By Odysseas Elytis
SOMETIMES IT'S NOTHING BUT
a flash behind the mountains - there, by the island-littered sea.
Sometimes again a strong wind suddenly stops outside the harbors.
And those who understand grow tearful
Gold wind of life why don't you reach us?
No one hears, no one. Everyone walks with an icon, and on it, fire.
And not a day, a moment in this place without injustice, murder
Why don't you reach us?
I said I'll leave. Now. With whatever, travel sack on my shoulder;
guidebook in my pocket; camera in my hand. I'll go deep in the soil and
deep in my body to find out who I am. What I give, what I am given,
and still injustice has the greater part
Gold wind of life...
Translated by Olga Broumas
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you include links in your comment the whole comment will likely be deleted as spam. You have been warned! Otherwise, dialoguing with these poems is encouraged.