Y ENTERING your home, entering of friendship is,

visiting friendship. The first door's

passageway, alone, disposes me there to.

The small garden's sight, hail

the first. The inside door's opening, my entering

and again behind me the closing, is the definitive

passageway between the unstable and the well stable.

The tepid streams in the half darkness that welcome me

are the messages of a warm heart, that somewhere inside

beats, beating awaits. The meeting

with your kin, who equally are my kin

shows the brotherhood. Without caresses.

Nor embraces. Nor kisses.

But everything exists, it belongs to the soul. Blessed

were the hours under your roof ordered to me.

You reserve for the end the great gift,

your advent, our meeting, which, if it were outside of

the mystic luxury of your house, it would be

like an indecent thing, not the congruent

with your being - a being of the Hestia, not of the open air.

Translator's note: I can't find (is there?) any way to translate Hestia. Hestia in Greek is a home's fire-place, the whole home, the center and the focus, and also one of the 12 Gods, daughter of Cronus and Rea, protector of home life. "I think that Hestia comes from esti (=is)", Maximus Confessor writes.

Ἑστία

Ἡ εἴσοδό μου στὸ σπίτι σου, εἴσοδο τῆς φιλίας

ποὺ ἐπισκέφτεται τὴν φιλία. Τῆς πρώτης θύρας

ἡ διάβαση, μόνη, μὲ διαθέτει πρὸς τὰ ἐκεῖ.

Τοῦ μικροῦ κήπου τὸ ἀντίκρυσμα, χαιρετισμὸς

πρῶτος. Τῆς μέσα θύρας τὸ ἄνοιγμα, ἡ εἴσοδό μου

καὶ πάλι πίσω μου τὸ κλείσιμο, εἶναι ἡ ὁριστικὴ

διάβαση μεταξὺ τοῦ ἀσταθοῦς καὶ τοῦ εὐσταθοῦς.

Τὰ χλιαρὰ ρεύματα στὸ μεσοσκόταδο ποὺ μὲ ὑποδέχονται

εἶναι τ' ἀγγέλματα θερμῆς καρδιᾶς, ποὺ κάπου μέσα

χτυπᾶ, χτυπώντας ἀναμένει. Ἡ συνάντηση

μὲ τοὺς δικούς σου, ποὺ ἐξίσου εἶναι καὶ δικοί μου

δείχνει τὴν ἀδερφότητα. Θωπεῖες δὲν ἔχει.

Οὔτε ἐναγκαλισμούς. Οὔτε ἀσπασμούς.

Ἀλλὰ ὅλα ὑπάρχουν, εἶναι τῆς ψυχῆς. Εὐλογημένες

οἱ ὧρες ποὺ κάτου ἀπὸ τὴν στέγη σου μοῦ ἔχουν ὁρισθεῖ.

Ἐπιφυλάσσεις γιὰ τὸ τέλος τὸ μεγάλο δώρημα,

τὴν ἔλευσή σου, τὴ συνάντησή μας, πού, ἂν ἦτο ἔξω

τῆς μυστικῆς χλιδῆς τοῦ σπιτιοῦ σου, θάτον

σὰν πρᾶγμα ἄπρεπο, ὄχι τὸ συνᾷδον

στὴν ὕπαρξή σου, ὕπαρξη τῆς Ἑστίας, ὄχι τοῦ Ὑπαίθρου.

Cf. HOMER : Returning to Ithaca