01 December 2013

The Knight and Death


                                              THE KNIGHT AND DEATH (1513)
                                                   by Nikos Gatsos


Just so, I see you motionless
travelling down the ages with the horse of Akritas
and the sword of Ai-Georgi
I would place beside you
with the dark shapes that stand eternally beside you
until the place where you are extinguished eternally with them
until you become a fire in the great Chance where you were born
I would place beside you
an orange from the snow-covered fields of the moon
I would unfold for you the veil of an evening
with red Antares singing the young men
with the River of Sky overflowing into August
to weep with the North Star and freeze
I would place beside you meadows
waters that never watered the lilies of Germany
and I would ornament this iron you wear
with a sprig of basil and a handful of mint
with the arms of Plapoutas and the sword of Nikitaras
And then I who saw your descendants like birds
split open on a spring day the sky of my country
saw the cypress trees of the Morea stop breathing
there on the fields of Nauplion
before the waiting embrace of the wounded sea
where the eons wrestled with the crosses of gallantry
I would place beside you
the bitter eyes of a youth
and the closed eyelids
in the mud and blood of Holland.

This dark land
will someday become green again
The iron hand of Götz will overturn the caissons
and mound them with sheaves of barley and rye

And in the dark oaks with the dead loves
there where time turned a virgin leaf to stone
on the breasts where a tear-stained rose trembled
a star will shine silent as a spring daisy

But you will remain motionless
with the horse of Akritas and the lance of Ai-Georgi you will travel
through the years
a restless hunter from the race of heroes
with those dark shapes that stand eternally beside you
until a day when you will vanish eternally with them
until you become again a fire in the great Chance where you were born
until in the caves of the river
the heavy hammers of patience resound again
not for ornaments and swords
but for pruning hooks and plows.



Trans, DW.



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