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Translated Greek Poems

Papatsonis: In Rising Sound

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Publication 328 By absent-minded on Friday, June 7, 2002 at 20:51

Location: Greece Registered: Friday, June 29, 2001 Posts: -166 Search Quote

The translator would like to dedicate this poem to Angela Schreiber, lover of nobility.

Completing is the song-writing voice,
now, that the temporary shadows are reduced
into the inaccessible light of the one Dawn.

Would perhaps the dead praise You?
Alive now us will praise You.
Would perhaps the cold ones, whose blood is drought?
To us is given to taste
the blessing of the Almighty, the prayer of the natives.
To us is given to stress,
in perfected voice and in song, the
"death vanished", and this who could tell,
a few hours ago, when teared was
the firmament and the cherubim frowned.
No, we won't leave too, one by one,
this world won't darken in all,
we won't retreat to the Cypress woods.

Holding his stalk with the funnel
and the sponge, unearthly image
of an unconscious lancer of Golgotha,
the sexton puts out one by one,
after the end of mass the candles of the Altar.
Where you shone, my God, and led the choir,
darknesses become. Secret corner
lights now only the spring of Mercy
a lampion, final trace of worship,
and what is still alive from the sweet-smelling incense.
And the gates are fastened, the bell-tower secluded.

Not thus we: the newly graves
will be dug by the dead for their dead,
They may bury, not us,
"the dead voice of the Greeks is buried deep
by the whole community of the Apostles as they speak about God".
They may bury deep, but not us.
They have also said that petty thing,
in a moment of grandiloquence: "Peter is speaking,
Plato is silent; Paul is teaching,
Pythagoras set". But not us
we won't say this. Both Peter advocate we
and Pythagoras with the triangles. Paul from Tarsos
and Plato the high-flying, and all societies,
ageless and spiritual, and all of them in Christ,
to Jews and Greeks scandal and foolishness,
Jesus Christ and him Crucified,
Jesus Christ with flag and who truly
rised, the correct and living reproach
for sleepy and fake witnesses
who sulk, guardians
faint-hearted and bribe receivers.

Translated by Elpenor.

Publication 335 By ayye^os on Friday, June 28, 2002 at 16:17

Location: Germany Registered: Tuesday, May 28, 2002 Posts: 6 Search Quote

Thank you so much, dear absent-minded, for the english translation.
I hope, you'll appreciate the German version of this wonderful poem.
And I thank you for knowing my mother language, - it'll take much time
before I myself shall be able to speak yours.

- In Rising Sound -

Den Abschlu� des Tages vollendet
die Stimme des Dichters, zur Nacht -
die dunkle, die Trauer entsendet,
und jener, der Mut uns noch macht:
Der fragend ermahnt, nicht zu trauern.
Der rufend das Leben beschw�rt.
Den Gr�ber und Tote erschauern,
den Lebensverachtung emp�rt.
"Oh m�chtiger Gott voller Segen,
Du schenkst uns ambrosische Kost
der irdischen Sterblichkeit wegen,
den rauschend lebendigen Most."
Nun schwingt sich die Stimme des Dichters
Verhei�ung enth�llend, empor:
"Der Engel des G�ttlichen Richters
ri� auf jenes himmlische Tor,
erz�rnt durch die Zweifler dort unten,
und rief: Es gibt keinen Tod !"
Da� alle die Lichter, die bunten,
der Sehenden herrlichstes Od,
sich niemals verdunkeln. Denn immer
bewahrt der Entschwundenen Wald
ein Ewiges Licht, einen Schimmer
Aurorens, die fl�stert "Ja bald!".

Der Dichter erwacht aus der Schw�rze,
im Kirchenraum, vor dem Altar,
als Me�diener Kerze um Kerze
mit Hauben ersticken, - es war
wie einstmals auf Golgathas H�gel,
als Jesus im Sterben noch trank,
bevor ihn des Cherubims Fl�gel
enthoben. Der Essig schon stank,
den ihm dieser Lanzenknecht reichte.
"Was gibst Du zu sehen, mein Gott!"
Vorbei am Altar und der Beichte,
am wohlriechenden, rauchenden Pott,
entwindet sich endlich der Dichter.
Dann schlie�t man die Kirche, den Turm.
Das Gl�hen vergangener Lichter
entfacht in der Brust einen Sturm:

"Oh Hellas, du reiche Matrone,
beerdigt man schon deine Welt?
Dem christlichen Griechen zum Lohne
ist l�ngst schon die Eiche gef�llt,
in die seine Denker sich schnitzten, -
Pythagoras, Plato, im Grab?
Oh nein! Nicht mit uns, den gewitzten,
den Kindern der Gr��ten, die's gab.
Sie leben in Christus vereinigt,
sind alle f�r uns noch bereit:
als wandelnder Vorwurf, gereinigt
von Dummheit und Schande der Zeit.
Mit Paulus von Tarsos ist Plato,
der hochfliegende Geist, uns bewahrt !
Mit Petrus erreicht uns bis dato
Pythagoras' Kunst unverjahrt !
Nicht wir, doch die anderen waren
in Kleinmut, Bestechlichkeit gro�.
Mit schmollenden W�chtern verfahren
die Fakten: Die legen sie blo�."

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Dickens' David Copperfield - Read, Download, Study The Meister Eckhart Site The European Prospect Greek Learning - Classical, Byzantine and Modern Greek Literature

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Dickens' David Copperfield - Read, Download, Study
The Meister Eckhart Site The European Prospect
Greek Learning - Classical, Byzantine and Modern Greek Literature