Refusal

Che fece …. il gran rifiuto

To certain people there comes a day

when they must say the great Yes or the great No.

He who has the Yes ready within him

immediately reveals himself, and saying it he follows

his honor and his own conviction.

He who refuses does not repent. Should he be asked again,

he would say no again. And yet that no — the right no —

crushes him for the rest of his life.

by Constantine P. Cavafy (1901)

Traslation: http://users.hol.gr/~barbanis/cavafy/rifiuto.html

 

 

 

 

Original poem in Greek:

Che fece …. il gran rifiuto

Σε μερικούς ανθρώπους έρχεται μια μέρα

που πρέπει το μεγάλο Ναι ή το μεγάλο το Οχι

να πούνε. Φανερώνεται αμέσως όποιος τόχει

έτοιμο μέσα του το Ναι, και λέγοντάς το πέρα

πηγαίνει στην τιμή και στην πεποίθησί του.

Ο αρνηθείς δεν μετανοιώνει. Αν ρωτιούνταν πάλι,

όχι θα ξαναέλεγε. Κι όμως τον καταβάλλει

εκείνο το όχι — το σωστό — εις όλην την ζωή του.

Κωνσταντίνος Π. Καβάφης (1901)

Advertisements

Infatuation

Infatuation

He seems to me equal to the gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your sweet speaking

and lovely laughing — oh it
puts the heart in my chest on wings
for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking
is left in me

no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under skin
and in eyes no sight and drumming
fills ears

and cold sweat holds me and shaking
grips me all, greener than grass
I am and dead — or almost
I seem to me.

(translation at : http://inamidst.com/stuff/sappho/ )

           ------------

Peer of the gods, the happiest man I seem
Sitting before thee, rapt at thy sight, hearing
Thy soft laughter and they voice most gentle,
     Speaking so sweetly.

Then in my bosom my heart wildly flutters,
And, when on thee I gaze never so little,
Bereft am I of all power of utterance,
     My tongue is useless.

There rushes at once through my flesh tingling fire,
My eyes are deprived of all power of vision,
My ears hear nothing by sounds of winds roaring,
     And all is blackness.

Down courses in streams the sweat of emotion,
A dread trembling o'erwhelms me, paler than I
Than dried grass in autumn, and in my madness
     Dead I seem almost.

    (translation by Anne Carson, 2002)

——–

Original poem- by

Sappho (630/612 BC  to around 570 BC):

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sappho

 
φαίνεταί μοι κῆνος ἴσος θέοισιν
ἔμμεν' ὤνηρ, ὄττις ἐνάντιός τοι
ἰσδάνει καὶ πλάσιον ἆδυ φωνεί-
   σας ὐπακούει

καὶ γελαίσας ἰμέροεν, τό μ' ἦ μὰν
καρδίαν ἐν στήθεσιν ἐπτόαισεν,
ὠς γὰρ ἔς σ' ἴδω βρόχε' ὤς με φώνας
   οὔδεν ἔτ' εἴκει,

ἀλλὰ κὰμ μὲν γλῶσσα +ἔαγε, λέπτον
δ' αὔτικα χρῶι πῦρ ὐπαδεδρόμακεν,
ὀππάτεσσι δ' οὐδ' ἒν ὄρημμ', ἐπιρρόμ-
   βεισι δ' ἄκουαι,

κὰδ' δέ ἴδρως κακχέεται, τρόμος δὲ
παῖσαν ἄγρει, χλωροτέρα δὲ ποίας
ἔμμι, τεθνάκην δ' ὀλίγω 'πιδεύης
  φαίνομ' ἔμ' αὔτᾳ.
 

Philanderer

Dimo

I fell in love with a Dimo from Paphos. not strange.

Then a Dimo from Samos. not important.

Thirdly again with a Dimo from Ysies. (one from Argolida and one from

Biotia) not a game anymore

Fourthly came a Dimo from Argolida.

The goddesses of fate must have named me Philodimo

to always love some Dimo.

ΔΗΜΩ
Ερωτεύθηκα κάποια Δημώ από την Πάφο.δεν είναι περίεργο.
Μετά κάποια Δημώ από τη Σάμο.τίποτα σπουδαίο.
Τρίτη πάλι μια Δημώ από τις Υσίες.( μια στην Αργολίδα και μία στην Βοιωτία) δεν είναι πια παιχνίδι.
Τέταρτη ήρθε η Δημώ από την Αργολίδα.
Οι ίδιες οι Μοίρες πρέπει να με ονόμασαν Φιλόδημο
Για να φλογίζει την καρδιά μου πάντα κάποια Δημώ.

By Philodimos (110-40 B. C.)
From: Τα απανθρακωμένα χειρόγραφα (ολόκληρη βιβλιοθήκη) του Ερκολάνο http://thesecretrealtruth.blogspot.com/2012/01/blog-post_795.html#ixzz2KN5Y3OhQ

By Bolognini:

https://sites.google.com/site/ad79eruption/herculaneum-1/villa-of-the-papyri

Love Lyrics

“When she welcomes me

Arms open wide

I feel as some traveler returning

From the far land of Punt.

 

All things change; the mind, the senses,

Into perfume rich and strange.

 

And when she parts her lips to kiss

My head is light, I am drunk without beer.”

 

(Love Poems of AncientEgypt, translated by

Ezra Pound and Noel Stock)

 

Fulfillment

        I am eating alone

        With your thought

        Falling asleep alone

        With your thought

        Waking up alone

        With your thought

        The cold wind on my face

        Reminds me that I am alive

 

        “Je pense toujours à toi 

         Et je t’embrasse tres tres fort…”

 

        I will forget 

        I will forget

 

   Gustav Klimt: The hand-painted

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mirror.

Mirror.

There was a young woman who lived on my street. You could watch her early in the morning drinking coffee by her bedroom window or at night walking her dog at the near by park. Her hat was almost hiding the calmness of her face which made her look like a young girl.

She started studying at the local university, but because money had been tight she spent most of her time helping her father at his small accounting office. On Friday evenings she would stop by the flower shop next door to get fresh flowers for their dinner table.

That evening, as she was searching for the keys to her apartment, she heard the voice of a man calling her name. She looked quickly towards the street and kept searching. She finally opened the door. He ran behind her and asked to come in. She walked inside the house and left the door wide open.

“Where have you been?”, she whispered, as she walked towards the kitchen to get water for the flowers.

“You know”.

“I have not heard from you for years…Why did you come back?”, she asked, as she was putting the vase with the flowers on the dining table.

“I told you that I will come back some day!”.

She took off her shoes and walked slowly towards the bathroom. Her image in the mirror started becoming one with the wall behind her, as her tears started running on her face. For a moment she really believed that he was there, behind her…

Breakfast

 
 
 

“Are you leaving Luc?” the host of the party yelled.

 “Yes! Will call tomorrow!”, Luc yelled back as he was leaving the crowd behind him, and started running down the stairs.

 Marcelle took a deep breath, buttoned her coat, and looked at her watch. It was8 o’clock. “I should get some tea before I go home”, she whispered, as she was leaving her dark office behind her and started walking towards the bus station.

She was counting her steps ( …., nine, ten, eleven, …) when she felt his shadow.
“Hi, I am Luc. May I walk you home?”.
“My home is two miles from here. I am taking the bus”, said Marcelle with a quiet laugh. 
“I need a walk. Walk with me!”
And so they walked, for two miles and two years.

Maybe because they found each other on Christmas eve, their life together was like the eve of a holiday. An eve that never turned into a real holiday, since one morning, during breakfast in the sunroom her father built for her when she was a child, Marcelle started chasing her dreams into Luc’s silence.
 

(By  J. Prévert)

Déjeuner du matin
Il a mis le café
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et il a reposé la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allumé
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s’est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu’il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi j’ai pris
Ma tête dans mes mains
 
Et j’ai ri.

___________

(Pardonnez-moi Monsieur J. Prévert)

____________

He poured the coffee
Into the cup
He put the milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
Into the coffee with milk
With a small spoon
He stirred
He drank the coffee
And he put down the cup
Without speaking to me
He lighted
A cigarette
He made circles
With the smoke
He shook off the ash
Into the ashtray
Without speaking to me
Without looking at me
He got up
He put
A hat on his head
He put on
A raincoat
Because it was raining
And he left
In the rain
Without a word
Without looking at me
And I buried
My face in my hands

And I laughed.

 _________
As soon as Luc left, Marcelle went out to do her daily shopping. They never saw each other again.

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: