Nikos Engonopoulos | Hymn to the Glory of the Women We Love

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 Nikos Engonopoulos, 'Poet and Muse' (1939)
 
 
Dans les peuples vraimant libres, les
femmes sont libres et adorées.
                          SAINT-JUST
             T.
 
 
the women we love are like pomegranates
they come and find us
at night
when it rains
with their breasts they eliminate our solitude
deep in our hair they submerge
and adorn it
like tears
like bright seashores
like pomegranates
 
the women we love are swans
their parks
flourish in our hearts alone
their wings are
the wings of angels
their sculpted forms are our bodies
the lovely tree groves are they themselves
as they stand on the tip of their great feet
they approach us
and it is as if we are kissed
on the eyes by
swans
 
the women we love are lakes
through their reed-beds
our burning lips whistle
our fine fowls swim in their waters
and then
when they fly
– being haughty –
they are reflected
in the lakes
and on their shores the poplars are lyres
whose music drowns
our sorrows
and as they surge through our being
with joy
with peace
the women we love are
lakes
 
the women we love are like flags
flapping in the winds of desire
their long hair
shines
at night
in their warm palms they hold
our lives
their soft bellies are
the heavenly dome
they are our doors
our windows
arrays of vessels
our stars always lie close to them
their colours are
words of love
their lips
are
the sun the moon
and their cloth is the only shroud that befits us:
the women we love are flags
 
the women we love are forests
each tree is a sign of passion
if into these forests
our footsteps
lure us
and we are lost
it is then
precisely
that we find ourselves
and live
and as we hear the storm coming from afar
or even as the wind
brings us
the music and the sounds
of the feast
or the flutes of danger
nothing – naturally – can frighten us
as the thick foliage
protects us indeed
since the women we love are like forests
 
the women we love are harbours
(the sole purpose
the destination
of our fine ships)
their eyes
are breakwaters
their shoulders are the signal
of joy
their thighs
a row of urns on the quays
their legs
our
compassionate
lighthouses
– the nostalgic call them Katerina –
their waves are
tender caresses
their Sirens do not seduce us
they
– being friendly –
only
show us the way
towards the harbours: the women we love
 
the women we love are of divine essen
and when in our arms
we hold them tight
we too are akin to gods
we stand erect like frighful castles
then nothing can shake us
with their chalk-white hands
they
cling onto us
and all the people come
and all the nations
and kneel before us
they call out
our name
immortal
through the centuries
because the women we love
impart
to us too
their
divine
essence
 
 
(My translation ~ 2001) 



Note

You can read the Greek text, under the title «Ύμνος δοξαστικός για τις γυναίκες π' αγαπούμε», here.

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