Yannis Ritsos
TONIGHT we fall asleep in Spring's lap, resting our head against her heart.
We hear heartbeats and birds breathing in our sleep.
In the morning, when we wake, we see the sky strolling about our room like a bird of blue with golden eyes feeding on leftover bread crumbs of shadow.
Then, in a flash, we wash and get ready for the day.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 345]
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Midday Summer Dream: 8
Yannis Ritsos
AT NIGHT the almond trees pass beneath our windows slow and sad in their white dresses, like those pale girls from the orphanage returning from a short, Sunday outing, nearly asleep, holding hands two by two, not speaking, not looking up to the stars sprouting one by one in the shadows, distant and happily.
Tomorrow we'll tell the almond trees to go to the beach and wash the dust of our sadness from their faces.
In the evening, when they return cheerful, they'll give us our first words washed clean in the sea, and we'll cry in the open windows for the joy of being able to cry.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 344]
AT NIGHT the almond trees pass beneath our windows slow and sad in their white dresses, like those pale girls from the orphanage returning from a short, Sunday outing, nearly asleep, holding hands two by two, not speaking, not looking up to the stars sprouting one by one in the shadows, distant and happily.
Tomorrow we'll tell the almond trees to go to the beach and wash the dust of our sadness from their faces.
In the evening, when they return cheerful, they'll give us our first words washed clean in the sea, and we'll cry in the open windows for the joy of being able to cry.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 344]
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Midday Summer Dream: 7
Yannis Ritsos
WE SLEPT when we weren't tired. We ate when we weren't hungry.
We kept time using the wristwatch given to us on our name day, forgetting the clock of the garden that always pointed to summer.
Now we want to place the wristwatch close to our pulse, checking the time when the hour hands of shadow begin to point across the golden green face of the lawn.
There's still time for us to cut some poppies so our hands won't grow old within the monasteries of books.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 344]
WE SLEPT when we weren't tired. We ate when we weren't hungry.
We kept time using the wristwatch given to us on our name day, forgetting the clock of the garden that always pointed to summer.
Now we want to place the wristwatch close to our pulse, checking the time when the hour hands of shadow begin to point across the golden green face of the lawn.
There's still time for us to cut some poppies so our hands won't grow old within the monasteries of books.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 344]
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Midday Summer Dream: 6
Yannis Ritsos
LIKE the heart of a tiny swallow that trembles in the palm of daybreak your memory begins along with the first green leaf.
You remember how you sat and stared into the large round eyes of grazing cows, seeing a miniature rural landscape: the plain like a vast green tray, the small church with cypresses, the white arc of doves over the forest, the harvesters with bundles of wheat and with yellow handkerchiefs.
You didn't know the architecture of the roses, nor the mechanics that birds used to traverse the sky.
You simply said good morning to the roses and to the birds, as you might say good morning to girls.
Then daisies opened small windows and leaned out over the sills to greet the morning as it passed down the street without the burdens of shadow and memory.
Later on, you learned to greet people by taking off your hat, and to say "Thank you" to the flowers only when there was no one around to hear you.
You wished to grow up quickly, to put on long pants, to learn to write so you could stop saying "Thank you," to construct a rose where a sad ray of light sleeps in an empty arch of fragrance.
Now you ask to deliver once more over the same lip that same "Thank you" after so many years of forgetting it.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 343-344]
LIKE the heart of a tiny swallow that trembles in the palm of daybreak your memory begins along with the first green leaf.
You remember how you sat and stared into the large round eyes of grazing cows, seeing a miniature rural landscape: the plain like a vast green tray, the small church with cypresses, the white arc of doves over the forest, the harvesters with bundles of wheat and with yellow handkerchiefs.
You didn't know the architecture of the roses, nor the mechanics that birds used to traverse the sky.
You simply said good morning to the roses and to the birds, as you might say good morning to girls.
Then daisies opened small windows and leaned out over the sills to greet the morning as it passed down the street without the burdens of shadow and memory.
Later on, you learned to greet people by taking off your hat, and to say "Thank you" to the flowers only when there was no one around to hear you.
You wished to grow up quickly, to put on long pants, to learn to write so you could stop saying "Thank you," to construct a rose where a sad ray of light sleeps in an empty arch of fragrance.
Now you ask to deliver once more over the same lip that same "Thank you" after so many years of forgetting it.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 343-344]
Friday, June 27, 2008
Midday Summer Dream: 5
Yannis Ritsos
WE HAD made a cart out of a walnut shell. We used a spool for wheels. We harnessed up two ants and heaped it full of clover. Please don't tell anyone where we are going.
The echo in the well listens and the caves repeat the sound our voices.
The sun burns the stone and a number of smokestacks send up plumes from the white cities of chamomile.
Wagtails steal our straw hats and wear them.
Now seated on the highest balcony of our mulberry tree they make fun of us. And we make fun of the wagtails.
We enter the whitewashed pen that is filled with weeds and a wooden cross, and we look for wild violets to braid into a crown for the girls' hair.
The road from here to there is straight, and the mule drivers sing grape harvesting songs under the immense midday heat of the sun.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 343]
WE HAD made a cart out of a walnut shell. We used a spool for wheels. We harnessed up two ants and heaped it full of clover. Please don't tell anyone where we are going.
The echo in the well listens and the caves repeat the sound our voices.
The sun burns the stone and a number of smokestacks send up plumes from the white cities of chamomile.
Wagtails steal our straw hats and wear them.
Now seated on the highest balcony of our mulberry tree they make fun of us. And we make fun of the wagtails.
We enter the whitewashed pen that is filled with weeds and a wooden cross, and we look for wild violets to braid into a crown for the girls' hair.
The road from here to there is straight, and the mule drivers sing grape harvesting songs under the immense midday heat of the sun.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 343]
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Midday Summer Dream: 4
Yannis Ritsos
BRING OUT the wooden pony with the red saddle, we'll pursue the shadows of waters before evening catches up with us with its long fairy tales and wintry fires.
Time doesn't apply when the sun hangs gold fringes on the doors of the forest.
Bushes take their green aprons off and bathe secretly in the river.
Afternoons, when the grownups slept, the children left the houses, rolled in the grass, bit the chaste-tree leaves and embraced the trees.
Everywhere, the woods was scented by naked women.
Large butterflies revealed the secrets of spring and lizards with emerald eyes eavesdropped strangely from behind the stones throughout the night.
We didn't notice the fences.
We prayed later that the jackdaws wouldn't say anything to our mothers about what happened among the resin-dripping trees.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 342-343]
BRING OUT the wooden pony with the red saddle, we'll pursue the shadows of waters before evening catches up with us with its long fairy tales and wintry fires.
Time doesn't apply when the sun hangs gold fringes on the doors of the forest.
Bushes take their green aprons off and bathe secretly in the river.
Afternoons, when the grownups slept, the children left the houses, rolled in the grass, bit the chaste-tree leaves and embraced the trees.
Everywhere, the woods was scented by naked women.
Large butterflies revealed the secrets of spring and lizards with emerald eyes eavesdropped strangely from behind the stones throughout the night.
We didn't notice the fences.
We prayed later that the jackdaws wouldn't say anything to our mothers about what happened among the resin-dripping trees.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 342-343]
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Midday Summer Dream: 3
Yannis Ritsos
NOBODY knew that we whispered in the ear of a butterfly.
Nobody remembers how it spoke to the dawn or that the flowers knew its voice or that the birds raised banners and trumpets and marched past like toy soldiers upon the road of morning light.
We almost remember when spring opens the windows and rustles the sheets of sleep with light.
The sea appears from somewhere.
Even the field draws closer like a green tortoise just waking.
Later the field goes back to being a field, and we the children that play in the field.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 342]
NOBODY knew that we whispered in the ear of a butterfly.
Nobody remembers how it spoke to the dawn or that the flowers knew its voice or that the birds raised banners and trumpets and marched past like toy soldiers upon the road of morning light.
We almost remember when spring opens the windows and rustles the sheets of sleep with light.
The sea appears from somewhere.
Even the field draws closer like a green tortoise just waking.
Later the field goes back to being a field, and we the children that play in the field.
from Midday Summer Dream (1938) [Collected Poems: Alpha ---pg 342]
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