Amorgos, Parts 2 & 3

2

They say the mountains tremble and the pines rage

when night bites off the pins of the roof tiles so the kalikantzari

        can get in

when the underworld sucks in the frothing scum of the torrents

or when the hairline on the pepper tree is hammered by the north wind

Only, the bullocks of the Achaians in the lush meadows of Thessaly

pasture lustily, with the incessant sun glaring down

eat green grass poplar leaves wild celery, drink clear water

       from the channels

smell of the sweat of the earth and afterwards fall deep asleep

      in the shade of the willows.

throw out your dead, said Heraclitus and he saw the sky turn pale

he saw in the mud two small cyclamen kissing

and he fell down to kiss his own dead body in the welcoming earth

just as the wolf comes down out of the oaks to see the dead dog

      and to howl

What does it matter, the drop that shines on your forehead?

I know the thunder wrote its name on your lips

I know an eagle built its eyrie in your eyes

but here on this marshy bank there is one road only

only one treacherous road and you must cross it

you must soak in blood before time catches up with you

and you must cross to the other side to see your companions again

flowers birds deer

to find another sea another kindness

to grasp Achilles' horses by their reins

instead of sitting mutely blaming the river

like Kitsos' mother when she stoned the river

because you will have become lost and your beauty grown old.

In the branches of a willow I see drying a shirt you wore as a child

take the flag of life to shroud death

let your heart not give way

let not your tear be lost on the unyielding earth

as the tear of the penguin was lost in the icy wastes

Lamentation is worthless

Life everywhere will be the same with the flute of snakes in the land

        of phantoms

with the song of thieves in the spice trees

with the knife of desire in the face of hope

with the sadness of spring in the leafy heart of an owl

It is enough if a plow is found, a keen sickle in a cheerful hand

it is enough if a only little wheat ripens

a little wheat for the holiday a little wine for remembrance a little water

        for the dust . . .

3.

In the yard of the embittered the sun does not rise

only worms come up to taunt the stars

only horses sprout on ant hills

and the bats eat birds and piss seed

In the yard of the embittered the night does not fade

only the leaves throw up a river of tears

when the devil slips in to ride the dogs

and the black birds swim in a well of blood

In the yard of the embittered the eye has run dry

the brain has frozen and the heart has turned to stone

the flesh of frogs hangs in the spider's teeth

the unfed locusts scream at the vampire's feed

In the yard of the embittered the grass grows dark

only one evening in May a wind breaks in

a light step like the skipping of the field

a kiss from the white crests of the sea.

If you are thirsty for water we will wring out a cloud

and if you are hungry for bread we will butcher a nightingale

only the bitter herb waits a moment to open

the dark sky to lighten the mullein to flower

Yet it was a wind that fled a lark that was lost

it was the face of May the pale face of the moon

a light step like skipping in a the field

a kiss from the white crests of the sea. 

Trans, DGW.

For the complete Amorgos with the Greek: http://www.nauplion.net/Gatsos-AMORGOS.pdf