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Alona

H Xontrompalou - Despo Diamantidou & Ksarxakos

14 posts in this topic

To whoever feels like translating this song for me, I would be very thankful.

I have been listening a lot this week to "Ta Kata Markon" but time and again

got stuck on this jem.

No rush.

Στίχοι: Νίκος Γκάτσος

Μουσική: Σταύρος Ξαρχάκος

Ερμηνεία: Δέσπω Διαμαντίδου

Δίσκος: Τα κατά Μάρκον 1991

Η Χοντρομπαλού

Μια Κυριακή στην Κοκκινιά

στην παιδική μου γειτονιά

είδα μιά γριά χοντρομπαλού

που ο νους της έτρεχε αλλού

Την κοίταξα με κοίταξε

σαν κουκουβάγια σε μπαξέ

και μου 'πε με φωνή θολή

που μάνα θύμιζε τρελή:

«Σε χώμα φύτρωσα ζεστό

αιώνες πριν απ' το Χριστό.

Ζούσα καλά κι ευχάριστα

κι έπαιρνα μόνο άριστα.

Μα σαν προχώρησε ο καιρός

έγινε ο κόσμος μοχθηρός

και με βατέψανε, που λες,

αράδα βάρβαρες φυλές

Σελτζούκοι, Σλάβοι, Ενετοί,

λες κι ήταν όλοι τους βαλτοί

Τότε κατάλαβα γιατί

καμένο ήμουνα χαρτί

δίχως χαρά δίχως γιορτή

Σιγά σιγά και ταπεινά

μ' αγώνες και με βάσανα

καινούργια έβγαλα φτερά

μα ήρθαν τα χειρότερα

Είδα τα ίδια μου παιδιά

να δίνουν σ' άλλους τα κλειδιά

και με χιλιάδες ψέματα

με προδοσίες κι αίματα

να μου σπαράζουν την καρδιά

Γι' αυτό μιά νύχτα σκοτεινή

θ' ανέβω στην Καισαριανή

με κουρασμένα βήματα

να κλάψω για τα θύματα

στ' αραχνιασμένα μνήματα

Κι εκεί ψηλά στον Υμηττό

αντίκρυ στον Λυκαβηττό

μικρό κεράκι θα κρατώ

να φέγγει χρόνους εκατό»

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In Kokkinia, my neighborhood,

where I had spent my childhood,

one Sunday I saw her, fat as a ball -

out of her mind, crazy as a troll.

She looked at me, I looked at her,

an old witch with an owl's stare.

She talked to me in a plaintive voice

as a mother gone mad, who lost her boy.

"I've sprouted from a warm soil

ages before the Christ's turmoil.

I had a nice and pleasant life,

so perfect and without strife.

But with more and more time passing by

the world got wretched in land and sky.

They've overrun me, here and there,

barbarian tribes, brought a nightmare.

Seljucks and Slaves and Venetians - say:

all mercenaries, all were on pay.

And I understood - it was not hard:

I was for them a losing card -

not joy or feast for a careless heart.

It was so painful and so slow,

but I recovered from the blow.

New wings I've grown, but the fate

was now worse - new pains she made.

My own children I saw to give

the keys to other people, to thieves.

And with their lies that came as a flood

they have betrayed me, sucked my blood.

My heart is torn, too weak to live.

Deep in the dark of the night late

I'm climbing up with a tired gait

to Kaisariani - to send my cry

for victims into the heavy sky

from graves covered with cobbwebs dry.

And high up there on the Imittos

opposite the old Lykavitos

I'll hold a small candle in my hand

for hundred years to light the land."

Now is your turn , Alona! I know you are proficient in Greek - so, I took it as a game :)

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I am speechless! you have rhymed the entire poem...

if this was a game, I wonder how you write when you are serious.

Thank you so much. Some beautiful poetry here!

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Something closer to what Gatsos actually wrote:

Η χοντρομπαλού. . . || . . . The slow-witted old woman

Μουσική: Σταύρος Ξαρχάκος. . . || . . . Music: Stavros Ksarchakos

Στίχοι: Νίκος Γκάτσος. . . || . . . Lyrics: Nikos Gatsos

Μια Κυριακή στην Κοκκινιά. . . || . . . One Sunday, in Kokkinia,

στην παιδική μου γειτονιά. . . || . . . in my childhood neighbourhood,

είδα μια γριά χοντρομπαλού. . . || . . . I met an old woman, slow of wit,

που ο νους της έτρεχε αλλού. . . || . . . whose mind was running away.

Την κοίταξα με κοίταξε. . . || . . . I looked at her, she looked at me

σαν κουκουβάγια σε μπαξέ. . . || . . . - like an owl in a orchard -

και μου 'πε με φωνή θολή. . . || . . . and told me in a cracked voice

που μάνα θύμιζε τρελή:. . . || . . . that made me think of a mother gone mad:

«Σε χώμα φύτρωσα ζεστό. . . || . . . « I took root in a warm soil

αιώνες πριν απ' το Χριστό. . . || . . . ages before Jesus Christ,

Ζούσα καλά κι ευχάριστα. . . || . . . living a life of goodness and joy

κι έπαιρνα μόνο άριστα.. . . || . . . receiving only the best.

Μα σαν προχώρησε ο καιρός. . . || . . . But as time went on

έγινε ο κόσμος μοχθηρός. . . || . . . the world grew malicious

και με βατέψανε που λες. . . || . . . and I was ridden, as they say,

αράδα βάρβαρες φυλές.. . . || . . . by one barbarian tribe after the other,

Σελτζούκοι Σλάβοι Ενετοί. . . || . . . by Seljuks, Slavs, Venetians,

λες κι ήταν όλοι τους βαλτοί. . . || . . . you'd think they were putting each other up to it...

Τότε κατάλαβα γιατί. . . || . . . That is when I understood why:

καμένο ήμουνα χαρτί. . . || . . . I was a played-out card

δίχως χαρά δίχως γιορτή.. . . || . . . no joy for me, no celebration.

Σιγά-σιγά και ταπεινά. . . || . . . Little by little, in obscurity,

μ' αγώνες και με βάσανα. . . || . . . with struggles and with suffering

καινούργια έβγαλα φτερά. . . || . . . I grew new wings.

μα ήρθαν τα χειρότερα.. . . || . . . But - the worst came.

Είδα τα ίδια μου παιδιά. . . || . . . I watched my very own children

να δίνουν σ' άλλους τα κλειδιά. . . || . . . handing the keys to aliens,

και με χιλιάδες ψέματα. . . || . . . and - with lies by the thousands,

με προσδοκίες κι αίματα. . . || . . . with treason and with bloodshed -

να μου σπαράζουν την καρδιά.. . . || . . . shattering my heart.

Γι' αυτό μια νύχτα σκοτεινή. . . || . . . For that, some dark night,

θ' ανέβω στην Καισαριανή. . . || . . . I shall climb to Kaisariani

με κουρασμένα βήματα. . . || . . . with tired steps,

να κλάψω για τα θύματα. . . || . . . to shed my tears for the victims,

στ' αραχνιασμένα μνήματα.. . . || . . . over their cobweb-covered tombs.

Κι εκεί ψηλά στον Υμηττό. . . || . . . And up there, high on Mount Hymettus,

αντίκρυ στο Λυκαβηττό. . . || . . . across from Lycavettus hill,

μικρό κεράκι θα κρατώ. . . || . . . I shall hold up a tiny candle,

να φέγγει χρόνους εκατό. . . || . . . its glow to last one hundred years,

να φέγγει χρόνους εκατό.». . . || . . . its glow to last one hundred years. »

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Geeske, as always, a delight to read your translations.

................................

Thanks you both!

Alona

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Oh, public place, oh public place!

You are a competition space,

where excellence is born for all

to be enjoyed by big and small.

The number three is a divine

reminder of three glasses of wine

that will be drunk from one single bottle

by all three winners on the spot.

We'll celebrate the joys of fight,

of arguments that bring to light

the whole truth that has three parts:

combining them is a winning card.

Who knows what is truth anyway?

Let's not be sunk into the Olden day,

We live today, we drink our wine

as long as we are not bored, it's fine.

The poetry is an art that calls

for truth to hide behind the walls.

Imagination will run free

like a skier - but avoid a tree!

That's why we need all three of us -

to check each other without fuss.

I drink my glass - don't forget

to run to the store - your own to get!

:)

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Come on, girls - what did you have? (Especially interested considering that one of you had promised me a drink)

I still did not drink my glass (too early) but more silly lines already coming

All three of us starting from Geske

will be immortalized in a fresco.

Marina, Geske and Alona

painted in a beautiful "eikona".

Alona, Geske and Marina

will be depicted in Sistina.

But maybe the truth for not abusing

a single winner must be chosen?

Who is a winner, who impostor

from Olympus will judge Apostol.

The winner will be very lucky -

she'll get a present from Hristaki!

and a permanent access to Forum

even if awkward with decorum...

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It was La Moussiere, Sanserre 2006 - very suitable unexpected company meeting with refreshments.

Someone else drunk your two glasses... :)

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Which place? There is no topic called "Geske's Trashbin", at least physically. If it's needed - start it, please (afraid it would be overfilled very quickly - with everything that has a grain of humor or human feeling, or just a basic goodwill feeling - such as even animals have - in it).

P.S. Trashbin of course is needed in any household. Mine, for example, is intended for those who erase their posts, or parts of them for specific reasons not related to the truth of the matter. Hypocrisy or cowardice - those are means for avoiding the truth and trying to accommodate everyone, but essentially, one only accommodates oneself. It does not work - in the long run. (of course, I always hesitate to make that one last click for emptying the trashbin - to my detriment or benefit, not for me to judge. It's just a nature. Or is it called "goodwill"? It not always works - in the short run).

And I have also a suggestion: let's take a look at older Translation topics in which you participated - those that still had more than slight hints at now non-existing components mentioned above. If one individuum has changed, it does not mean that the entire world must change along.

(Hard to decipher? No sense? - read again the poem that started this topic. And then tell me that it's irrelevant).

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vitaly2 Posted on Jan 25 2008, 02:50 PM

Mine, for example, is intended for those who erase their posts, or parts of them for

specific personal reasons not related to the truth of the matter.

Dear Vitaly2,

I erased part of my post simply because I felt that my search for the meaning of the adjective

"H Xontrompalou" had lead to some "off-topic" comments relating to good and nice friends in

this forum. I still enjoy and appreciate your translations.

Joyful week-end to all :rolleyes:

Alona

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Dear all:

I am not deleting my posts because there is nothing subversive or offensive it them. Only a one grain more passion than is considered allowed - somewhere else, but not here. Since as the previous research has shown, the one and only common trait between the members of the forum is passion. That's why the members are inseparable from Dalaras himself in my perception.

Now as I have cooled down and am able to count again to more than three - I must admit: a miscalculation did occur! The forth post from the bottom was not suggested for deletion! It is still allowed in our matriarchial community.

Therefore, I am going to drink all the three glasses (Cabernet should be the best in winter) tonight.

Cheers to all translators! :rolleyes:

P.S. By the way, you were right about Maupassant - I also looked up that title which confirmed my understanding of the old woman's shape :huh:

------------------------------------------

Oops - I still can't count - now I see that ALL the merry rhymes were discarded.

Still encouraging - I mean my ungrounded optimism, of course... It's ungrounded, that is: floating and weightless. What I can do - to stick iron soles to my shoes to get it down. Should I?

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