ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ ΚΡΕΜΝΙΩΤΗΣ "Γεωμετρία της Νήψης"

Μετάφραση Νότα Χρυσίνα

Ελεγεία Α'

Ισορροπώ ανάμεσα στο φως -τότε που ντύνει
Τους δρόμους που τυλίγουνε τους λόφους-
Και στου βοριά το ράπισμα που σχίζει
Τις ξεραμένες σάρκες απ' τα φυλλοβόλα.
Για όσους πριν σε κατοικούσαν από 'μένα, μίλησέ μου
Γη των νεκρών και γη των αθανάτων
Σε ποιους ανήκει αυτό το χώμα
Που το αγιάζι ανάμεσα απ' τα μνήματα σηκώνει;

Elegy A

I balance between the light- when it is dresses the roads that shroud the hills-

And the North’s blow that tears apart

The Dried flesh from deciduous trees.

About those who lived in you before me, talk to me Land of the dead and land of Immortals

To whom it does belong the earth

That the cold air lifts among the  graves?

Nostos

From the bunch of flowers falling on the desk

Petals that the invisible humidity of time

On the light curves of their colours

Thickened, weighting their body   

And the parts of the body of the stuffed Spring thrashed. All done from that yellowish grey that spreads in the alleys, the light,

Like pollutant shedding from the skylight, all, under the night’s order, drowns them. Clumsy seems in velocity the sorrow and, there is,

Despite the moral of windless July,

Despite too many Augusts in History. Though,

It can for each one of us, despised, 

the rotten tongues and we only

from the loft of Pentecoste, we used as a cape,

looked everywhere in the Mind of the Blood, they may write

in the cenotaph of our  perseverance

as a tombstone:

He Knew the apocryphal fire of volcanoes

Having in mind to add, sometime in future,

One more hue  

To those that takes the open ocean

in the city streets

compromised to live (climb up

buildings  being abandoned)

broke into silence raged to hear

some of the last voices of early life

not the hissing from an attacking falcon

even the rattling early wind –

even if smelt sick oxygen and urea.

 From the bunch of flowers falling on the desk

Petals that the invisible  humidity of time

On the light curves of their colours

Thickened, weighting their body  

And the parts of the body of the stuffed Spring thrashed. There I

Write, mourn, write: “golden

Casting the guts of monsters

In the fulfilled heaven that broadens out  Above Vosporos of decay returning”

I Write, mourn, write

The sun dresses with its spring water the sea and I dress with my secret thought what I love.

Apocalyptic Semiology of Love

Hiding itself the sun behind the rocks of the seashores

And wind tangled the woe

Disregarding deepens the shiver, goes

Against to half visible because of the glare birds fluttering  and the shape of

Trees onto the shores their last

movement gives, inadvertently maybe and,

donates last testimony of life, existing,

with the whole earth on its shoulders

more and more rarely calms  as

two birds that bliss in their intercourse

and the stature of their love in the Simple

the dogmas of Shakespeare mocks.

Wind tangled the woe

Disregarding deepens the shiver, goes

Against to half visible because of the glare birds fluttering  and in

The sense of undisguised God

Sets the world

                         The essence of the Rise.