Yannis Ritsos: A Selection from the Forties - Triceratops Home

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80 01 FEITON1 EX TOY KOXMOY JOURNAL OF THE HELLENIC DIASPORA ToOto tb maoxitpc, caw zit napac p.dic p0s Oup.toplyo. That, pap') tb aixxl 100 ijAcou arily nkrlytaapayri Kt of =plug pia' an' to cpaAa Belxvouv apLwaysc Ttc ypoOLiG tour. [lay apecc %at tf plilYCL; EIVO4C. Kayiyac Say Sproas cpitoG, mcyivocc Say Eanetpe. Aay Wet; xrxt tf xitpa xiyst. Tb xcaostocipE gxst xiosE tb Spatto TOU ayitteacc crcoac axo-ctoilayous x,E, of sE7coxiq %aeon= apDarce; atb potiPapacatavo Siaoc. "Eva iatoxtrirco ayocx-cb cnby nponya SpOp.o. Koufkaist aray TCOXrce (cc xcEaOloccE acpcapic. 'Ea.cp4i. Xievse atb axoycap.iyo "Oxt, Say tipecc... OE yectoytic Oop.o0y.cat. Of yutovtic Si 00..ouy Exiaouy. Tac xopip.ccca of alloPpovTle; atb Z%0TCaurpto. TI ytix-ca Ta, cparca Tv') XcaSocpc,o0. 11 coax.aucrri. Tb cptAt ettay ILL xpb zit thccousta. "ratepa iticpTaye to xapti atb Tait. Mc& 7ccaroXti atb SpOp.o. 11 Yarcct. Kt tpixiAct. vorm. Kt, zapaci nob XTUTCOLEG Suyavca aTcwc xtunizt ypoOta niyou atb -cpcuegL. "icrcepa niAL acyccLi. Moyixi to Sexavfxca, tou opeyyarno5 atb TcsoSpallto xt, Eva xipt icon acptyyst tip tic stapbacq 5c,L Eva xipt, to XocS(byst tb ncatb neptatpocpo xt gym xipt 7cob pif3it p.cac =Tali xc Eva xdpt nob acptyyst gym aAXo xapc xcct, T' &wet= nob SeCxyouy to aptypiya taus Sayvi, -rby Iturna aTccupb nob aysp4sc arty 'Astp67toX71, .iyetioc nob apAsc Tat ileoiyura. "A, ITO; cpuaist ko5toc b ayetwc. 86Xat vac atoniast. 'Ayocymadyet, tic napTec. XTurciat Ta, nawrCoapta. 'AyattcaLiCit Tic auyotx/eG. Biclay1C& Tic imippec poricstac T6iy p,acyiScoy.
Yannis Ritsos: A Selection from the Forties 81 from THE NEIGHBORHOODS OF THE WORLD This summer, like last year's, came to us angry. The sun's bag is heavy on the wounded back. And from behind the leaves the fruits show their denched fists. You don't even know which month it is. No one ploughed this year, no one sowed. You don't even know how the weather is. Summer has lost its way amid the dead and the Seasons sit speechless in the bombed forest. An open car in the morning road. It carries into the city cases with bullets. It turned. Vanished in the dusty light. No, you don't know The neighborhoods remember. The neighborhoods do not want to forget. At daybreak the salvos at Skopeftirio. At night the lights at Haidari. The blackout. The kiss was bitter and hasty. Then the hands fell to the side. A pistol shot in the street. The night. And the fleeing. The night. And the heart pounding strongly just as a fist pounds on the table. Then silence again. Only the moon's crutches on the sidewalk and a hand clasping the back of the chair and a hand oiling the old revolver and a hand sewing a flag and a hand clasping another hand and the stars showing their clenched teeth over the swastika fluttering on the Acropolis, and the wind starting at midnight. Ah, how this wind blows. It doesn't want to stop. Closes and opens the doors. Pounds at the shutters. Dishevels the neighborhoods. Torments the mothers' black skirts.
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Yannis Ritsos: A Selection from the Forties - Triceratops Home

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