
vitaly2
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vitaly2 replied to ΘΑΝΑΣΗΣ ΠΟΛΥΜΗΧΑΝΟΣ's topic in Εντυπώσεις από συναυλίες - Past concert impressions
Πύγα στη συναυλία. Δεν ήτανε και τόσο πολικές θερμοκρασίες. Ήτανε γεμάτο, σωστό. Όλι πολύ ενθουσιασμένοι. Ο Νταλάρας μίλισε για το ρεμπέτικο τραγούδι και την ιστορία του, και ότι έχει ρίζες και στην Αμερική. Γ'αυτό το θέμα ήπανε κάποια τραγούδια όπως "Πάμε Ουεστ". Και τα άλλα - με μεγάλη κέφι. Τα κορίτσια και τα όργανα υποστήριξαν φανταστικά. Δυστυχώς δεν υπήρχε καμιά πρόγραμμα. Και κάποια κομμάτια δεν τα έχω ξανακούσει. Μία από της ωραιότερες συναυλίες. Άξιζε το ταξίδι. Καλή ακρόαση στην άλλα στέκια της περιοδείες. -
Είχα αμφιβολίες, αλλά τώρα είμαι σίγουρη: πρόκεται για πολιτικά γεγονότα. Δεν είναι απλά ερωτικό τραγούδι - όπως περισσότερα ελλινηκά τραγούδια που αξίζουν συζήτηση, και συγκεκριμένα σε στοίχους του Μ. Ελευθερίου πού κρύβουν πάντα κάποιο κωδικό μέσα. Γιά μένα η λέξη-κλειδί έγινε "καταιγίδα". Στο παρελθών πήγανε εκδρομή και έβρεχε. Γιατί πήγανε; Για μία συνέλευση της ομάδας τους στα κρυφά, μακρυά από τίχους που έχουν και αυτιά. Δεν ήτανε ερωτευμένοι αλλά το πικνίκ έφερε και ξενοιασιά, με το αμοιβαίο ερωτικό ενδιαφέρον. Δεν τόλμησαν να το αποκαλύψουν, να εκφράσουν: εκείνη το περίμενε απ' αυτόν (παλιοί καιροί - τώρα πιό τολμηροί είναι τα κορίτσια), και αυτός έπρεπε να φύγει (του κάτω κόσμου τα πουλιά!). Δεν θα είχε συνέχεια μία ερωτηκή σχέση, όταν ζείς επικίνδυνα. Σε λάθος στάση θα κατεβεί βέβαια να κρύψει ίχνη του από τους εξουσίες. Χρόνια μετά ακόμα δεν ήτανε δυνατόν να αποκαλύψει τα στοιχεία του όταν συναντήθηκαν τυχαία κάτω απ' τη μαρκίζα - εννοήθηκε ότι δεν είχε ελπίδα και ρώτησε μόνο για κουβέντα. Ακόμα κουβαλάει αυτός τη καταιγίδα του πολιτικού ουρανού στα γκρίζα μάτια του και στη ζωή του. Ποιοί και πού θα χτυπηθούν άυριο κάτω απ' τον ουρανό της δικτατορίας, και ο ίδιος ο καθεστώς δεν το ξέρει. Μπορεί και να εξαντληθεί η καταιγίδα απροσδόκητα (όπως και έγινε πραγματικά). Τί να της πεί; Η καταιγίδα δεν ξέρει, η ζευγάρι δεν ξέρει (δυστυχώς δεν έγιναν καν ζευγάρι παρά στα όνειρα τους, και η φωτογραφία ήτανε ομαδική, πάρθηκε από κάποιο μέλος της ομάδας που παρίστανε μια αφελή εκδρομή). Αλλά εμείς ξέρουμε τελικά! Ναι, ακούμε επιπόλαια, στο δρόμο, μεταξύ δουλιές, σε κομμάτια, και τα κάνουμε κομμάτια. Η προδοσία της Σειρίνης αυτής, μουσικής: μας γεμίζει με αισθήσεις και παραισθήσεις, χανόμαστε στη φωνή να παραμελήσουμε τα λόγια (και το λόγο!). Και χάρη σε κάποιον "ανιαρό αναλυτή" (ευχαριστώ Michael όπου και να' σαι) που απορεί με ένα "απλό ερωτικό τραγούδι" θα φτάσουμε κάπου και στην αλήθεια. Με ενοχλεί όμως: πώς και οι Ελληνες δεν βγάζουν τη νόημα; Πέστε μου ότι έκανα λάθος ανάλυση. Γλωσσικά λάθη τα έκανα πολλά, το ξέρω. Θα ήθελα να τα μου διορθώσει κάποια χριστιανή ψυχή αλλά δεν έχω ελπίδα και δεν ρωτάω. Μπορεί και 5 χρόνια μετά.
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Κρυφή Αφή Μιχάλης Τερζής - Δημήτρης Λεντζός Hidden sense Η θάλασσα στα στήθια σου -// - The sea is on your bosom κι εγώ στεριά και πέτρα -//- and I am land and rocks κρυφή αφή, πατρίδα μου -//- A hidden sense, my homeland - τις ξενιτιές μου μέτρα. -//- do feel my pain in foreign lands. Ο έρωτας κι η μοναξιά -//- Love and loneliness έχουν την ίδια ρίζα -//- grow from the same root αγάπη μου πολύχρωμη -//- Oh my iridescent love μάτια βαθιά μου γκρίζα. -//- my intense grey eyes. Γυμνά νησιά τα χείλη σου -//- Bare islands are your lips τών ενοίκων οι μύθοι -//- and the myths of your dwellers φιλιά γλυκές μαρμαρυγές -//- are kisses and gentle shimmers η μνήμη και η λήθη.-//- (bringing) both memories and oblivion.
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Έγινες πουλί Γιάννης Τριανταφυλλίδης - Λευτέρης Χαψιάδης You've become a bird Καρδιά μου, έγινες πουλί -//- My heart, you've become a bird πουλί και ταξιδεύεις -//- a bird that's been roaming στη δύση, στην ανατολή -//- in the West and in the East. τι θέλεις, τι γυρεύεις: - //- what is it that you're seeking? Αυτά τα μάτια που ζητάς -//- Those eyes you want to meet κοιτάνε άλλα μάτια -//- are looking into someone other's eyes σε ξέχασαν, καρδούλα μου -//- you've been forgotten, my heart, και σ' έκαναν κομμάτια.-//- they've smashed you into pieces. Να 'ταν ο ουρανός γυαλί -//- If the sky were made of glass και το γυαλί καθρέφτης -//- and of the looking glass with that - να σ' έβλεπα, αγάπη μου -//- I'd want to watch you, my love, που στρώνεις και που πέφτεις. -//- how you'd fall into your own trap. Να 'ταν ο ουρανός γυαλί -//- If the sky were made of glass και το γυαλί καθρέφτης -//- and of the looking glass with that - να δω όσα μου έκρυψε -//- let me see how much he's kept hidden from me, ο χρόνος που 'ναι ψεύτης. -//- that crooked time. Σε όποια πόρτα κι αν χτυπάς -//- Of all the doors you knock at καμία δεν ανοίγει -//- none would open κι όταν ανοίγει και ρωτάς -//- and when it does open and you ask σου λένε έχει φύγει.-//- they tell you she's gone.
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Του έρωτα η φανέλα Λάκης Παπαδόπουλος - Λευτέρης Παπαδόπουλος The sweater of love Είναι βαριά η φανέλα της αγάπης -//- It is so heavy the sweater of love κι εσύ nα τη φορέσεις δεν μπορείς -//- and you would not be able to wear it γιατί ποτέ δε θέλησες να μάθεις -//- because you've never wanted to learn nα κλαις, να ξαγρυπνάς, να συγχωρείς. -//- how to weep, to loose your sleep and to forgive. Είναι βαριά του έρωτα η φανέλα -//- It is so heavy, the love's sweater. σoυ καίει το κορμί και τη καρδιά -// - it burns your body and your heart είναι μαζί και όνειρα και τρέλα -//- it is dreams and madness all together και δάκρυ, και χαρά, και μαχαιριά.-//- and tears, and joy and knife wounds. Δεν είναι η αγάπη παίξε γέλασε -//- Love is not about just playing and laughing κι εσύ την έχεις πάρει για παιχνίδι -//- and you've taken it for a game γιατί κανείς ποτέ δε σε ξεγέλασε -//- because no one has ever deceived you και τη ζωή σου 'κανε σκουπίδι. -//- throwing your life in the dirt.
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Βρέχει Γιώργος Σαμπάνης - Νίκος Μωραιτις Raining Φύγε πια - δικό μου θέμα η ζωή -// - Now go away- my life is none of your concern, δικό μου θέμα το κορμί -// - and none of your concern is my body κι αν θα το ρίχνω στην αγάπη επάνω για να χάνω -// - so what if I'll rush it to the love to perish? φύγε πια - εσύ δεν ήσουν τελικά -// - Now go away - in the end you weren't αυτό που λάτρεψε η καρδιά -// - the one for whom my heart was yearning, σε είπα δρόμο μα ήσουνα η δική μου η φυλακή μου. -// - I called you the way but you turned out to be my jail. Βρέχει -// - It's raining μα ο βρεγμένος τη βροχή δεν τη φοωάται -// - but he who's been soaked of the rain is not afraid, δεν τη φοβάται, φως μου, τη βροχη -// - he's not afraid, my darling, of the rain. βρέχει -// - Raining κι οι σταγόνες είσαι εσύ, δε σε φοβάμαι -// - but you are the raindrops, and I am not afraid of you μες στην αγάπη δου έχω πια πνιγεί -// - I've been already drowned in your love βρέχει -// - raining μα ο βρεγμένος τη βροχή δεν τη φοωάται -// - but he who's been soaked of the rain is not afraid, δεν τη φοβάται, φως μου, τη βροχη -// - he's not afraid, my darling, of the rain. βρέχει -// - Raining κι οι σταγόνες είσαι εσύ, δε σε φοβάμαι -// - but you are the raindrops, and I am not afraid of you γιατί η αγάπη μ' έχει φοβηθεί. -// - because the love's become afraid of me. Φύγε πια - δικό μου θέμα η μοναξιά -// - Now go away - my loneliness is only my concern - και πώς θα βγάλω τη βραδιά -// - and how I'll get through the night αν θα ονομάσω τη σιωπη παρέα, κι όλα ωραία -// - if I will call the silence company, and everything allright. φύγε πια - δικό μου ρίσκο η αντοχή -// - Now go away - I'll take myself my chances with the endurance είναι η ζωή μου ένα σκοινί -// - my life is a rope και μόνος πια διαλέγω να περάσω ή να σπάσω. -// - and now I must choose alone will I cross or break.
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Η ξενιτιά σου Κονσταντίνος Βελλιάδης - Τέρπανδρος Your departure Γίναν τα μάτια σου ψυχρά - // - Your eyes have became cold και κρύο έχουν φέρει -//- and brought chill. θέλω απόψε μια αγκαλιά -// - I want to be in your arms tonight μα δεν απλώνεις χέρι.- // - but you won't put out a hand. Μοιάζει ετούτη η στιγμή -//- This moment reminds me με πλοίο που σαλπάρει -// - of a ship ready to sail, κι εσύ εισιτίριο ζητάς -// - and you are asking for a ticket στα ξένα να σε πάρει. - // - to leave for foreign lands. Την ξενιτιά σου ακολουθώ -//- I am following you πιστός σαν μετανάστης - // - as a staunch immigrant που ψάχνει ελπίδα να πιαστεί - // - seeking for a hope to hold on to στο δρόμο της αγάπης. - // - on a road of love. Κι η προσφυγιά μου αν φανεί - // - And if my refugee misery wll show στα τρύπια μου παπούτσια - // - in my shoes with holes - θα πω πως ήσουν όνειρο - // - I'll say that you were a dream και μια ζωή απούσα. - // - and a life that did not happen. Καίγεται ο κόσμος άλλη μια - // - The world starts burning once more απ' τα δικά σου χείλη - // - from your own lips κι είναι τα λόγια σου φωτιά - // - and your words are a fire που ανάβουν το φιτίλι. - / / - that lights the fuse up. Σ' ένα υπαίθριο σινεμά - // - In an open-air cinema, με φόντο τη σελήνη - // - the moon in the background, παίζει η σκηνή του χωρισμού - // - a break-up scene is being played και ένοχος μας κρίνει. - // - and declares us guilty.
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Σε βρήκα πάλι Μίλτος Σέλλας - Ηρακλής Παντόπουλος I found you again Έτσι όπως σβήνει η φωτιά κι ανάβει το φεγγάρι -//- Now when the fire is dying and the moon rising - σβήνει ο κύκλος της παλιάς, παραξενής ζωής -//- is fading also the cycle of that strange life that passed, και νέος κύκλος ξεκινά αλλού για να με πάρει -//- and a new cycle is rising to take me out of here κλεισμένος στ' αμπάρι μιας άλλης φυγής. -//- where I am being locked in a hold of another escape. Σε βρήκα πάλι να περνάς σε ένα αστέρι πάνω -//- I found you again - on a star passing above, σε ένα βαθύ γαλάζιο φως τα μάτια σου λουσμένα -//- in a deep-blue light your eyes splashing, εκεί που ξέρεις να πετάς εγώ ποτέ δε φτάνω -//- there, where you know how to fly, I could never reach όμως παράξενες τροχιές σε φέρνουνε σ' εμένα.-//- and still some strange orbit paths bring you to me. Και τότε παίρνεις τ' όπλο σου πάλι -//- And then again you pull your weapon out και μου ζητάς να σου παραδοθώ -//- and demand for my surrender, αδειάζεις τις σφαίρες -//- you open the fire και πατάς τη σκανδάλη -//- pressing the trigger - πάλι στα ψέματα να σκοτωθώ. -//- to kill me again with lies. Και το φεγγάρι πέθανε και μαύρισε η νύχτα -//- And now the moon is dead, the night pitch-dark, τ' αστέρια χίλιες πυρκαγιές ψηλά στον ουρανό -//- the stars are burning high in the sky like thousands of fires. τα θάυματα και τα σπαθιά -//- The miracles and the swords που σου 'χούν μείνει δείχ 'τα -//- that you still keep - show me them, στης θάλασσας ριχ' τα το μαύρο βυθό. -//- throw them into the black abyss of the sea. Στο φως με σπρώχνουν συνεχώς -//- I am being pushed into the light μα εγώ ζητάω να βρώ -//- but I am asking for that dark το σκοτεινό δομάτιο που 'ναι τα περασμένα -//- room where the past is hiding, στη μέση στέκεται εσύ -//- and you are staying in the middle, φοράς φουστάνι μαύρο και γύρο σου κύκλοι κεριά -//- in a black dress, surrounded by candles που σβήνουν ένα ένα. -//- that are dying one-by-one. ________________________ Translator's note: A beautiful poem by Iraklis Padopoulos - images cycling in whimsical orbits and rings. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Another life, another cycle, another orbit pierced with an arc of someone's squinting eyes. But staying on one path would make my soul morbid and I prefer to be distracted by the lies. To kill with lies! It sounds so easy but life is rolling forward still in cycles. The moon will come, refresh the night with a breezy sound of fate that's throwing gambling dice. The sun is so round and so scorching - I look at the menora of the moon. So what if candles are dying in the morning? Another round of years will bring more soon. Too bad, my friend, that sometimes it's so round, your trust in grammar, words and so on. That's why with a fresh new game you are still bound to misconception of the right and wrong. Lets keep the orbits curved and acrched and yielding to stupid errors and to friendships imperfect. Lets not evaluate by formulas the feelings. All colors are legitimate to that effect. In shade of poetry doesn't sleep imagination revived by the music's own fan of lies. The fountain of truth - a devil's recreation - will make our lives as a crumbling cement dry. Sing, poet! You alone know the meaning behind the various shades of lie and truth. Who has imagination can still see you, leaning over the edge of non-existent fountain of youth.
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Γι'αυτό υπάρχουνε οι φίλοι Ανδρέας κατσιγιαννης - Ισαακ Σουσης That's what friends are for. Εκεί που οι φίλοι συναντιούνται -//- Here where the friends get together πια δε γυρνάει η σελίδα -//- pages stop turning και τη ζωή τους προσποιουνται -//- and they pretend to be just fine έχοντας χάσει κάθε ελπίδα -//- although the hopes've been lost. ξέρουν πως δεν υπάρχει λύση -//- They know that there is no solution και συνεχώς γι'αυτό μιλάνε -//- and don't stop saying that. και αν κάποιος κάποτε κολλήσει -//- And if someone happens to press against - θα πέσουν πάνω να τον φάνε -//- they will eat him alive, μα μέσα στα αδιέξοδά τους -//- but inside of their pessimism όλα τα άσκοπα χωράνε. -//- all the vain things would fit. Κι εγώ που ψάχνω απαντήσεις -//- And I myself, seeking the answers στα σφραγισμένα σου τα χειλή -//- on your sealed lips, ακούω σκόρπια τις ειδήσεις -//- notice the things in disjointed bits κι απέχω απ'όλα ένα μίλι. -//- and keep a mile's distance from it all. Γιατί ο έρωτας με κάνει-//- Because the love makes me πότε θεό, πότε ρεζίλι -//- now a god now a laughing-stock ποτέ στην ώρα του δε φτάνει -//- and never arrives on time. γ'αυτό υπάρχουνε οι φίλοι.-//- That's what friends are for. Εκεί που οι φίλοι το κουράζουν-//- Here where the friends wear all this out ενώ έχουν γίνει πάλι χώμα -//- since they've become my ground again, και τα χαρτιά ξανάμοιράζουν -//- and again they hand the cards out σαν μεταχειρισμένο σώμα -//- as a used camera, και όσα δένει μα δε λύνει -//- and all that's being bound but not solved η κάθε επόμενη παρτίδα -//- by each ongoing game's round - στην άκρη η σιωπή τ' αφήνει -//- the silence leaves it aside, σιωπή που γίνεται πυξίδα -//- the silence that becomes a compass για να μην πέφτει η μοναξιά τους -//- so that their loneliness won't fell στης φαντασίας την παγίδα. -//- into the trap of fantasy.
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Subjective impressions from the Budapest concert. Part 1. Objective (as much as possible) First, I am very impressed with the printed program booklet: it includes not only a program with the isting of songs and authors but also the discography of the musicians, plus the names of the orchestra musicians. Plus much more. Acoustics was excellent and the first time in my life the volume was just right, even in the 1st row (the 1st row was not the 9th or 10th as it happens in reality, but just the 5th, so I had excellent visibility, which helped a lot to form my subjective impressions - since it allowed me to see everything about the audience as reflected on the faces of the musicians - of course, mainly on the face of Dalaras, and also on the face of Melina Aslanidou who looked much more relaxed and sure of herself than other times when I saw her). The program started from Mesogeiois (not listed) and then proceeded more or less as planned, with some change of the order, and with some other changes: there was no Nihta, Stin Alana and Mi me Rotas - but I fantasia, pou'nai ta hronia, for example, were added). El emigrante I liked very much especially, since this time it had less flamenco flame and more emigrant' sadness. Melina Aslanidou was very good, in my opinion: after a couple of less significant songs she did (very well) Ah Ellada s'agapo - also out of the program. And in the rembetiko part (part 3) she was very much to my taste. Now in reply to some opinions that Dalaras should have selected different musicians for the tour I would say that I personally was convinced once again that he knows what he is doing very well: this type of the concert is for the people, not for the art (I'll try to explain it later for those who is not bored enough), so he does not want a company of stars, he wants those who are best suited for his communication with the people. Mihalis Tzouganakis did his familiar program - and he had great success with the audience (and with me, although it was not the first time that I heard him). There is an interesting statue in Koeln, close to the Rudolf square. It is a huge ear in stone - some kind of modern art. I was this huge ear listening to Tzouganakis. Somehow I am able to use all my other senses while listening to Dalaras: hearing, vision and even some thinking. Tzouganakis added some raw fuel into the fire. The audience in general was very responsive and inspiring (as I mentioned, judging by the musicians' faces, and also by the voices from behind and applauses of course. This is the end of the objective part - if you can consider it such. Part 2. Extremely subjective - and even lyrical. (Read at your own risk.) There are many Dalarases - according to the type of concerts, which defines his relationship with his own work and with the audience. My impressions only concern this type of concert - for communication with the people, diaspora or not - for those who know that there is never too much of a good thing. Who said that we need new songs? We need an ambassador like Dalaras - ambassador of love. In this type of concert each song has a meaning not by itself but as a single word in a sentence where he is saying: listen, this is a perfect harmony, between me and you, and between you all: each other of you. So, he is all smiles while maybe singing sad words. Like in "Parapono": Exeis afiseis mia psihi se pagonia kai se vrohi. No, he says, it's a just a joke: none of my people who love me and whom I love can't leave anyone of their own "m'ena parapono pikro". There is no reason to even think about being sad. So, that's impressions of someone very reasonable and sound while listening to another Dalaras concert filled with "old" songs heard many times before. That's why he is a genius.
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Performance by Manos Eleftheriou (From Panta kati menei) I'll treat you to a jasmine tea with bread while you'll be resting in a soft armchair, present you with a rare stamp of a Hermes head, a Polydori's autograph, and would you care for fingernails-made scribblings on the bare soil - that on my body can be also read? The shutters are closed and turned on the lights. Performance I will give you of a sacrifice. Wrapped in a bedsheet, my lonely soul's sight is a reenaction of one betraying kiss's vice. Two years of rain! Humidity is on the rise. Gone mad the weather - it is such a fright. It'll rain and snow, and the wind will rage but we are well protected from the breeze. As two unguarded islands we will age and then deleted from the map of Greece. Shall I incite you? Don't worry, please. I know: you've got no rope or a scaffold stage.
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Merry-go-round You can't jump into the same river twice. There was only one Buddha and one Christ. Going backwards you meet only ghosts moving their lips - but the songs are lost. Dalai-Lamas are many with different names. Blessed are children not tired of games, playing find-and-seek as in good ole times, jumping over strings of nursery rhymes. Don't tear that string, it'll die by itself - unused, unplayed, forgotten on the shelf. It doesn't die, the memory's Time Machine, turning round, round - a dull needle routine. Even if Holidays at us turn their back we'll be happy recycling the old songs' stack. Music, an Angel falling, hitting on the head: still in the last effort - cast at us your bread, crumbs of your song, fleas of your dog, a Firebird's feather, a Cinderella's clog... Everyone is catching his own from the voice: democracy of music, freedom of our choice. You can swim in the same river twice - if you can consume music as a pizza slice, as in a restaurant ordering your songs. But I don't know for what my heart longs. How do I know what the future brings? Presidents will go - are remembered Kings. It's your imagination, singing in my head, when for a stadium crowd you are making bread. Blessed are good people with good appetite. Merry-go-round is inviting for a ride. Craving bread and starving - I don't go inside. Music of the ocean doesn't repeat the tide. Happy Holidays!
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From the CD "Panta Kati Menei" Station Chiefs With a tulle fabric the screen adorned, TV was a bride veiled in the lies. How to read if the love has mellowed to someone she always crucifies? My palm has no lines to show to you my fate as to many others. I'm a gold digger, one of dozens standing in front of a dried-out flow. The station chiefs are guarding borders like maitre-d-hotels without mercy: expired tickets that lost their fancy they are - or battles lost and forgotten. Over my bottle I recited coolly to you my monologues in a breathless role-playing, only scared of silence and of a move the trigger pulling. Your memory has come from a hollow that years have eaten in my story. Your name is now to me foreign in one of the Babylon's lost corners. In a train from Patra we had arrived. With every turn you changed the topic. I knew: the love for me's not stopping. But to the stars I went flying high. ************************************ (This is NOT a translation, just a play of imagination, or a voice of a Babylon's ghost, before the meanings got lost...) You said: translation is a game that intellectuals are playing... Or is it a battle when words are slaying their counterparts - but look the same? They penetrate the skins of the perished, but souls cannot be repeated. That's all you want: not to be beaten. Imagination so famished will not create a life from nothing. The battle is lost, your time expired: and only good as bullets fired into a void, your words are clashing with the meanings they are meant to follow... And all that follows is a silence: of heartless words dead empty piles, not a translation but a hollow. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx P.S. I did not like the song: Manos Eleftheriou deserves a better music
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Every poem is a future song having music already inside. I think the Greek members would be pleased to read some poetry they might have forgotten or never even seen before. And the translation is for my own reward for having typed the Greek sentences (no, just kidding it is a pleasure in itself). The following poem by Kavafi explains it better about the pleasure. Κάθε ποίημα κρατάει μέσα του κάποιο μελλοντικό τραγούδι. Νομίζω ότι τα μέλη Έλληνες θα το βρίσκουν εντιαφέρον να διαβάσουν κάποιο ποίημα δικά τους? Μπορεί να είναι και ένα ξεχασμένο. Και η μετάφραση είναι για μένα: ως αμοιβή για τη δουλιά να τις έγραψα τις ελλινηκικες λέξεις στο υπολογιστή μου (όχι, ήταν ακόμι ένα μέρος ηδονής). Για το ηδονή ακριβώς λέει το ποίημα του Καβάφη. Αγάπισε την πιότερο Αγάπισε την πιότερο αν μαγωνία την αποκτάς. Σκέψου τί χαλαρή και τί κατώτερη είν η ευκολοαπόκτητη ηδονή. Η ηδονή η δική σου που την φθάνεις πότε με ψέυδη, πάνδοτε κρυφά, ζητώντας την με ανησυχία κ εμμονή, σπάνια το σώμα βρίσκοντας που αισθάνεται όπως θέλεις, που με την φαντασία την συμπληροίς, μη την συγκρίνεις με αλλονών εύκολες απολαύσεις. Love it more You must love it more if with your anguish its acquired. Think how it would be lax and lowly, a pleasure easily obtained? Your own pleasure achieved on your own, at times with a deception, and always sneaking, seeking it with apprehension and persistence, and rarely finding the body as you had wanted to sense it, so your imagination you are using for completion, cant be compared with easy enjoyments of the others. P.S. Of course, as you have guessed the poem is about the pleasure of making your own translation, instead of reading the one made by someone else. (As always, corrections and comments are welcome.)
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A bit unreasonable it is. But on a rainy Sunday a poetry lover is being put in a lyrical mood. And songs of love dont die at least till Monday: in a cave of loneliness acoustics is very good. Προσθέσις Αν εύτυχής ή δυστυχής είμαι δεν εξετάζω. Πλην ένα πράγμα με χαράν στο νού μου πάντα βάζω που στην μεγάλη πρόσθεσι (την πρόσθεσί των πού μισώ) που έχει τόσους αριθμούς, δεν είμ εγώ εκεί απ ταίς πολλαίς μονάδες μιά. Μες στ ολικό ποσό δεν αριθμήθικα. Κι αυτή η χαρά μ αρκεί. Addition My happiness or unhappiness I dont evaluate. Except that of one thing I am happy I must state: that of the great addition (dealing with those by me hated) including so many numbers, I am not a part not one of many units. In a total amount fated I dont count. This joy will do for a start. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx and a comment Team Ive always wanted to be one of a team united by a common sense of humans thats putting first a natural esteem of the equality, and then the manners tuning. So many numbers are there in the line to reach equality and the very last is mine. The last is not the least if you count in reverse. The last seat at a feast is for the fire exit first. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Loneliness is not a desease it is rather a friend who says I cant give what you need and stays with you to the end.
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Τεχνητά ’νθη Δεν θέλω τους αληθινούς ναρκίσσους μηδέ κρίνοι μαρέσουν, μηδέ ρόδ αληθήνά. Τους τετριμμένους, τους κοινούς κήπους κοσμούν. Με δείνει η σάρκα των πικρία, κούραση, κι οδύνη τα κάλλη των βαρυούμαι τα φθαρτά. Δόστε με άνθη τεχνητά η δόξαις του τσινιού και του μετάλλόυ που δεν μαραίνονται και δεν σαπίζουν, με μορφαίς που δεν γερνούν. ’νθη των εξαισίων κήπων ενός τόπου άλλου, που Θεωρίαις, και Ρυθμοί, και Γνώσεις κατοικούν. ’νθη αγαπώ από υαλί ή από χρυσό πλασμένα, της Τέχνης της πιστής δώρα πιστά, με χρώματ απ τα φυσικά πιό εύμορφα βαμμένα, και με σεντέφι και με σμάλτο δουλευμένα, με φύλλα και κλωνάρια ιδανικά. Παίρνουν την χάρι των από σοφή κι αγνότατη Καλαισθησία, μέσα στά χώματα δεν φύτρωσαν και μες σταίς λάσπαις ρυπαρά. Εάν δεν έχουν άρωμα, θα χύσουμ ευωδία, θα κάψουμ εμπροστά των μύρα αισθηματικά. Artificial Flowers I dont want narcissi that are real neither the lilies are to my liking, nor the rose beds. They decorate parks plain and common with bodies giving me an impression of bitterness, exhaustion, grieving their beauty perishable is tiring and sad. Give me the artificial flowers of enamel and metal glory that dont wilt and rot, in their non-ageing shape. Flowers of perfect gardens from another story where Theories, Styles and Knowledge flourish safe. I love the flowers that are from glass or gold created, these truthful gifts coming from the Art of truth, more beautiful than in the nature are their colors painted, of mother-of-pearl and enamel elaborated, with leaves and twigs in an ideal structure fused. Their grace is born from the Taste ingenious and pure, they did not sprout from the soil and from the dirty mud. The scent they lack so a perfume well pour, Well burn in front of them the aromatic oil of love. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx and a reflection Forget-me-not After Ive seen the play of artificial fashion - a show business of music, love and friends, in real flowers I am finding consolation of an imperfect nature perishable creation, reminder that a start is headed to an end. I dont bring the flowers to my house and for my birthday please them dont kill. I like to go outside to seek and browse forget-me-nots on a steep sunny hill. Their smell is that of a common grass in a forest, their beauty is not plain for hungry bees hungry for love, they come and go, honest. They smile and leave, to come back dont promise. But flowers have for company their trees. I am partial to them because I think they love me: at least to understand they seem to try. They say: Next time were now busy tanning and I accept their kind transparent lie.
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Δυναμώσεις Όποις το πνέυμα του ποθεί να δυναμώση να βγή απ το σεβάς κι από την υποταγή. Από τους νόμους μερικούς θα τούς φυλάξει, αλλά το περισσότερο θα παραβαίνει και νόμους κ έθιμα κι απ την παραδεγμένη και την ανεπάρκουσα ευθύτητα να βγή. Από ταίς ηδοναίς πολλά θα διδάχθή. Την καταστρεπτική δεν θα φοβάται πράξι, το σπίτι το μισό πρέπει να γκρεμισθή. Έτσι θ αναπτυχθή ενάρετα στήν γνώση. Strengthening He, who his spirit is aspiring to strengthen, leave them behind, submission and respect. Of all the laws a few only are for keeping, while in the most cases hell be breaking the laws and customs, and let him also shed his righteousness both the one respectful and that stemming of weakness: let them go. From pleasures he will get his many teachings. He will be not afraid of a disastrous action. This way he virtuously will advance in knowledge.
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Οι Τέσσαρες Τοίχοι της Κάμαρας μου Το ξέρω πούναι όλα φτωχικά και που τους έπρεπαν στολίδια άλλα, τους φίλους μου, πλέον αρχοντικά και περισσότερα, και πιό μεγάλα. Αλλά αυτά τα λόγια τί θα πούν; Έχουν οι τοιχοι μου πιό καλούς τρόπους και για τα δώρα μου δεν μαγαπούν. Εκείνοι δεν ομοιάζουν τους ανθρώπους. Έπειτα ξέρουν μόνο μια στιγμή πως θα κρατήσουνε τα πράγματά μου κεμένα. Η χαραίς μου κ οι καυμοί και κάθε τι που έχω εδώ χάμου γρήγορα θα περάθουν. Οι γεροί τοίχοι για τέτοια δώρ αδιαφορούνε. Ειναι μακρόβιοι κι απ την μικρή ζωή μου τίποτε δεν απαιτούνε. Four Walls of My Room (from Kavafi) I know that they all are very poor and that they must have better decorations, my friends, - more fashionable, for sure, bigger, more numerous as in a mansion. But those words how would they know? They know better, yes, my house walls. To love me for my gifts? They are not low, not similar to those of the people, their goals. And then, it will be only a brief moment for them to hold my things and also myself. All that I have: my joys and laments, and all here on the floor and on the shelf will quickly pass. So old and solid they dont pay attention to such gifts. Their life is long and nothing valid my little life would offer just a whiff. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx and a reflection Reflection on the Walls Whatever I am writing, it's not for you, false friends for whom I wrote the first poem. It's not her fault - the poem's words were true. You are just silent walls, all painted over. They've lost their glamour, decorations of the walls, unmoving and untouched by changing weather. The corners chipped, paint's pieces fall, but sun's reflection is a teasing feather. To write a poem is to greet the morning sun, to help him in his daily chores of a maker of all things growing - with pain and fun. He comes and speaks - he is not a faker.
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vitaly2 replied to Anna's topic in Πληροφορίες για συναυλίες και νέες κυκλοφορίες - Upcoming concerts and new releases
I am wondering if the film says about the Thessaloniki Panepistimio having been built over the Jewish Cemetery? By the city authorities who were not very nostalgic about that glorious Hebrew-Spanish past? After the entire Jewish quarter perished in fire, most of the people emigrated, those who has left were taken care of by Hitler, of course, and the obliteration of the cemetery was kind of a historical end point. This is not to say anything negative about the contemporary population of the city. Most of the population of this extremely dynamic city don't have very deep roots - as in many cities, as opposed from the villages. History is unfair - and it's good to have someone make a historical film, hopefully, unbiased. On the lyrical side: it is a common experience of us, city children, how your childhood city would mutate into someone else's house where you don't belong any more. Vasilis Vasilikos told about that feeling in his book about Kazandzidis "H zoi mou oli": the green field around his childhood house was being built over and cleaned again, until a Roman city was finally dug out (with a cemetery, of course). Let's see what and if the movie will tell -
Since this is an international forum , people might want to exchange such stories, even if not directly connected to musical matters? Although the following story is not about music - but I recalled it by association with the discussion about the song Klirothika - it is about drawing, more exactly about voting events that happened in my old country recently. Politicians in Ukraine, newly independent from the old "oppressor " Russia, became inspired by their nationalistic pride to the extent of wanting to remove all possible traces of "oppression" including the Russian language. In the course of recent voting campaign they were overwelmed by a huge task of translating all voting documents into Ukrainian - in many Russian-speaking regions that are culturally close to Russia (it's about a third of the polulation, I think). To complete this task, a computer program for machine translation was generated. Everything has worked fine - with the exception of several voting districts where the program was used by mistake for translation of the lists of registered voters!. What happened: about 75000 voters could not find their names in the bulletins and so could not cast their votes. Because their names were translated into Ukrainian: for example, using a parallel with English-Greek - someone with the last name "Sparrow" turned out as "Spourgitis" in the list! Smith became "Sideras", etc. etc.
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Translation blanders - or what you read between the lines This is not exactly about a blander or a mistranslation. It's rather a misunderstanding, or under-understanding - one of those that fall through the cracks of our conversations every day, every minute. Whatever they say about the Russian President Vladimir Putin, he is a people's man. He speaks in the people's language rooted in the popular culture. So, what he said at the yesterday's meeting with the President Bush in Zagreb, according to the today's local paper, is the following: "Let's be friends, guys, and engage in a honest dialogue". This phrase intended as a message to Bush and NATO was understood by the commentators as "a striking change from Russia's once-angry threats to target missiles on Western capitals..." etc. Well, who knows Russian popular culture won't see it as such a striking change. This phrase is being repeated by our famous cartoon character Cat Leopold who is (not unlike a "Russian" bear) a rather peaceful creature always bothered and pestered in the cartoon series by a bunch of rather arrogant and silly mice. After being patient for a long time, Leopold takes the challenge and punishes the stupid mice easily. And then he looks at them sadly and declares his famous peace-enticing phrase. Well, mice have a short memory, don't they? Otherwise the cartoon series would not have its weekly sequel.
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Between two spring celebrations of different Gods, Christian and Jewish, this song seems a perfect fit, regardless of who sings it (Malamas on his CD Kyklos). God Since even the God does not want the world to be gloomy he does not ask for the unquestioning faith nor for the unleaded gas He wants wine and attention, he does not want you to march on command and pray He drinks from our glass, and laughs with our joys. And they are not his - your thoughts, your trifle aspirations: A gibberish for prime ministers and hot air balloons for those who went nuts. He lights up his oil lamp, and his friends light their cigarettes, and when they get locked up in jail, he sits down, thinking and doubting... Since even the God does not want the world to be gloomy he does not want our eyes empty, your hands clenched He wants our minds to be human and our hearts aching He wants you to laugh again and to have someone to embrace. Ο Θεός Στίχοι: Σωκράτης Μάλαμας Μουσική: Σωκράτης Μάλαμας Πρώτη εκτέλεση: Σωκράτης Μάλαμας Aφού δε θέλει κι ο Θεός να ναι ο κόσμος σκοτεινός δεν θέλει πίστη απόλυτη ούτε βενζίνη αμόλυβδη Θέλει κρασί και προσοχή, δεν θέλει μαρς και προσευχή πίνει απ το ποτήρι μας, γελάει για χατήρι μας Δεν είν δικές του οι σκέψεις σου κι οι άχαρες οι βλέψεις σου παπάρες για πρωθυπουργούς, σάλτσες για παλαβούς ανάβει το καντήλι του, καπνίζουνε οι φίλοι του κι όταν τους βάζουν φυλακή κάθεται πάλι κι απορεί Aφού δε θέλει κι ο Θεός να ναι ο κόσμος σκοτεινός δεν θέλει μάτια αδειανά ούτε τα χέρια σου σφιχτά θέλει το νού στα μέτρα μας και την καρδιά στα ντέρτια μας θέλει το γέλιο σου ξανά και μια γεμάτη αγκαλιά xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx And for the pagans, too, the all-embracing Spring is a God of redemption, even if temporary - but not illusory, because the truth is in our hearts.
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Dear friends of the Translations section! This beautiful poem by Odysseas Elytis I would think is just a pleasure to read and that should be a sufficient pretext for posting (It has not been put on music as far as I know, but maybe will who knows?). In addition, it would be nice to get a second opinion from some people who might have time and interest to contemplate an interesting case I would say even a psychological case of how we perceive and listen. I am posting the original poem and two translation versions: 1) my own and 2) from the book Collected Poems translated by Jeffrey Carson and Nikos Sarris. The main issue is not whose translation reads better but whose understanding of the Elytis poem is more correct (of course, regarding my humble translation attempt I am open to criticism as always). Το Τραγούδι του Ποιητή (Οδυσσέα Ελύτη) Πρώτη φορά σενός νησιού τα χώματα Δύο του Νοεμβρίου ξημερώματα Βγήκα να δω τον κόσμο και μετάνιωσα Τα ζόρικα που λεν αμέσως τα νιωσα. Μύνες εννέα πριν την πρώτη μέρα μου Δούλευα για το σπέρμα του πατέρα μου Και πεντακόσιους τρείς κατά συνέχεια Μετά για την ψευτιά και την ανέχεια. Δύσκολο δύσκολο της γης το πέρασμα Και να μη βγαίνει καν ένα συμπέρασμα. Μέσα στον εαυτό μου τόσο κρύφθηκα Που μήτε ο ίδιος δεν τον αντελήφθηκα. Ώσπου μια μέρα το φερε η περίσταση Κι αγάπησα χωρίς καμιάν αντίσταση Αλλά και στην προσπάθεια την ελάσσονα Πάντοτε βρε παιδια μου τα θαλάσσωνα Πρώτον διότι κυνηγούσα το Απιαστο Και δεύτερον γιατήμουν είδος Αμοιαστο. Εφ ω και αφού την τύχη μου σιχτίρισα Πίσω στον εαυτό μου ξαναγύρισα. Song of the Poet First time my lot was on an island drawn on November 2nd in the morning dawn. I saw the world and instantly resented because what they call tough I sensed. Nine months before that day Id worked to feed and nourish in the dark my fathers seed. Five hundred and three months without break again I toiled for pack of lies and worries sake. The course of life had been extremely hard. What for? Solution could not find my heart. Retreated deep inside, I hid my face: Even myself forgot and lost its trace. Until one day the fate has brought it out. Ive given in to love without doubt. It did not go far all was in vain. My friends, I messed it up, I sunk again. First, since the Elusive I was prone to chase, Then Im the Dissenter kind within my race. Thats all my wretched luck I cursed in pain and back into myself returned again. The Song of the Poet (translated by Jeffry Carson and Nikos Sarris) November second the first time on an Aegean islands soil at crack of dawn I went outside to see the world but I Repented when I felt it all awry. Nine months exactly before my first day For my fathers seed I labored away And kept on so for five-hundred-and-three Against all falsehood and all poverty. Our passage here on earths so difficult And brings no satisfactory result. Within myself so deeply I would hide That even I didnt know how deep inside. But brought one day by circumstances insistence I fell in love and put up no resistance. Yet even in the least attempt I made I messed up again, friends, I am afraid. First because I chased the Intangible Second because my kinds Original. And cursing thereupon my fortunes lack I turned around and to myself came back. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The story started from the book of English translations of Elytis having opened by itself on the page showing this poem. (A part of the long dialog-poem Maria Nefele). I found the original and ventured on a translation of my own (how much a success is a different matter). Essentially, the books translation sounded to me a bit too dry and more ironic than Elytis shoud be a matter of taste, maybe. Just to say briefly, that my idea of translating poetry is based on an urge to convey more a deep meaning and less the wording. (Again, strictly subjective, but not yielding). To my not small surprise I noticed two points in the books translation that I consider misreadings. It felt strange - since a native speaker, a Greek, participated in the translation. After having carefully checked with different dictionaries, I disagreed with them on the following two points within the text of these four lines: Δούλευα για το σπέρμα του πατέρα μου Και πεντακόσιους τρείς κατά συνέχεια Μετά για την ψευτιά και την ανέχεια. Δύσκολο δύσκολο της γης το πέρασμα Και να μη βγαίνει καν ένα συμπέρασμα. The books translation says the following: Nine months exactly before my first day For my fathers seed I labored away And kept on so for five-hundred-and-three Against all falsehood and all poverty. Our passage here on earths so difficult And brings no satisfactory result. Point 1. Δούλευα για την ψευτιά και την ανέχεια. Hey! Where is against in the original? It says για for. It seems that the translators have silently admitted that the author was fighting against the falsity and poverty although the poem did not say explicitly figting. But they just assumed the fighting stance of the author without a second thought (why not? A poet must be a fighter? But Elytis is a poet of peace I hear a discord, even without looking at the grammar). He did not fight he WORKED FOR - for something that in reality turned out to be a bunch of lies and worries, that is his work was in vain. And thats why he retreated into himself. A psychological trick: how often it happens that you speak with someone, and he says: Oh, I know what you mean before making a real effort to understand? Even if it is your native tongue you understand before the phrase ii finished. Point 2. να μη βγαίνει καν ένα συμπέρασμα This second disagreement is less obvious. What would you say? brings no satisfactory result. Is it right? According to the dictionary, συμπέρασμα means conclusion. να μη βγαίνει καν ένα συμπέρασμα would rather mean: we cant come to a definite conclusion, cant make two and two together (one dictionary gives such less formal version). I took liberty to put it as solution could not find my heart. The books translation brings no satisfactory result sounds incorrect to me. Thats it for now. Thanks for reading. Especially to those who might want to comment.
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Getting close to the Tragoudi tou Poihth made me change my mind about translation in general. I used to think that poetry is untranslatable. It was a biased opinion - resulting from many diappointments. But statistics not always works - not for everything. Now I think that every language has a sufficient flexibility in grammar and vocabulary for translating any thought or impression from another human language. It's not easy, but possible. I still think that a good translation (at least correct one) is rather an exception than a rule - in the same meaning that love is an exception, not a regular occurrence in the peoples' life. I am saying this because love is what needed for a translation - as well as for anything else to be done right. Love as an effort in understanding, an effort to get THERE from HERE. And what helps in translation of poetry is, I think, love of poetry - not just love of this poet or of that poem. And love of poetry is much more than these three words say: it includes love of many other things that make the poetry what it is (what I think it is - would be a more than reasonable distraction). The point is that it should not be very surprising to someone with a little experience in life's tricks of ambiguities to see how a native speaker could hastily misread a line or two that can be comparatively easily understood by someone else with a limited fluency in the language. The point is that we often times listen only to a half phrase - then jump to conclusions. We lack attention that love needs - even love of skating, much more love of poetry. We give up, we get tired, disappointed, distracted - and other very human problems interfere with our translations. Mutual help is one solution - for those who are able to make an effort to listen: to the poetry that includes many other things, otherwise it's just words, words, words. More interesting thoughts come to mind regarding the SONG as an amazing result of human efforts in understanding each other: does the music help to understand better the words or does it distort the meanings? Music in a song could be an explosive: it helps and it destroys, depending on the use. Or it could work as a dynamite charge that unexpectedly opens an undiscovered deep deposit of precious minerals? Or - a thought that I like - does the song's tune many times intentionally twist the words, working on the imagination, allowing us to reconstruct a 3-dimensional moving picture from a flat image on the wall? Warrants more discussion - maybe, in a different place.
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Now that I got used to rules and regulation, theyve become a second nature and, naturally, exceptions attract more attention. Incidentally, one of comparatively recent posts said that re-translation does not need a better excuse that just listening to the song anew so why not? And then I found no translation: so, you'll just have to look in the stixoi.info for the crib Αχ χελιδόνι μου πώς να πετάξεις -||- Ah little swallow, to fly you fear σ' αυτόν το μαύρο τον ουρανό -||- in our black and grieving skies αίμα σταλάζει το δειλινό -||- with bloody tears the sunset cries και πώς να κλάψεις και πώς να κλάψεις -||- but youve no tears, no more tears αχ χελιδόνι μου -||- ah, little swallow. Αχ παλικάρι μου τα τρένα φύγαν -||- Ah, my little brother, trains were allowed, δεν έχει δρόμο για μισεμό -||- without us to leave the station κι όσοι μιλούσαν για λυτρωμό -||- and those who spoke of liberation πες μου πού πήγαν πες μου που πήγαν -||- where are they now, where are they now αχ παλικάρι μου -||- ah my little brother ’χου καρδούλα μου φυλακισμένη -||- There is no exit, my heart is heavy δε βγαίνει ο ήλιος που καρτεράς -||- in vain we are waiting for morning sun μόνο ο ντελάλης της αγοράς -||- The town crier is the only one σε ξεκουφαίνει σε ξεκουφαίνει -||- from silence saving, from silence saving άχου καρδούλα μου -||- My heart is heavy