THE SORROWS OF THE DOCKYARD<\/p>\n
A poem by Alexandros Baras (1906-1990)
\n*<\/p>\n
An old ruin of a ship<\/p>\n
I saw her leaning on her side<\/p>\n
Her ribs were eaten by rust<\/p>\n
Her rudder out of the water<\/p>\n
Bitten, broken<\/p>\n
By an unknown sea monster
\n*<\/p>\n
Such a poor ruin of a ship\u2026<\/p>\n
And yet \u2013 who would have believed it?<\/p>\n
From her tilting funnel it seemed<\/p>\n
Some smoke was slowly rising <\/p>\n
A wisp, thinly dispersing <\/p>\n
(In the bowels of the wreck there was hidden<\/p>\n
A final spark; and possibly, possibly<\/p>\n
She was dreaming of voyages still to come<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
THE SORROWS OF THE DOCKYARD<\/p>\n
A poem by Alexandros Baras (1906-1990)
\n*<\/p>\n
An old ruin of a ship<\/p>\n
I saw her leaning on her side<\/p>\n
Her ribs were eaten by rust<\/p>\n
Her rudder out of the water<\/p>\n
Bitten, broken<\/p>\n
By an unknown sea monster
\n*<\/p>\n
Such a poor ruin of a ship\u2026<\/p>\n
And yet \u2013 who would have believed it?<\/p>\n
From her tilting funnel it seemed<\/p>\n
Some smoke was slowly rising<\/p>\n
A wisp, thinly dispersing<\/p>\n
(In the bowels of the wreck there was hidden<\/p>\n
A final spark; and possibly, possibly<\/p>\n
She was dreaming of voyages still to come<\/p>\n
Perhaps she was falling asleep in hope<\/p>\n
Of escaping the evening boredom of the docks\u2026)<\/p>\n
I looked at her, and I thought, despite myself<\/p>\n
Of men also battered and bruised<\/p>\n
Whom life has imperceptibly consumed<\/p>\n
So many parallels came into my mind …
\n*<\/p>\n
Syntheses, Second book, 1938- Collection, 1933, Poetry 1983, Kedros Publishers<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
THE \u201cCLEOPATRA\u201d,THE \u201cSEMIRAMIS\u201d AND THE \u201cTHEODORA\u201d<\/p>\n
A poem by Alexandros Baras (1906-1990)
\n*<\/p>\n
Every week,<\/p>\n
On the stated day<\/p>\n
Always at the same time<\/p>\n
Three beautiful ships<\/p>\n
The \u201cCleopatra\u201d,the \u201cSemiramis\u201dand the \u201cTheodora\u201d<\/p>\n
Leave the quay<\/p>\n
At nine o\u2019 clock, always<\/p>\n
To Piraeus<\/p>\n
To Brindisi and Trieste<\/p>\n
Always.
\n*<\/p>\n
Without zigging and zagging<\/p>\n
Without hesitation<\/p>\n
Or useless hooting<\/p>\n
They turn their prows to the open sea<\/p>\n
The \u201cCleopatra\u201d,the \u201cSemiramis\u201dand the \u201cTheodora\u201d<\/p>\n
Like well-bred people<\/p>\n
Leaving a drawing room<\/p>\n
Without tasteless<\/p>\n
Needless handshakes
\n*
\nThey leave the quay<\/p>\n
At nine o\u2019clock<\/p>\n
Always to Piraeus<\/p>\n
To Brindisi, to Trieste<\/p>\n
Always \u2013be it the weather hot or cold
\n*<\/p>\n
They go<\/p>\n
To smudge the blue<\/p>\n
Of Aegean and Mediterranean<\/p>\n
With their smoke<\/p>\n
They go to spread stones of topaz<\/p>\n
With their lights on the water<\/p>\n
At night.<\/p>\n
They set sail<\/p>\n
Always with persons and luggage\u2026
\n*<\/p>\n
The \u201cCleopatra\u201d,the \u201cSemiramis\u201dand the \u201cTheodora\u201d<\/p>\n
For so many years now<\/p>\n
Follow the same route<\/p>\n
Arriving on the same day<\/p>\n
Leaving at the same time.
\n*<\/p>\n
They look like office clerks<\/p>\n
Who have become chronometers<\/p>\n
If one day they did not go through<\/p>\n
Their office door<\/p>\n
It might collapse.
\n*<\/p>\n
(When the route is always the same<\/p>\n
Be it the entire Mediterannean<\/p>\n
or just from home to another place)<\/p>\n
The \u201cCleopatra\u201d, the \u201cSemiramis\u201d and the \u201cTheodora\u201d<\/p>\n
For years and years<\/p>\n
Feel the tyranny of boredom<\/p>\n
Always following the same route<\/p>\n
Always calling at the same ports.
\n*<\/p>\n
If I were the captain,<\/p>\n
yes \u2013 si j\u2019\u00e9tais roi !\u2013<\/p>\n
If I were the captain<\/p>\n
Of the \u201cCleopatra\u201d, of the \u201cSemiramis\u201d, of the \u201cTheodora\u201d<\/p>\n
If I were the captain<\/p>\n
With my four gold stripes<\/p>\n
If I had been left on this same line<\/p>\n
For so many years,<\/p>\n
During a moonlit night<\/p>\n
In the middle of the sea<\/p>\n
I would climb to the topmost deck<\/p>\n
And as the music played on<\/p>\n
In the first class hall saloon<\/p>\n
I, in my grand uniform<\/p>\n
With the gold stripes<\/p>\n
And my gold medals<\/p>\n
Would trace a harmonious curve<\/p>\n
Falling from the topmost deck<\/p>\n
Into the water<\/p>\n
With all my gold insignia<\/p>\n
Like a shooting star<\/p>\n
A hero of an unexplained death.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
From \u201cPoems 1933-1953\u201d<\/p>\n
Translated from the Greek by Lionel Scott and Lito Seizani<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
SMALL HANDS ON DOORS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A poem by Alexandros Baras (1906-1990)<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n At Phanari, in Smyrna, on Syros<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n You have always attracted my attention, <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n You small bronze hands for knocking<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n on the front doors of quiet houses.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Clenched,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n those who shaped you made you hold<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n a tiny ball the size of a cherry plum.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Always polished, ever waiting.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n The street is quiet.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Soon someone will appear<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n On the deserted seafront of an island<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n marbled in the moonlight,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Walking alone in the deep night,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n I with my ears pricked was trying<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n to listen to God.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n *<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n The doors of the houses were shut,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n angels of silence were sitting on the thresholds.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n From \u201cPoems 1933-1953\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Translated from the Greek by Lionel Scott and Lito Seizani<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" THE SORROWS OF THE DOCKYARD A poem by Alexandros Baras (1906-1990) * An old ruin of a ship I saw […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":80,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center 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