tured was Nikiforos Vrettakos, who had humbly ascended Mt. Taigetos in order "to repair our roof." From his pos1tion "atop Mt. Taigetos, which exists every where," he oversaw the fate of Cyprus and led his fellow poets to their duty and profound responsibility. He sent us his peace: And "peace" is something more profound than that what we mean in our days, when there is no war. Beneath the pine •trees "dazed in I the panic of the light," beside a country chapel, V rettakos laid down his words of love and his grief for Cyprus: "Cyprus is a sample of the events whioh test the fate of small countries and the responsibility of large ones." Then he began reciting among the cicadas: Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 221 I've wandered sixty years in the Cyprus of the World. Cyprus everywhere. ( ... ) Cyprus defends herself in the Cyprus of the World. After serving as master of ceremonies for the film, he concluded by citing his belief in the responsible role of poetry: "11hroughout the up's and down's of our nation, Poetry has been with us, just as the poetry of my two Cypriot friends has been with us in the present situation. This means that, before and after every catastrophe, Greece continues to live, as long as poetry continues to live." Through the cathal.'tic act of his own poetry, Vrettakos was sending to Cyprus "intense signs of peace and signs of light" and was restoring the original garb of imperishability to ,things: T aigetos looked twenty years old. The Virgin' fourteen. St. George sixteen. They were singing. ("Three Friends Came to See Me" The Depth of the World) Dear Rell!der, you can hear the melody of their song. In elevated moments, poetry cleanses the soul and seems to polish it w1th sandpaper. The eagles on T aigetos are dazed. The magical act of simplicity which V rettakos has cul tivated in his mind and heart activates our soul as it carries archetypa'l images which merge the delight of the world-the joy of life-with the sense of the Holy Greek Passion: And your Liberty has as many voices as God has registered in this land, to coexist with the light and, when night falls, to coexist with your pain ( ... ) 222 THE CHARIOTEER And they proclaim that nothing greater has appeared, other than the light and your sufferings. And they invite people to come and see your blood. And they speak of the light provided by the rule of the heavenly orders. And they raise their voice, for justice has not yet prevailed in the world. (Liturgy Under the Acropolis) The call to justice-the registered trademark and common byword of our leading poets-recurs at that definitive point which interprets the merging of beauty and pain. This too is an element of Greekness, with the difference that pa,in is the result of del,ica:te beauty: "Such great beauty! My God, how is it that its word goes unheard!" This exclamation is directed not only abroad but also to us. It takes the place of an inoculation: "Mesolonghi was the last great Acropolis of Hellenism which was 'not made by human hands.' We must teach our children to discern it.''1 This precious fmilty of Cyprus, this "straw" not made by human hands2 which connects it to the other Mesolonghi, is found in love. Ubi amor, ibi oculus (Thoras .A:kinatis): wherever there is love, there too is vision. The measure of love is also the measure of vision, of deep awareness of the fatherland. But with what "account of the soul" can we accomplish this? "Behind every action and every manifestation we must search for the human being, that basic unit of the cosmos, and we must track him down as a quality and stance in the face of life, as a beneficial energetic power for pushing the wheel of human history forward." In One of Two Worlds (Athens 1958), a book daring for its time, VreM:akos a:lso has this to say: "If we are to do away with human beings as conscious and autonomous units as we l"Speech on Mesolonghi," 1989. 2This is an untranslatable word.play. The two words the author uses, d:)(EtpO'!to(rrro<; (from the negative prefix 0: + X€£p, hand + 1tOti3, make) meaning "not made by hand," and d)(opO'!to(rrroc; (from lfxopo, straw + 1tOtC3, make) meaning "made of straw" have different spelling but they sound the same in modern Greek. Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 223 drain their minds of thought and their souls of consciousness, it would be better to let them exploit one another." These "heretical" ideas reveal the breadth of the poet's pioneering thought: with his metaphysical faith in mank!ind, he invalidates deVIiation and verifies the image of the world-citizen. IV The Fourth Meeting Our fourth meeting took place again in the name of Poetry, but not in our natural environment. It occurred at the Academy of Athens. 'Dhe story whiCh had begun twenty-nine years earlier was destined to come full circle and return to the same city. He received me on the same generous and noble terms which have marked Vrettakos' relationship with me. I am spealdng of the "Vault" which Nikiforos V rettakos believed in and defended when he introduced the Meropi Ekonomou Award from the Academy of Athens. I am speak ing essentially of Nikiforos, the man w:ho pays off the previous debts owed him with the action he immediately thereafter undertakes. And how could it have turned out otherwise? The poet who wrote the following is a discrete presence in the world, an ethereal advent and translucence: Borrow blood and light from nothingness. So that I can escape to the sun without feeling my weight. I am still here on the earth. From time to time life on earth is immortal. But poetry is a diffuse flower. From time to time I wonder: 224 THE CHARIOTEER Do you exist? Can't you hear me? I am calling you, I, in my silence. Mountains of silence surround my lips. I see, I hear lights in voices. That's why you also see me as I walk (even in the wilderness) often bowing my head. This collation of moments-and-¥erses by Nikiforos V rettakos could go on forever. Point by point, his entire poetry focuses on the theme of existence, which is synonymous with love. Love interprets the cosmos and apoca1yptically unites us with it. Throughout this entire journey, without a s1ingle gap, aH of V rettakos' moments compose the same poem, the poem of his soul. His soul radiates love and reveals that there is ulbimately only one theme in the cosmos: the theme of God. Our origins are divine, as is every single th'ing surrounding us: it is our duty to stand at attention before this divin~ty and bow down. I sense that, in the magnetic field of the "Vault," V rettakos discerned elements which bonded with his conscience: human pain and other anguishes which are held at the pinnacle of their dignity in an attempt to interpret the cosmos through the protean articulation of speeoh. This reverence and submission ~before the things of God stems from the nexus of a martyred h~storka!l context. All this, however, is just so much theorizing and en¥ision ing. The essentia!l 1ies in this: that in our fourth meeting I saw him in this mystical and unwritten relationship of ours on this earth. This too . is an expression of the rule which governs the photo-rhy~thms of the existence of this drunken messenger of angelic love who comes staggering down from ,the heavens: Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 225 My lemon blossom, I've downed three tankards of sun and have been out drinking with the angels- I've burst into flames! Now I stagger in my drunkenness. And you know, my love, death is a star which crowns our hair I ("The Drunken Man with the Carnation") The divine intoxication of life! Although the poet, by his own confession, is "a bad example of a person who never gets angry," here he gives us a glimpse of his internal turbulence his manic Dionysiasm and his visceral logic reveal just how deceptive the simplicity of his image is. His figures may have the naturalness of the landscape, stark simplicity, or lyrical freshness, but behind them a ritual ceremony is taking place: the transfiguration of the image. In V rettakos' work are many vibrations which mean many more things than what we can see: I brandish my soul like a double-edged glare. I am an eagle with wings beating against the light, becoming stimulated and ascending higher. ("Salvation" The Depth of the World) We should consider the meaning of "soul," "eagle," and "double-edged glare." We should see where that "higher" lies and .if it corresponds to Andreas Kalvos' lines, "As the eagle from one mountain .to another I flies" and "the precipices of virtue," which V rettakos does not mention by name. It Js a general idiosyncrasy of Vrettakos' that, even in denial and negation, he finds the positive. For example, he wiH replace the phrase "mindless and iatisfied" with the verse "blind from ages gone in the kingdom of the sun." For him, darkness is nothing other than the denial of the light which inundates the cosmos. How could it be seen any di£ferently by the one who says that "every flower is I also a Jesus"? 226 THE CHARIOTEER A chain of endless galaxies worked together, crossing light beams on the earth-the entire universe took part in the creation of this carnation. And what I hear are the voices of its craftsmen inside it. Here I ponder what lesson V rettakos gives to our times. And who heeds the word of the poet? Who knows how to read him? How many lost things there are in the desert of our life now that it has been severed from the spirit? A distinguished few have believed in beauty, each one in his own way and in his own life activity: Victoria Theodorou, Andreas Frangias, Tasos Livaditis, Manolis Anagnostakis, Titos Patrikios, Michalis Ganas, and others. It is to this regiment that Nildforos V rettakos belongs: Between my lips a rose and hanging from it, like a knapsack with all my life-belongings inside, a smile. ("The Soldier" The Depth of the World) A sm.ile-an affirmation pa,id for dearly, since it is under stood that behind the smile's glow lies the darkness in which we a:re engulfed. The poet's power lies in the fact ,that he does not mention the darkness by name-he abolishes it. Be sides, knowledge is nothing other than a combination of things which we take inside us and which emanate from within. Vrettakos' phrase, "all my life-belongings," means "that which I am, that which I know." This determines also our uniqueness. Without uniqueness, such works could never have been written as "The Woman of Zakynthos," "Ursa Minor," "Cyprus, where it was decreed that I sha:ll live," "Axion Esti," "The Catastrophe of Melos," ''Dinner of the Dead," and, of course, "Liturgy Under the Acropolis." Their role is not exhausted by their in corporation into our literature nor should we analyze them as if they were portraits in a gallery. One would say that these Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 227 works were w11itten out of a necessity of the Greek race and nation, not out of the need of the individual poet himself. It seems that the poet has functioned as a go-between and that aU these works were inevitable: the region owed them to itself and to its history. We must not therefore lose sight of the great movement, the broa:der circle, that wave which will place these works at the center of our life so that we can see them in operation. And, of course, the genesis of great works is not due to chance or simply to a talent that has been activated. They aU heed laws, they have their own domain and their own architec tura:l line: Without mathematical order, nothing stands: neither the sky with all its stars nor a rose. Above all, a poem. Fortunately, fate made me well versed in the musical numbers, [ ... J I work as if I were fashioning a starry sky or a single rose. ("The Musical Numbers" Afternoon Heliotrope) The poet's terminology is essentially the acceptance of the starry sky through the rose. And the rose is identified with the poem. And the poem is the radiance of the heaven1ly order, "like a deer every time it thirsts before the gushing, bright breast of eternity" and like "Taigetos itself in a flower design." For this reason, the mountain is also a "matter of kindness." Simon Weil sees it the same way in Roger Milliex's travelogue, "Taigetos and Silence" (1956). And all this so that we not go too far afield but, rather, look with exceeding realism at the things around us: The bread, kneaded, you'd think, by the fingers of the Virgin, on the table-the bread that sanctifies even this knife. 228 THE CHARIOTEER Like the fragment of an eternal rhythm the bell on the sheep. ("An Ancient Pacific Net") Lord, you are the verdure. You are the arbutus ( ... ) You are the apple blossom falling upon my shoulder like a white heavenly light. ("The Rifts in Solitude") A murmur of friends reaching the other bank, with a rustle of movements of colors, of flowers being born, of rays in suspension. ("Old Friendly Forest") [ ... J So that my feet perceive strange vibrations as if below the soil the dead were crawling, trying to emerge: daisies or other lovely flowers. ("New Day") Like a branch in bloom I want my word to be reachable ( ... ) My words to be perceived as eyes perceive the light. ("The Golden Key") My voice has been made complete by other voices- like that of the waters I have heard, of the wind in an infinite variety of hues, of earthly sorrow which perhaps only God hears with his large translucent ears. ("Co-Creation") If I cry it is for me. Sun, who are setting Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 229 like a large translucent rose. ("New Sunset Behind Taigetos") AH of these verses, taken from V rettakos' collection, Afternoon Heliotrope (1976), perceptibly foretell the advent of the Philosophy of Flowers ( 1988), that distillation of life which is simplicity or the word which tends towa:rd the silence of heaven. The golden key of simplicity of word to all our neighboring creatures is held by love. ("The Golden Key") It is all crystal-dear, in other words, with no need for literary a1lusions: Love. Vrettakos will say it again and again: love which expresses its word everywhere, with its offer of unfading roses-suns or poems or actual simplicity-to all of our neighboring creatures. * * * When I saw him within that mass of humanity on the evening of the award ceremony at the Academy of Athens as he was coming forward with his medallions, his face joyful with that modest and humble demeanor he always exhibited, I thought: Has this poet been given to the world in order to teach us how to look, how to walk, and especially how to smile correctly? V rettakos is like a tree which moves about among the things of the world, with birds on its branches-and you sit in its shade to take a rest. How, you may ask, is it possible for a tree to move about? And how can you sit under a tree which is walking? Those are the mysteries of history! And yet it is no mystery-or, rather, it is the other, the real mystery: When I was tired the flowers created a calm so I could rest. 230 THE CHARIOTEER So much so that they uttered not a sound until the morning. And even in the Universe with its sailing stars silence had (a rare phenomenon) sealed its lips. ("Rest" The Philosophy of Flowers) The mystery which inverts the order of things teaches us ways of conduct, the grandeur of which lies precisely in the simplicity which we desire and obtain. This simplicity helps us place ourselves in a proper bent with the triumphal a:rch of life with its commandment, "Comprehend the miraculous," or with the other arch which leads to the refined phrase ex pressing amazement at the miracle of the Resurrection, "I am astounded." When you caught sight of me in the crowd which was flooding the auditorium in the Academy, we exchanged a greet ing of the soul with a nod of our heads. The crowd was thick, the exit crammed, and "suddenly I was walking without walk ing." Swimming against the tide, I drew near to you. We set a meeting for the next day. The next day has arrived and I am getting ready to go to our rendezvous. The place: Philippotis' Bookstore. Eternity ( ... ) has begun to make its appearance. It cannot endure even five minutes away from here. ("The Road and Eternity" The Depths of the World) I proceed to the beloved cement city, to the fragrant smog. I did not know that ugliness can be abolished (or transformed) with a single human movement, with a swelling of the soul. I recall Fran cis Zam: Dear Friend Atman: Four Meetings with Nikiforos Vrettakos 231 ... She had gone down to the meadow and the meadow, all in flowers as it was ... ("Intact Time Tomorrow") You were wattlng for me with The Philosophy of Flowers in your hand-a bouquet of flowers. The ground undulates around my feet. The wild flowers in their abundance present obstacles, block my path, don't let me pass. I feel helpless, imagining I am surrounded by thousands of lovely little poems. ("Morning Helplessness") The imagery of life, .the conversion of the word into the inabi:lity to walk, into a multiple "good morning" of verses in the blooming meadow of the soul. I feel like shouting, "How are you doing, Mr. Zam ?" But I must get serious: others are present. I return to our first dealings, to the line which we had left years ago. I rediscover life's original fragrances and juices. You have always been there expecting me, just as the tree expects the spring while awaiting rain and snow and birds and colors. Without a single reproach, without a single complaint. All things in nature declare the heavenly calm in the measure of the earth: My dear friend Atman, the trees that bear almonds, the fig trees, and the gooseberry shrubs are there for you to rest beneath when overcome by great exhaustion. (FRANCIS ZAM, Poems, "To Atman") Exhaustion such as this, technological exhaustion. That is 232 THE CHARIOTEER why the return to nwture, inherent in God's exhortation to us to become like children, restores us to the proper relationship between heaven a:nd earth: "He who painted the earth with flowers and wore the robe to endure mockings, he who encom passed the firmament ..." (hymn from the Holy Passion) . THE POETIC AND HUMAN MESSAGE OF NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS BY TITOS PATRIKIOS translated by C. Capri-Karka Great poets are always multidimensional. They offer mul tiple sensations and experiences and they lend themselves to mul tiple approaches and interpretations. But these many dimensions become even more complex as they radiate both in time and through time. In time, in every important poem of a poet, where, no matter how long it took to write, a specific moment crystallizes, both existential and historical. Through time, in the whole body of his work which, extending over a long period of time, marks an existential journey which runs in the same direction as and at the same time in the opposite direction to the movement of his tory. I believe that these things, which were already obvious in Vrettakos' poetry, can be seen more clearly in the recent edi tion of the two-volume selection of his work. On the other hand, the approaches to and readings of, a poetic work constitute an exceptionally complex and controversial process. One of the reasons is that the reader does not usually approach the work at the same pace as the poet. What is needed is not only an effort (an effort stimulated, of course, by the work itself and not imposed from the outside) but also a double process of maturation: maturation of the reader and of the poetic work as well-because the poems also mature, rising like bread from the yeast they contain-so that the existential and historical time of the reader and the poet may keep the same pace. This happened to me, too, as a reader of the poetry of Nikiforos V rettakos. The first work of V rettakos I read was the "Thirty Three Days," his poem about the December uprising, the battle of Athens, the " 'Lord Byron' Student Brigade" of the Resistance organizations EPON-ELAS; a poem which, at the time, shook the whole world. I mean the world that had experienced the struggle of the Resistance at the time of the German occupa- 233 234 THE CHARIOTEER tion, the December bloodshed, the post-December persecution, and yet had not succumbed, had not accepted defeat. And it is precisely this stand, a stand for life and the sacrifice of life that is expressed in the last lines: But above the mud on which the mercenaries of the night walk with their whips and above all prisons, very high, much higher than ever before. Glory and honor to our dead! Glory and honor to our dead! Our brothers all over the world -our flag is still waving -Freedom or Death! Thus, for me V rettakos became the poet of this particular poem. I was riveted to it. I was not familiar with his nine previous collections and my contact with them, later on, brought many difficulties, because I was looking at them and judging them through the prism of this poem, as something different, foreign, something almost hostile to the moment of time and experience conveyed in the "Thirty Three Days," not as autonomous, suc cessive steps, potentially leading up to this poem. I had the same difficulty making contact with the later collections. Moreover, I was clinging to a single dimension of that poem, the exclusively herois and short-term optimistic one. I had not perceived another dimension, a tragic one, functioning in the background. I became aware of this dimension just now, when I read the poem again. And the women appeared in the windows and saw that night and day had become one and they were wiping their tears away -In the harbors, my children, they are unloading cannons and tanks! and our soldiers were turning their heads smiling beneath their helmets and were answering, face to face with death! The Poetic and Human Message of Nikiforos Vrettakos 235 -Victory is our duty! And there was wind, rain and lightning and then the women were leaning their foreheads on the window panes and crying. -Where are you going, my children, without horses! ... Similarly, it is only today that I understand the meaning of the following lines from the poem "Second Elegy" in the collection Fairyland, published in 1947 . . . . Our century turned dark snow is falling in my blood in dense flakes and I am all naked down to the bone. Besides, these lines are a continuation and extension of the follow ing wonderful lines from the poem "Destiny" in the collection The Culmination of Fire, published in 1940, when World War II had already begun: A thundering, long, dark century is raining in my soul! Today, as our century is nearing its end, these lines may seem to many as something self-evident. But how many philosophers, social scientists or thinkers had foretold this at that time, espe cially with such clarity, intensity, and density? Of course, the shallow, the silly, and, why not-this kind is not rare-the insincere interpretations could have maintained that V rettakos, with his 1947 verses, even under the difficult conditions of the time, is returning to the pessimism of his youthful poems. And here we would need to refute once more a myth both enduring and long-lived, as all myths are: the myth of the happy and blissful pessimism of youth. The myth which expects young people to be like models in a poster or man nequins in a department store, staring with stupid smiles at the future with outstretched arms, stiff as if from ankylosis. Even if many people have said this many times, it needs to be re peated once again: youth is the most difficult, the most painful, the most dramatic phase in a man's life. That is why the most 236 THE CHARIOTEER melancholic works are usually written in the early years (I should mention, parenthetically, that Goethe wrote Werther when he was twenty five) . Also, this is the period of radical denial, of rebellion against everything. Without this negative stance (which, even when it invokes death, does it in opposition to an imposed way of life) any affirmation in life constitutes invol untary acceptance of a straightforward way of life instead of a commitment to a struggle that is painful and full of internal contradictions, to bring about a change in life itself, as Rimbaud has stated. From this point of view, a crucial poem by Vrettakos, written in his twenties, is "Contempt": Even your rays, sun, I will return them to you. I will warm myself in the frenzy of the Universe. I will have paid off all my debts on this earth and I will return your rays to you. I reckon that I owe you nothing. I will invert my body in my grave. I will return your rays to you reflecting your light on my hard tombstone. Even the sun which, as a sensation and a symbol, plays a central role in his poetry, Vrettakos needed first to deny and to spurn. And, anyway, whatever the sun offers "would be paid for dearly," as he says in his poem "A Soldier Murmurs on the Albanian Front." In this poem, however, I would like to pause for a while, in order to see it from another point of view. It certainly ex presses the whole spirit of Albania,* a war into which the Greeks were not drawn by force but which they entered of their own free will to defend their freedom. But, at the same time, it con veys the horror of the war which grows greater as people in creasingly abhor the war and long for a peaceful life. And, from this point of view, it has certain striking similarities with a Chinese poem written by Bunno in 1100 B.C. Here is Vrettakos' poem: *The 1940 war between Greece and Italy, which took place in Albania is often referred to as "Albania." The Poetic and Human Message of Nikiforos Vrettakos 231 A Soldier Murmurs on the Albanian Front Who' it bring us some sleep here where we stand? Then at least we'd be able to see our mother coming carrying a white sheet under her arm, an apron filled with warmth and marigolds from home. A worn-out monogram in the corner of a handkerchief: a lost world We wander about in the snow with frozen army overcoats. The sun never came up right on the hills of Morava. The sun never went down uninjured by the grip of Trebesina. I stagger in the wind wearing nothing else, holding on to my rifle, frozen and unsteady. (When I was little, I'd look at my reflection in the streams of my country I wasn't born for war) This offense placed under my arm wouldn't look good on me, this rifle wouldn't suit me if it wasn't for you, sweet earth that feels as people do, if it wasn't for the murmuring cradles and the graves we've left behind, if it wasn't for the people, if it wasn't for the mountains with their proud brows chiselled, you'd think, by the hand of God to fit the place, the light and his spirit. Night pierces our bones here in the bunkers, we've transferred in there our friends and we embrace them we've transferred the house and our village church, the bird-cage in the window, the girls' eyes, our garden fence, all our boundaries, the Madonna with the carnation, a gallant lady, who covers our feet before snowfall, who wraps us up in her kerchief before death. But whatever the outcome, we'll survive. Countless Men live in the spirit of Freedom, noble Men in their sacrifice, Men. 238 THE CHARIOTEER The meaning of virtue is a grand encampment. That they've died doesn't mean they've ceased to exist there, with their sorrows, their tears, their chats. The sun will cost you dearly. If by chance I don't come back, be well, think for a moment what a price I've paid. (When I was little I'd look at my reflection in the streams of my country I wasn't born for war.) translated by George Pilitsis And here is Bunno's poem in a translation that I made (in St. Stratis, in 195 3, for my own personal pleasure) based on Ezra Pound's English translation. To what extent this transla tion is a recreation none of us knows for sure.* Song of the Bowmen of Shu Here we are, picking the first fern-shoots And saying: When shall we get back to our country? Here we are because we have the Ken-nin for our foemen, We have no comfort because of these Mongols. We grub the soft fern-shoots, When anyone says nReturn," the others are full of sorrow. Sorrowful minds, sorrow is strong, we are hungry and thirsty. Our defence is not yet made sure, no one can let his friend return. We grub the old fern-stalks. We say: Will we be let to go back in October? There is no ease in royal affairs, we have no comfort. Our sorrow is bitter, but we would not return to our country. What flower has come into blossom? Whose chariot? The General's. Horses, his horses even, are tired. They were strong. We have no rest, three battles a month. *Editors Note: This is the original Ezra Pound translation from the Chinese. In the copy in our hands, however, the poem is attributed to Kutsugen, 4th century B.c. The Poetic and Human Message of Nikiforos Vrettakos 239 By heaven, his horses are tired. The generals are on them; the soldiers are by them The horses are well trained, the generals have ivory arrows and quivers ornamented with fish-skin. The enemy is swift, we must be careful. When we set out, the willows were drooping with spring, We come back in the snow, We go slowly, we are hungry and thirsty, Our mind is full of sorrow, who will know of our grief? You can see how two poets separated by three thousand years come together in poetry, as soldiers come together in their pain (and here I hardly need say that Vrettakos was unaware of Bunno's poem and is probably unaware of it even today). Both poets speak in the first person plural. They not only live the present intensely but express it in the same words: "Here we are." Both dream of the spring and their homes as they walk in the snow, freezing and hungry. Both invoke God and both finally-although they have many doubts about it-would want other people to know about their suffering. Bunno says: Our sorrow is bitter, but we would not return to our country Our mind is full of sorrow, who will know of our grief? And Vrettakos expresses a similar idea in his poem: If by chance I don't come back, be well, think for a moment what a price I've paid. And, really, who learns how painful reality is for some people? How much grief poetry represents ? Of course, "the high price," to use V rettakos' own words, is something that the poet who pays it neither wants nor is able to explain. But this silence, imposed by the shyness of pride, by the restraint of self-respect, leaves some large gaps that are sometimes filled by inaccurate, distorted or malicious images. In the case of Nikiforos Vrettakos in particular, because of his excessive modesty and discretion, these gaps were even larger 240 'I'HE CHARIOTEER than usual and the impressions that were created concerning him at a certain period of time were much more distorted. These impressions were not accidental but were created mainly after the publication of his book Two Men Talk of Peace in the World, that appeared in 1949, if I remember correctly. In that book V rettakos did something that was done for the first time to the Greek Left: he represented U.S.S.R. and the United States, the two super-powers, as we would say today, as being equally responsible for securing the Peace and, therefore, for the possibility of war. This was immediately considered by everyone-and naturally by me-as a sacrilege. And soon the view emerged, and became accepted, that V rettakos is a lyrical but apolitical poet or, even worse, a poet who, in the midst of the difficulties of the civil war that was beginning, gave up the struggle. And this happened at a time when V rettakos was responsible for the publication of Free Letters. And the people who had undertaken this responsibility in those years-as well as Tasos Vournas and John Angelou-apart from the hard work they had to put in and apart from the fact that they were sacrificing their time, their intellect and their health, could also face exile or a court-martial at any time. This must have caused him much grief. Many years later, when I met him, I never heard him speak of these events, even when I, and other friends, tried to bring up the subject. But the truth, and with it his wound and also the reaction of the poet, and his integrity as a man and as a fighter, were revealed to me in one of his poems, "An Eagle Overtaken by Night" from the collection Turbid Rivers. This book, along with Taigetos and Silence, was given to me in Makronisos in 1952, when I was in isolation, by Jason Joannidis, a soldier at that time and later a poet, to whom I will always be indebted. Because, if poetry helps man, the poetry of V rettakos, and this poem in particular, helped me face isolation. Here is the poem and I hope that Nikiforos V rettakos will permit me to quote it in its original form, as I read it for the first time. An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 241 An Eagle Overtaken by Night Old friend, why won't you look at me, who's offended you that you stand in stony silence beneath the moon! Tell me, early-morning sun, what's wrong with Taigetos that he seems almost upset, seems almost grieved! It seems you went and, like a white lily, bowed your head on his slopes and wept. Our old friend must have heard and questioned you. And you sat and recounted how I'd been caught, as it were, in bad weather, rain and mist and you told him how I'd fallen into a turbid river how the morning star can't find me! Go back again, caress his rocks, unfasten your hair let it fall and spread over him, speak to him, tell him it was all lies, or I'll surely die! Tell him to reflect on eternity only, on the world's sun and beauty! What's come over him that he recalls his old shepherds and grieves? If we take on like that where will stout hearts go! If we take on like that what's become of our fate! If we take on like that what are summits for! Tell him I'd become engrossed in the moon and I wept in a ravine until the sun came out that I've never ceased to be his wild deer his eagle and his crown, tell him! Just for one night I bowed my head and my wings hung in the air an inch above the earth, and you went and told him that I am, as it were, an eagle whose wings are singed with the rain dripping from its beak as it grows dark motionless, on a high rock. Go back again! Tell him it was all lies, or I'll surely die! Thus I learned, directly and abruptly, as one can learn only through poetry, that eagles, people and poets, in order to fly, 242 THE CHARIOTEER need "a night to rest with their wings hanging in the air a few inches above the ground." And even more, they need the strength to become aware of it and the courage to say it. After I first met V rettakos, I used to see him in the very old house at 106 Karaiskou Street which he shared with Vaso and George Katrakis, or in the small, dark office of the Piraeus Customs Brokers Union where he had found a job with meager pay, the only job he could find in the climate of persecution. In those days, this "apolitical" man, used to steal from the little free time left to him, steal from the time left for his own poetry, in order to give this time to the struggle of the Left. And when he was elected City Councilman in Piraeus, he devoted himself completely to the effort of promoting the intellectual life of the city where he lived. The poet himself has never said it, but I can say it, repeating one of his own lines: think for a moment what a price I've paid. But, on the other hand, all the difficulties, both imposed by the situation and freely chosen, seemed to me like a tem porary and necessary "hanging of the wings" that would permit him to fly even higher again. For this poetic and human lesson, I will always owe Niki foros V rettakos a profound debt of gratitude. AN APPROACH TO THE POETRY OF NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS BY VINZENZO ROTOLO translated by Maria C. Pantelia Myth and reality In a time period which seems to have concluded that poetry is dead, why should anyone write poems, or even more, why should anyone wish to undertake a study of these poems? Never theless, it is exactly the crisis that poetry is undoubtedly under going in recent years which places an obligation on all of us, readers and critics alike, to consider seriously this apparent aversion or indifference of our times towards poetry. First of alii it should be made clear that this phenomenon is less noticeable in Greece than in other countries. In Italy, for example, during the last decade in particular, as a result of the ideological pressure caused by the 1968 Youth Movement, the position and function of poetry today has been treated with an extremely critical and harsh spirit, especially from the political and linguistic point of view. Even so, poetry does not cease to provide, now and then, dear signs of vitality and fighting spirit which, if I am not mistaken, also indicate its necessity. When we say necessity, we certainly do not mean the fulfillment of a supposedly compelling aesthetic or didactic mission. In the past, we overindulged in pompous definitions concerning the "miracle" of poetic creation. This abstract position was one of the reasons which has kept poetry away from the new generations, who are justifiably less attracted to idealistic interpretations or grandiloquent declara tions that focus on lofty ideas of the "supreme beauty." Very few are those who still consider poetry, and art in general, as the magic fruit of an individual, inborn tendency towards beauty. On the other hand, those who believe in the decisive effect that social, economic and political conditions can 243 244 THE CHARIOTEER have on the arts, assign to poetry a different mission than that of the simple aesthetic pleasure. The truth is that the poet has an important political mission in today's society. The poet is not simply someone who articulates individual or collective existen tial problems and anxieties. When the fine sensibility, which is a common characteristic of all poets, is accompanied by social consciousness, it allows him to sense in time those political and cultural situations which can threaten the integrity of human dignity, and report these dangers to the public. The poet does not live isolated in his ivory tower with poetic phantoms as his only company. His close contact with society urges him to direct his antennas towards all transmitters, near and distant ones, and courageously be present at every call to struggle. In this way, he receives all messages, assimilates them to his own standards and in his turn, transmits them elsewhere, creating thus an unbreakable chain. His only weapons are his poems, his voice, his cry. And yet these are enough to help the oppressed and persecuted acquire consciouness and faith in human solidarity. Marble and clay V rettakos believes in this kind of mission for the poet. His poetry draws an abundance of elements from the "outside world" with which he maintains constant communication. Even the internal wanderings of his mind originate from his en counter with someone or something else-whether man or nature, in all its manifestations, or God. I have already engaged myself in the study of V rettakos' poetry more than once, either attempting a comprehensive re view of it or a study of individual collections. I believe I have not yet reached a final conclusion-something which is anyway impossible in the case of a poet who is constantly enriched and renewed. It is definitely easier to define the structural style and characteristic elements of his poetry. Each poet carries the material he needs within his poetry. Depending on his temperament and his particular needs, he weights, counts, cuts and creates; above all he carefully chooses his standards. In cases like this, one cannot borrow another An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 245 person's clothes. You cannot play "hide and seek" with your self and encroach upon another's style in order to impress. There is no room for lies or pretence in a work which has to have sincere dialogue with others as its fundamental condition. Sooner or later the deceit is uncovered and nothing is left out of the loud-voiced words which satisfy shallow audiences, not even a dim remembrance which in the future could justify such a willingness for short-lived applause. Therefore, each poet chooses what suits him best; some prefer shiny marble, others are con tent with the humble and soft clay. Vrettakos belongs to the second category. The clay he works with is moulded by his direct participation in life events and the suffering of others. His poetry is an open embrace for everyone. His words are directed towards everyone, sometimes becoming an exclamation of hope, sometimes reverent prayer, other times a shout of protest or even a revolutionary call. With a schematic simplification, one could say that there is a conflict in V rettakos' poetry that makes him waver between two poles which exercise equal attraction on the poet. On one hand, we have the personal element expressed as an egocentric tendency towards imagination and reverie, as a lyric uplifting and confirmation of the ageless human recourse to the myth (individuality= myth). On the other hand, we have the social element as an objective and historical need to overcome the sterile individualistic attitude through a political understanding of reality and the struggles for man's liberation (social group= reality) . Lifelong wound For V rettakos, myth is a projection of a subjective state, that is, an outlet for an inner need. Myth, which is a particularly personal inclination, is often transformed into mythopoesis. Submerged into this idealistic dimension the poet defines certain fundamental values, such as man, nature, love, faith, religious ness, as dominant poetic themes which reflect his attachment to the myth. In his poem "Life" the poet says characteristically: 246 THE CHARIOTEER Everything was beautiful This entire journey to mythic landscapes ... Also in his poem "Margarita": We pass by the mythic land. The poet himself juxtaposes reality to myth as he perceives and identifies all which is wrong, unjust, enslaved and oppressed within society. The realization of a harsh reality leads him to a less personal position, whioh progressively comes to de mythologizing and consequently, denunciation, and finally recog nition, of the social responsibility of the poets. The link between the personal character of myth and the social character of reality consists of the notion of duty. We are talking about a concurrence of ethics and life, theory and practice where the duty of both the individual towards society and the poet towards history are fulfilled. The roots of this ethical position go back to the poet's childhood and his rela tionship with his parents and his fatherland, which play an essential role for everyone. The father represents straightforward ness and objectivity, the mother, religiousness and dreaming, Mt. Taigetos, stability and righteousness. The presence of these two contradicting elements does not mean lack of will or personality. In reality they are two naturally alternating phases. Eaoh one matches perfectly the poet's world views and idiosyncracy. In fact, very often these two phases do not succeed one another but coexist simultaneously. Let us take one example (although there are many instances to verify this fact) : two poems of the same period from the third volume of the Journey. In the first of these poems, "Stranding" he states definitively: There is no room for dreams here On the other hand, in the other poem, "The Scale-Tipping," he admits: My life was a long dream An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 247 while the tone of the poem implies that he would have liked the dream to continue. These contradictions, however, do not seem to cause inner distress or conflict to the poet, except when his ideological position prevails over his emotions. Only then irreconcilability and conflict are realized and the temptation to deny one or the other direction is awakened. This happens, almost always, under the pressure of external events of general importance. This is actually concrete confirmation of how political events affect the sensibility of poets. Just as conflict is unavoidable when these two phases come to a confrontation, similarly the poet reaches perfect balance in moments of calm dialectic relationship. Looking back at the various turning points of V rettakos' poetic journey, we can easily follow the external influences on his poetry. In his early poetic experiments, where we see clearly a sense of intellectual pessimism which reminds that of Kariotakis, the beginning or rather the cause of this psychological state can be traced to the conflict of the adolescent, newly arrived from the country, with the closed and tough social structure of the capital city (this state dominates the poems included in the collection The Grimaces of Man, published in 193 5). This con flict seems to have shattered the defenseless soft nature of young Vrettakos. Traces of this psychological trauma would follow him for the rest of his life. Faced with the reality of the over powering isolation of the big city, V rettakos finds refuge in the dreamy recollection of another kind of isolation, the peaceful solitude of the landscapes of his birthplace. Even later, when he had developed the only weapon capable of overcoming the defeatism of individualism, that is, political consciousness, he would still experience this wavering between struggle and escape. In his whole life, Vrettakos considered himself a soldier, while at the same time he felt strongly the temptation to surrender and escape and above all to return to his birthplace. Many of his poems are inspired by his constant and rich dialogue with Mt. Taigetos and P.loumitsa. In one of them, "Your Little Town," his desire for tranquility becomes a nostalgic sigh: 248 THE CHARIOTEER ... how rested you would feel if you could ... return there, to the things that gave you the material to weave your beautiful dream ... if you could return, if you could return under their joyful eyes to gather firewood for the evening. This theme of return is present throughout his poetry. In addition to the many poems that deal with the motif of return, it is also significant that many titles of his poems present this theme clearly, such as: "Return," "Last Night I Returned to Taigetos," "Return to the Mountain," "The Soldier's Return." 1 The Murder of the nself' In 1935 the poem "The War" shows that the inner struggle which would give his poetry a political direction has already matured. In 1938, his great poem "The Journey of the Archangel," marks his return to pessimism. His collection Margarita: Pictures from the Sunset (1939) is based on his need for love and af fection. With the coming of the War he produces compositions inspired by the uplifting ideas and hopes of the Resistance: "Heroic Symphony" (1944), "33 Days" (1945), "The Fairy Land" ( 1947). Then comes the disappointment from the bloody events of the civil war and his desperate search for a shelter. Out of the three Collections which appeared between 1949-1951 (Taigetos and Silence, Muddy Rivers and Ploumitsa), two char acteristically include in their title familiar names of places known from his childhood. It should be stressed, however, that even in moments of greater distress, V rettakos never cuts off the rope which connects him with reality. In 1954 he launches a strong protest against the dangers of nuclear energy and writes his poem "To Robert Oppenheimer," a poem full of humanistic and political vibra tions. "The Depth of the World" (1961) represents a moment 1In this category we could also include related words which express nostalgia, such as, "remembrance," "memory," etc. Just to give an example, I cite the titles "Remembrance from Taigetos" and "Neighborhood of Memory." An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 249 of balance between two conflicting phases. The poet seems to have reached his final harbor of inner peace, his Ithaca. Bw once again, serious political events which strike a mortal blow to democracy (the disbandment of the legitimate government by the king in 1965 and the 1967 coup) urge him to take a stand. After his "Farewell to the Sun of Greece," and many other poems which express his political opposition to the powers of violence and oppression (his collection The Protest in 1974 is a very good example of committed poetry) , we see again collections like The Ode to the Sun {1974) and The River Byes and 7 Elegies ( 1975) characterized by his well-known disposi tion towards love and humanism. Finally, the Afternoon Helio trope reestablishes the poet to the state which we called state of "balance" between the two poles of myth and reality. His optimism and faith in man are constantly wounded by his painful experiences and the cruelty of those in power. In his poem "Ghrist Suffering," V rettakos stigmatizes the betrayal of the people's ideals by describing the treacherous actions of the political leaders in an epigrammatic line: The hatred, the lies, the tyrants. The wounds he receives make him feel crippled, as if a part of himself has been killed or removed by force. The theme of the murder of "one's self" is presented in an interesting progression in his poetry. In his poem "The Complaint of a Murdered Man" he confesses the "crimes" for which he has been executed: They killed me for a rose. For a smile they killed me. . . . They killed me for a ngood morning." The theme of his "murder" is presented .in a more complex and elaborate way in some poems of the collection Protest. In the "Prologue" after his death has been pronounced ("At the beginning I was Nikiforos. Then I was murdered") the poet explains: 250 THE CHARIOTEER One of my souls the one which was with the flowers which every spring grew wings and wandered around god ... died immediately. The other one had time, it saw the murderer, and, at least ... it protested. The acknowledgment of this dichotomy is explicit. The two souls-the peaceful and the rebellious-used to coexist harmo niously until the murderers killed the peaceful one. In the poem "A citizen," the pronouncement of his death continues: He was a citizen with deep roots, full of sun and lined, beautiful mountains; but he was, he no longer is. The separation of the two souls is expressed differently in the poem "Two Moments of a Monologue." It is no longer the others who kill the good soul; it is the other soul, the tough one, that expels it from within (he expresses the same idea in his "1"). At this point and before we proceed to a detailed study of Vrettakos' poetry, we should consider what the poet himself thinks about his poetry. From this point of view, Vrettakos' own words in the introduction of his collection The Choice (1964), under the title "To the Reader," are very significant. Quite per suasively, the poet reshapes in his memory the most important stops in his life with a mixed sentiment, something between dreamy remembrance and strict recounting of events. Notice how vividly he describes his adolescent naivete in response to his father's enthusiasm about his first poem: I thought that poems had some deeper meaning, which I did not know; that they are perhaps something good, or something else, which I did not know. After this child-like and somewhat odd remark, there is a second observation which refers to the impossibility of expression: An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 251 I experienced my inner world that wanted to speak, to say certain things, but could not or did not know how to express them. This is a problem which tortures him continuously. After The Voyage of the Archangel he realizes that poetry is a complex and complicated need: Poetry-at least this is what I thought-was the expression of other inner things or simply a scream from deep within; it was not the purpose. From this point on, V rettakos' inner division appears as he begins to sense that, next to the personal need for expression, there is also an obligation toward society. When fascist Italy attacked Abyssinia, Vrettakos wrote the poem "The War," which, as he modestly says: could only count as an individual protest. We, on the other hand, know the significance of a poet's protest. We also know the weight this occasion had in the forma tion of Vrettakos' "poetic beliefs." It is no coincidence that Metaxas' authoritarian government did not consider this protest entirely harmless and threw it in the flames of censorship, to gether with many other "protests," old and new. What he says about his inner conflict in another instance, many years later is also interesting. In 1954, while composing the poem "To Robert Oppenheimer" -a merciless charge against the shallow conscience of wise scientists-he rediscovers his favorite path of tender emotions. He says, I have regained my contact with people and things, I have found again the everyday themes of human emotions, their lyric expression. These are Vrettakos' ideas on poetry, as they are deduced from his own theoretical position. If we now turn to a study of those poems where he deals directly with the question of the 252 THE CHARIOTEER purpose of poetry, we can establish within tlhese two general categories of myth and reality, some additional subdivisions. In fact, I believe that a more systematic utilization of these sub divisions could be achieved, if we collected some representative examples in a brief outline, certainly without any expectations of completeness. 1. Myth a) poetry= love: Thus, Taigetos stood by me, until the two children of God were born inside me: poetry and love. By writing, I try to put into my words the day with its love. Even one sound full of sun and love is an epic. b) poetry= life, people: Poetry is born together with things, together with love. Deep down, poetry is a human heart loaded with all the world. c) poetry= 'light, sun: I mean, if I could have connected poetry with a deeper light. One could say that poetry is an imitation of the sun. d) Idealistic mission of the poet: If poetry is a holy I liturgy, and its verses the holy bread I one hands to the people, I then my poems must be something like lilies I and something like the light, to suit I the occasion. An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 253 2. Reality a) poetry= pain: These tears and my poetry are the works of night! In each one of my verses there is a muddy river. I mold your pain just like the good Syphneos molds his clay ... Heaven and earth honored me with pain. The highest tones of music and poetry look like they dance upon the unhappiness which gives them birth. b) poetry= draft: Throughout my life, I was in a war. c) Ideological mission of the poet: When a clown rules, a true poet has the obligation to speak. out . .. For if a poet does not make truth his work, then he has no work, nor a place under the sun. 2 Poets live outside of fear. Despite his dual poetic existence, even when Vrettakos myth icizes his work, he rejects completely the idyllic and consoling perception of poetry which has been so popular among the fol lowers of "non-committed" poetry. In a world inflicted with so much injustice, so many dangers and struggles, he cannot accept a time-worn, almost decorative, and definitely marginal image of the poet. He cries out loud in his poem "To Robert Oppenheimer": 2"A Speech for the Fatherland" (1965). 254 THE CHARIOTEER ... No, I am not a poet! In this world, there are no poets today. (It should be noted that this denial refers to the traditional view which attributes to the poet the role of the lighthearted singer of beauty.) This statement of his, is also significant: I would not want to believe that I have been carving the air with the chisel of my passion. I would not want to believe that I have written on the water ... Struggle and resistance appeal to him more: I resist like the olive trees of my fatherland. In any case, myth and reality converge in the moral concept of the mission of the poet, which finds a balance between the position of ultimate commitment and idealism. In other words, these two alternating extreme positions reconcile in their dialectic !harmony. There are many examples demonstrating this view of the poet's mission. One of the most typical ones, perhaps, is the poem "The Coal-miner": I want to become a different kind of water. A different kind of language. Like golden rays to drill my words through your pores, without you knowing it, marching forward and throwing light, deeper even deeper in your hearts, like a coal miner, descending in the earth's black caves with his oil lamp. A similar position is expressed in the poem "The Least Amount of Light." From its very beginning ("he wants to leave a tiny light behind him"), the poem bears close resemblance to the previous poem-with one exception, the change from the first to the third person. An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 255 Sparkles in the Catacomb On the basis of this position, V rettakos' sincere modesty ( re garding the greatness of his contribution) crosses the realization of his duty. The poet knows that "Not even a drop of rain is wasted"; that "the small sparkles in the catacomb" must be secured; that "the poets' little candles must be kept lit." In this sense, we are more interested in the poem "My verses." In this poem, after he declares with ihis well-known modesty that: My verses are small and the space they occupy in the world is very little. He adds that they remind him of his family house where in his childhood they used to burn: dim little oil-lamps almost nothing almost imperceptible but nevertheless, even thoseJ in the darkness, were light. From time to time, this modesty looks like a confession of weakness. The poem "My Voice" shows such a disposition: My voice cannot reach the world, that is full of clamour and violent streams. It does not go beyond the houses across the street. Words which sweat from agony they turn for a moment in the hearts of my few readers and evaporate like the insignificant news of the day. But even when he deliberately minimizes the power of his poetic contribution, never does he lessen the weight of his duty and responsibility. This is obvious in the way he urges himself to hasten his work in one of his recent poems, "The Inner Dialogue": THE CHARIOTEER Shorten your speech as much as you can. Use the whole word, of course, since otherwise continuous speech cannot be achieved. His interest in his fellow men, his participation in their struggles, their sufferings and desires, is expressed in two ways. The poet takes the pain of others upon his shoulders, molds it, like malleable clay (characteristic is the poem "The Other Man's Clay" which was mentioned earlier) and makes it poetry. In exchange he offers his love, warm like a brotherly embrace that no danger can annihilate. Countless are the poems that sing his love for man. Suffice to mention the wonderful poem "I Accompanied the Dead." This kind of exchange with his audi ence is no loss for the poet, since all the burdens he is charged with, constitute not only his inspiration and the nucleus of his poetry, i.e., of his soul: Without you, I wouldn't have discovered my soul . ... Without you, your clay, I wouldn't have a name, but also the purpose and means for his existence. Lord, if you had not given me poetry, I would have nothing to live on. These fields would not have been mine. In other words, he conveys his message to others, a message which reflects his concern for all men. His poetry is nothing else but a continuous dialogue with people. The receivers of his message are elements of natu·re-the sun in particular-but also places such as the familiar landscapes of his homeland, but most of all, man, not only of today, but also of the future. In one of his poems, "The Form and the Poem," he addresses the "heirs of the future," showing thus his full awareness of the mission of his poetry. In the same poem, he says, Every moment, I mold and I am molded, meaning his ability to influence and be continuously influenced, in other words, the creativity of his work but also his own need An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 257 to receive lessons and experiences. His active persona'! contribu tion is emphatically underlined by his almost excessive use of the first person, which is one of the structural traits of V rettakos' poetry. The poem "I Had" begins with this eloquent recognition: I had an ego which I used a lot. The poem "I" from his collection The Protest is aJso interest ing. In this poem his "weakness" is not only admitted but also treated in a distinctly sarcastic and mocking manner. Vrettakos uses his language, which on the surface appears to be so simple and easy, as he persistently strives to create some thing solid, which will survive for future generations. Through out his life, he piled stone upon stone with patience, alternating faith and despair, idealism and realism with the ultimate purpose of leaving an all-green garden behind him. The result of this effort may not be impressive for hasty and superficial observers, who are dazzled by magnificent buildings. He did, however, manage to build "stone by stone," a house which has room for the whole world. It is the house for the men of tomorrow, the time when justice, equality and freedom will be reality, and when everything wil'l be "simpler" like "'good morning' and 'good night.'" The simplicity, which he sees everywhere ("The world is simple") is not merely the ideal of his life ("They are all simple things and their order I has been cared for by your hand." "I would like to say simple things, daily things"), but is also transferred into his language. It is a perfect identification of world view and language, which corresponds to a more general identification (about which we talked earlier) of theory and practice. The poet himself bases his linguistic simplicity on the deepest roots of human existence, that is pain, I am simple in my verses and even more simple in my tears" and love Love has the golden key of the simplicity of expression towards all creations near us. 258 THE CHARIOTEER But wha:t does this simplicity really consist of? Does it in dicate 1imited creative imagination and lack of originality in the use of language? Does it, on the contrary, stem from the poet's superhuman effort to become comprehensible and "com· mon" in order to make the meaning of his poems more acces sible? Those who are familiar with V rettakos' poetry and have gone beyond superficial observations, know well that his simplicity is not due to an inborn aptitude for writing, but is the result of painstaking effort, severe and demanding review, relentless lin guistic self-criticism. Those who have been around him in times of poetic "study," have direct knowledge of the terribly torturing and pedantic critique and revision he imposes on his verses until he reaches a perfection which surprizes with its "simplicity." In a poem from the Afternoon Heliotrope, "The Dough," the poet says: I mold the dough of speech, I struggle lest one word passes through without becoming a soul. We should stop 'here for a moment to consider these lines, not only because they shed some light on the poet's problem with expression, but a:lso because they refer to the more genera'l theme, which we examine here. The verbs "mold" and "struggle" (which carry more weight because of the position they occupy in the poem, first and last respectively) form a pair of similar but antithetical meanings. They mark the internal antithesis of myth vs. reality which exists in the center of V rettakos' poetic creation. The verb "mold" refers to the activity of creation as part of the complex process of working and transforming, i.e., mythicizing of the material. This whole process, in the way it is expressed, implies some kind of competence in the way it is carried out, as if the transformation of amorphous mass into poetic discourse is per formed by the poet-creator easily and without any obstacles. The verb "struggle" has the completely opposite meaning. It contrasts the dreamy atmosphere of myth to the harsh reality of man's struggle against his fate, the fighter's struggle against injustice, the poet's struggle with language. An Approach to the Poetry of Nikiforos Vrettakos 259 The critic finds or rather senses the poet's difficulty with expression, a difficulty that the poet himself admits when he says: Many times it happened to me to discover, ... that I was missing words ... There were things without words. This is how I realized that my language is naked. (We mentioned earlier the introduction to The Choice, where V rettakos admits this difficulty) . There are things without words! This is a great discovery~and truly well-timed !-of the impossibility or difficulty of verbal communication. However, there is another great discovery, that is even silence carries mes sages for those who know how to decipher them. In the poem "My SHence," Vrettakos uses a strange but characteristic ex pression, "every word of silence." Then he adds, silence brought in through the open window a river of superb words. Here is another insightful idea. Silence can set language aside and revoke silence itself, His silent presence taught me that there is no silmce. The poet who knows the difficulty of discourse and the pos sibility of expression through other means, believes that even the most lifeless objects have a language: Even in nothingness, there is a language. Even a rock has "in its naked nothing/an undisclosed writing." The poet admits his willingness but also his limited ability to understand fully the languages of the universe. I experience the shivering of its holy scripture, but the letters escape me. 260 THE CHARIOTEER There is no need for further critical comments. Both re alizations form !he most clear and unshakable proof of Nikiforos V rettakos' genuine human depth and truly universal spirit. SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE NIKIFOROS VRETTAKOS was born on January 1, 1912, in Krokees, near Sparta. He began writing poetry at a very early age. His first collec tion of poems, Under Shadows and Lights was published in 1929, when he was seventeen. His life was particularly difficult. He worked as a factory worker, clerk, civil servant and literary editor of magazines and newspapers. During the six months of the Greek Italian war, he served in the combat zone. Later, he took part in the National Res,istance. During the dictatorship in Greece, he lived in self-exile first in Switzerland and then in Italy, where he remained until the restoration of democracy. He published several collections of poetry and works of prose. He also wrote hundreds of articles and critical essays in magazines and newspapers. He was the recipi ent of three Greek National Poetry Prizes (1940, 1957 and 1983), the Ouranis Prize of the Athens Academy (1976) and the National Award of Excellence (1985). He also has received three international prizes, the Sicilian Prize Asia, the Belgian Prize Knoken and the Bulgarian Prize Vaptsaroff. He was honored by the Patriarch of Alexandria with the oldest Christian decoration, the Medal of St. Mark (first order) . He was Honorary Chairman of the Greek Writers Guild and of the Piraeus Arts and Letters Association, and Chair man of the Greek writers' Pen Club. His works have been translated into all European languages and also into Hindu, Arabic, Turkish and Japanese. In 1987 he was elected to the Athens Academy. In 1991 he was awarded an honorary degree from the School of Philosophy of the University of Athens. He has been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature. CONTRIBUTORS CARMEN CAPRI-KARKA, the editor of The CHARIOTEER, is an Associate Professor of Foreign Languages at New York University. She has published four collections of poems, Ebb and Flow, The Age of Antipoetry, 0 Kaimos tis Romiosynis and My Mother, Peace, and two books of criticism, Love and the Symbolic Journey in the Poetry of Cavafy, Eliot and Seferis and War in the Poetry of George Seferis, published by PELLA. MARJORIE CHAMBERS was born in Ireland and educated at Trinity College and the Sorbonne. She teaches modern Greek language and literature at Queens University, Belfast. Some of her translations of Ritsos' and Vafopoulos' poetry have appeared in previous issues 261 of The CHARIOTEER. Her translation of Farewell by Yannis Ritsos, with commentary ·is included in Vol. 7 of the Modern Greek Studies Yearbook, University of Minnesota. DAVID CoNNOLLY is an Assistant P:rofessor in the Department of Foreign Languages, Translation and Interpreting at the Ionian University in Corfu and is also Head of Translation at the British Council in Athens. He has published translations of Angelos Terzakis, The Greek Epic (Athens 1990) and Nikiforos Vrettakos, The Philosophy of Flowers (Athens 1990) and Gifts in Abeyance: Last Poems 1981-1991 (Minnesota 1992). Forthcoming publications include Pavlos Lambros, Post-universal harmony (a collection of short stories) . At present, he is working on a translarion of Odysseus Elytis' The Oxopetra Elegies, in collaboration with the poet. He lives in Greece. ILONA KARKA is a clinical instructor in the Department of Psychiatry, School of Medicine, University of California, San Diego. She has collaborated in translations for previous issues of The CHARIOTEER. ARISTOTLE MICHOPOULOS is an Associate Professor and Greek Studies Director at the Hellenic College/Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology. He has published many translarions and articles on Greek Studies themes. Several of the books he authored or translated are used by the New York State Department of Edu cation. He has published two books in Greek, For A New Delphic Idea and Government from the People, for the People. He also writes his own poetry. RicK M. NEWTON is a Professor of Classical Studies at Kent State University where he teaches language and literature courses in Latin, Ancient Greek and Modern Greek. His publications include articles on Homer, Sophocles and Euripides and translations from Makriyannis, Ritsos, Ioannou and others. His translation of Ritsos' 3 X 111 Tristichs was published by PELLA. MARIA C. PANTELIA is an Assistant Professor of Classics at the Uni versity of New Hampshire, where she teaches language and culture courses in Ancient Greek and Latin. She is presently completing a book on Helen of Troy and the use of her story in Western Literature. GEORGE PILITSIS is an Associate Professor of Classic and Modern Greek at the Hellenic College/Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology. He is the co-translator of The New Oresteia of Yannis Ritsos, published by PELLA. MARGARET RoBERTS Pous is a retired United Nations translator. Her literary translations have appeared in Translation, Zone, Prism International, New Observations and other publications. 262 YANNIS RITSOS 3Xlll TRISTICHS translated from modern Greek, with an introduction, by RICK M. NEWTON Pella announces the publication of a bilingual edi tion of Yannis Ritsos' 3Xlll Tristichs (Pella 1990). Originally published by Kedros Press in Athens in 1987, the Tristichs (composed in 1982) are the last poems which Ritsos published before his death in Novem ber 1990. The poet may well have intended the Tristichs to be his final poetic legacy, as he himself writes in Tristich 111.57: To you I leave my clothes, my poems, my shoes. Wear them on Sundays. Unique for their form and content, these three-line poems are the most "laconic" compositions of a poet largely known for his longer and even loquacious pieces. Writing in his mid-70's, Ritsos reviews the vicissitudes of his-and Greece's-life and, as he says of his Testimonies, expresses "silent gratitude toward human life, action, thought, and art, despite all tribulations and despite death-perhaps indeed on account of them.... Perhaps, in every time and place, this will be the testi mony of every person who feels poetry and ministers in it." PELLA PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC. 337 West 36th Street • New York, NY 10018 ISBN 0-918618-46-0 173 pp. Paper $12.00 Just Published THE NEW ORESTEIA OF YANNIS RITSOS Translated with Notes and Commentary by GEORGE PILITSIS and PHILIPPASTRAS Introduction by KOSTAS MYRSIADES The ancient Greek myth of the House of Atreus h 0-918618-45-2 XXXII+I68 Pages Paper $12.00 Past 1ssues of The CHARIOTEER are available Complete set-3 through 34-$300.00 No.3: Excerpts of Pope Joan by Emmanuel Roidis, selections from three poets, satire by Argyrakis, sculpture of Michael Tombros. No.4: Excerpts of two novels and a play by A. Terzakis, seven short stories, "Modem Greek Prose'' by A. Decavalles, paintings of Spyros Vassiliou. No.5: Excerpts of novels and a play by G. Theotokas, essays and art by Photis Kontoglou, Greek Demotic Love Songs, short story by P. Kontoglou. No.6: Three poems by George Seferis, excerpts of novels by Thanasis Petsalis, Philoctetes-a modern version, paintings of Gounaro- poulos. No. 7/8: Double Issue: Cyprus-Its Poetry, Prose and Art. No.9: Poems by George Seferis, excerpts from Smugglers of the Aegean by Y. Manglis, short stories by Yiannopoulos and Saranti, sculpture of Christos Kapralos. No. 10: Thirteen poets of Salonica, the art of Jannis Spyropoulos, Cavafy's Ars Poetica. No. 11/12: Double Issue: An Anthology of Kosmas Politis, the sculpture of Ikaris. No. 13: An Anthology of Antonis Samarakis. No. 14: Hours of Life by Ange Vlachos, story by Andreas Karkavitsas, selections from nine poets, woodcuts by Achilles Droungas. No. 15: Greek Poems of the '40s and '50s, the sculpture of Natalia. No. 16/17: Double Issue: Anthology of Pandelis Prevelakis, art of Y annis Kefallinos. No. 18: Papatsonis' Ursa Minor, the sculpture of Michael Lekakis. No. 19: "Odysseus Elytis and Modern Greek Poetry," Seven Beasts and Karangiozis, essay by Georgios-Alexandros Mangakis, short stories, the art of George Constant. No. 20: The New Poets translated by Kimon Friar, "Modernity: the Third Stage." No. 21: Shaved Heads by N. Kasdaglis, poems by Yannis Ritsos, sculpture by K. Loukopoulos. No. 22/23: Double Issue: Kazantzakis: Life and Works. No. 24/25: Double Issue: Odysseus Elytis, Interview with Tsarouhis and Dionysios Solomos' "The Woman of Zakynthos." No. 26: An Anthology of Modern Greek One-Act Plays. No. 27: Special Issue dedicated to George Seferis. No. 28: General Makriyannis: Excerpts-from his Memoirs, D.N. Maronitis: from Poetic and Political Ethics, Titos Patrikios: A Selection of Poems, George Ioannou: Ten Short Stories. No. 29/30: Double Issue: Yannis Ritsos No. 31/32: Poems by George Vafopoulos, Poems by Olga Votsi, Two Short Stories by Spyros Milas, Paintings by Sotiris Sorogas. THE CHARIOTEER PELLA PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC. 337 West 36th Street, New York, NY 10018