Nikos Engonopoulos | The Clavicords of Silence

Nikos Engonopoulos, 'Composition' (1960)

 

 

... and everything remains silent, and silence is

good only if it holds joy within. Otherwise

I fear it ...

                        LEE

 

 

the seeds

of werewolves

strain

the rudders

of the horizon

they thrust

illuminated flutes

amid

the blood-stained dresses

hanging

from the leafy branches

of trees

they drown crows

in the mirrors

they seek

the justice

and mercy

of

children

 

but

I

lay red flowers

in her hair

I rise

all naked

in

crimson

gardens

I lose myself

inside

dark caves

whose depths

shroud

sewing-machines

and yellow

fish

that talk

like flowers

 

and perhaps

I am

that werewolf

of lightning

the one they call

– when darkness falls –

the “man as parenthesis”

in the bellows

of snares

in

the shrouds

of the pathway

at some nightly

hour

when

a bird

dies away

like a sulphur candle

 

and so

down the temples

of the despairing

clavichords

– drop by drop –

they fall,

the couples

of the disheartened,

and a

heavy cloud

of long

fair hair

– with eyes of ash –

sweeps silently

through

long narrow basements

where there only blossom

sea havens

and

hawks

 

and the silence is

fire

a rope-ladder

carefully

positioned

on the lips

and a white

horse

which is

a tree

by the sea

and a red

horse

like a flag

 

and I plane

– tirelessly –

over the waters

on my lyrical

bicycle

wearing the helmet

of love

 

and when I reach

the last

step

of this

dark

ladder

and open

the door

of the room

only then I realise

that the room

was

– is –

a vast

garden

full of music

and pictures

 

– a room

full of sheets

thrown about

in

the garden – 

 

sheets,

some flapping

like flags

and like

glass panes

and some

thrown about

like mirrors

others

uttering

inarticulate words

like chimneys

or spread

on beds

like comets

some like

jugs

others

like tusks

and others

draping

in dew

and woeful cries

beautiful

naked women

 

so that

I should

– perhaps in dire need –

compare

the whole

situation

to a piece of glass

which when you set

against your eye

you see

a deep

well

and in the

distance

a

b i r d

 

 

(My translation ~ 2001)

 

 

 

Notes

 

1. My translation was originally published in the Autumn 2001 issue of Poetry Greece, a biannual publication devoted to Modern Greek poetry, and won the Keeley-Sherrard Translation Award. 

2. You can read the Greek text, under the title «Τα κλειδοκύμβαλα της σιωπής», here.