This website is using cookies

We use cookies to ensure that we give you the best experience on our website. If you continue without changing your settings, we'll assume that you are happy to receive all cookies on this website. 

Seferis, Giorgos: Mythistorema 7. South wind (Μυθιστόρημα Ζ' - Νοτιάς in English)

Portre of Seferis, Giorgos

Back to the translator

Μυθιστόρημα Ζ' - Νοτιάς (Greek)

Τὸ πέλαγο σμίγει κατὰ τὴ δύση μία βουνοσειρά.
Ζερβά μας ὁ νοτιᾶς φυσάει καὶ μᾶς τρελαίνει,
αὐτὸς ὁ ἀγέρας ποὺ γυμνώνει τὰ κόκαλα ἀπ᾿ τὴ σάρκα.
Τὸ σπίτι μας μέσα στὰ πεῦκα καὶ στὶς χαρουπιές.
Μεγάλα παράθυρα. Μεγάλα τραπέζια
γιὰ νὰ γράφουμε τὰ γράμματα ποὺ σοῦ γράφουμε
τόσους μῆνες καὶ τὰ ρίχνουμε
μέσα στὸν ἀποχωρισμὸ γιὰ νὰ γεμίσει.

Ἄστρο τῆς αὐγῆς, ὅταν χαμήλωνες τὰ μάτια
οἱ ὦρες μας ἦταν πιὸ γλυκιὲς ἀπὸ τὸ λάδι
πάνω στὴν πληγή, πιὸ πρόσχαρες ἀπὸ τὸ κρύο νερὸ
στὸν οὐρανίσκο, πιὸ γαλήνιες ἀπὸ τὰ φτερὰ τοῦ κύκνου.
Κρατοῦσες τὴ ζωή μας στὴν παλάμη σου.
Ὕστερα ἀπὸ τὸ πικρὸ ψωμὶ τῆς ξενιτιᾶς
τὴ νύχτα ἂν μείνουμε μπροστὰ στὸν ἄσπρο τοῖχο
ἡ φωνή σου μᾶς πλησιάζει σὰν ἔλπιση φωτιᾶς
καὶ πάλι αὐτὸς ὁ ἀγέρας ἀκονίζει
πάνω στὰ νεῦρα μας ἕνα ξυράφι.

Σοῦ γράφουμε ὁ καθένας τὰ ἴδια πράματα
καὶ σωπαίνει ὁ καθένας μπρὸς στὸν ἄλλον
κοιτάζοντας, ὁ καθένας, τὸν ἴδιο κόσμο χωριστὰ
τὸ φῶς καὶ τὸ σκοτάδι στὴ βουνοσειρὰ
κι ἐσένα.
Ποιὸς θὰ σηκώσει τὴ θλίψη τούτη ἀπ᾿ τὴν καρδιά μας;
Χτὲς βράδυ μία νεροποντὴ καὶ σήμερα
βαραίνει πάλι ὁ σκεπασμένος οὐρανός. Οἱ στοχασμοί μας
σὰν τὶς πευκοβελόνες τῆς χτεσινῆς νεροποντῆς
στὴν πόρτα τοῦ σπιτιοῦ μας μαζεμένοι κι ἄχρηστοι
θέλουν νὰ χτίσουν ἕναν πύργο ποὺ γκρεμίζει.

Μέσα σὲ τοῦτα τὰ χωριὰ τ᾿ ἀποδεκατισμένα
πάνω σ᾿ αὐτὸ τὸν κάβο, ξέσκεπο στὸ νοτιὰ
μὲ τὴ βουνοσειρὰ μπροστά μας ποὺ σὲ κρύβει,
ποιὸς θὰ μᾶς λογαριάσει τὴν ἀπόφαση τῆς λησμονιᾶς;
Ποιὸς θὰ δεχτεῖ τὴν προσφορά μας, στὸ τέλος αὐτὸ τοῦ φθινοπώρου.

Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotation

Mythistorema 7. South wind (English)

Westward the sea merges with a mountain range.
From our left the south wind blows and drives us mad,
the kind of wind that strips bones of their flesh.
Our house among pines and carobs.
Large windows. Large tables
for writing you the letters we’ve been writing
so many months now, dropping them
into the space between us in order to fill it up.

Star of dawn, when you lowered your eyes
our hours were sweeter than oil
on a wound, more joyful than cold water
to the palate, more peaceful than a swan’s wings.
You held our life in the palm of your hand.
After the bitter bread of exile,
at night if we remain in front of the white wall
your voice approaches us like the hope of fire;
and again this wind hones
a razor against our nerves.

Each of us writes you the same thing
and each falls silent in the other’s presence,
watching, each of us, the same world separately
the light and darkness on the mountain range
and you.
Who will lift this sorrow from our hearts?
Yesterday evening a heavy rain and again today
the covered sky burdens us. Our thoughts –
like the pine needles of yesterday’s downpour
bunched up and useless in front of our doorway —
would build a collapsing tower.

Among these decimated villages
on this promontory, open to the south wind
with the mountain range in front of us hiding you,
who will appraise for us the sentence to oblivion?
Who will accept our offering, at this close of autumn?

Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotation

Related videos