Four Poems by Liana Sakelliou

Translation by Don Schofield

Raffaello Ceccoli’s Icon, 1853

My father liked the icon
in the monastery because Ceccoli
portrayed his dead daughter as the Virgin.
I was alive and he
was not a painter.
“Only this lasts,” he used to whisper
as he held me tightly in his arms
like Ceccoli must have held his heavy easel.

But where was the fountain?
In the lion’s mouth?
In the courtyard, beyond the tombs?
Deep in the plane trees’ shadows?
I wanted that life-giving spring in the open
so his palm with the unbroken lifeline
would always be there behind the painting.

“Η Ζωοδόχος Πηγή” του Ραφαήλ Τσέκολι, 1853

Στον πατέρα μου άρεσε η εικόνα
στο Μοναστήρι μα πιο πολύ γιατί ο Τσέκολι
ζωγράφισε σαν Παναγία την πεθαμένη κόρη του.
Ήμουν ζωντανή κι εκείνος
δεν ήταν ζωγράφος.
Μόνο αυτή διαρκεί, μου ψιθύριζε.
Με κρατούσε στην αγκαλιά του σφιχτά
όπως ο Τσέκολι το βαρύ καβαλέτο.

Διακρίνεις την κρυμμένη πηγή;
Μέσα στο στόμα του λιονταριού;
Στο προαύλιο, δίπλα στους τάφους;
Βαθειά στα σκιερά πλατάνια;
Διάλεξα την πηγή
Ήθελα την ζωοδόχο πηγή υπαίθρια
αφού η παλάμη του με την ατάραχη γραμμή της ζωής
θα κρυβόταν πάντα πίσω απ’ τον πίνακα.

The Gate

All night beside him
in the endless glow
of his fishing lamp
I spent the sand
I spent the oil
in a cove where the Sleeping Woman
disappears.

Give me your hand, my child.
The signs for the weather are favorable.

But I set my course by the scops owl,
which is infallible, blunt
and doesn’t budge.

Η πύλη

Όλη τη νύχτα πλάι του
στο ατέλειωτο πυροφάνι
ξόδεψα την άμμο
ξόδεψα το λάδι
σ’ έναν όρμο όπου  εξαφανιζόταν
η Κοιμωμένη.

Δώσ’ μου το χέρι σου, παιδί μου,
ο καιρός πια ευνοϊκός.

Όμως εγώ προσέχω τον γκιώνη
και είναι αλάνθαστος κι είναι κοφτός
και δεν σαλεύει.

Muted

At nineteen I died
of the Red Death—
They buried me behind the monastery.

Take me from here, spare me—
They threw me off a cliff,
the swine.

The Turks captured me in the Balkans,
and then I caught eruptive typhus—
They buried me along the Turkish Road.

My name wasn’t included in the Promotion List.
I never became a Naval Officer—
With honor, I committed Hara-kiri.

During the Turkish Occupation they struck me down
at Daskaleio, the place for executions—
Everyone said I was a teacher.

Evacuate your houses, everyone—
The fire is coming!

ΣΙΓΑΣΗ

Πέθανα στα δεκαεννιά μου
από τον κόκκινο θάνατο—
μ’ έθαψαν στο Μοναστήρι.

Πάρτε με από εδώ, γλυτώστε με
πέφτω στο γκρεμό—
η  πανώλη.

Ήμουν Τούρκος αιχμάλωτος του Βαλκανικού
έπαθα εξανθηματικό τύφο—
μ’ έθαψαν στον Τουρκόδρομο.

Δεν περιελήφθην στον κατάλογο προαγωγής
ως Αξιωματικός του Ναυτικού—
έκανα χαρακίρι.

Επί Τουρκοκρατίας με εκτέλεσαν στο Δασκαλειό.
Ήταν τόπος εκτελέσεων—
ήμουν δασκάλα, είπαν όλοι.

Εκκενώστε τα σπίτια σας κύριοι.
Η  φωτιά πλησιάζει—

Stretcher

I was by the sea
searching for the ancient harbor.
Was it sunk by an earthquake?
Plundered by Alaric
and his Visigoths?
I was searching for the epic
of the ancient poets
who left too soon and so were lost.
The cove was small.
A boat was approaching
and the sea was being torn asunder.

ΚΟΊΤΗ

Ήμουν στη θάλασσα.
Έψαχνα το αρχαίο λιμάνι.
Το καταπόντισε ο σεισμός;
Ο Αλάριχος;
Οι Βησιγότθοι;
Έψαχνα τη λέξη των αρχαίων αφηγητών
πως ότι φεύγει, χάνεται.

Ήταν μικρός ο όρμος
το πλοίο όμως πλησίαζε
κι η θάλασσα σκιζόταν.

Liana Sakelliou was born in Athens where she studied English literature at the University of Athens and did postgraduate studies in Edinburgh, in Essex (UK) and at Pennsylvania State University. Since 1999 she has been a professor of American literature, specializing in contemporary poetry and creative writing in the Department of English Language and Literature of the University of Athens.  She has received scholarships from the Fulbright Foundation, the Department of Hellenic Studies of Princeton University, the University of Coimbra and the British Council for her academic and writing activities, and a translation award in 2014 for her book on Emily Dickinson. She has published 16 books, as well as numerous articles, poems, book reviews and translations in Greek and American periodicals.  Her poems have been translated into several languages.

Born in Nevada and raised in California, Don Schofield left America in 1980. Since that time he has been living and writing in Greece, traveling extensively, teaching and serving as an administrator at various universities—Greek, American and British—in Athens and Thessaloniki. Fluent in Greek, a citizen of both his homeland and his adopted country (or, more precisely, the country that adopted him), he has published several poetry collections, as well as an anthology of American poets in Greece and translations of contemporary Greek poets. He has been awarded the Allen Ginsberg Award (US), the John D. Criticos Prize (UK) and a Stanley J. Seeger Writer-in-Residence fellowship at Princeton University. His first book, Approximately Paradise, was a finalist for the Walt Whtman Award, and his translations have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and the Greek National Translation Award. Recently retired, he and his companion, Aleka, live in both Athens and Thessaloniki.