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Yannis Ritsos

SECONDS
1988 -1989 1

Translated from the Greek by Antigone Kefala

The poems were written in the last few years of Ritsos life. They describe everyday expe-
riences in an immediate, seemingly simple language, but they are essentially a meditation on
death. Their tone lacks heroics, and returns again and again to the things of life the sun,
birds, flowers, memories. I hope I have managed to convey in English the tone and imme-
diacy of the language, as well as the meditation at the core of the poems. I should like to thank
Dennis Dinopoulos, Yota Krili and Helen Nickas for reading the translations and for their
suggestions.

Antigone Kefala, March 2005

1 of a cello.
At night, the old blind man Do you remember?
passed down the street.
He was holding a daisy 4
my last undertaking. As she was coming down
the stairs
2 a rose fell from her hair.
And the amphora, sometimes, I did not pick it up.
when dusk falls,
looks at itself in the mirror, 5
Faces grow rosy. It would be better then
to remain silent.
3 If you said tomorrow
In the centre of the room you would be lying.
a large table, The night cannot hide you.
on top, the empty case
Karlovasi, 20.VIII.88
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8 YA N N I S R I T S O S

6 11
The sirens of ships criss-cross They searched all night with oil lamps,
the ringing of church bells. The boats They left the drowned at the harbor.
have come on land. The churches They loaded the horses on the boat.
have moved into the sea. And only a dog, The large clock of the Customs House
all alone, barks on the moon. had no hands.

7 12
This year the sunflowers Yesterdays soldiers have grown old.
Dont turn towards the sun, Little by little, the words are dying too.
stooped, they look at the dry earth. On the table
one solitary egg.
8
What do birds really think 13
at the beginning of autumn Painted stones.
when in the garden, the wheelbarrow Beautiful faces, beautiful bodies.
with the empty flower pots You are not moved.
focuses on its shadow Only a cigarette burning in the ashtray-
and the naked stones smoke in the roof of a lost Ithaka,
are the first to speak? and Penelope, in front of her loom,
dead.
9
The white feather 14
of a passing bird Most of your gold coins
fell on the thistles you have hidden in the gaps of the wall.
an insubstantial world, Maybe they will find them
the whole world. when the house collapses.

10 15
Some left on ships The many coloured roses have bloomed again.
and others on trains. White butterflies are visiting them.
The old woman was left Why then, must we die?
with her distaff and her pitcher.
The map on the wall remains empty. 16
The drowned they laid on the quay,
Young, handsome, naked.
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SECONDS 9

On his left wrist, the watch 23

is still ticking. The door opened by itself.
There was no one there.
17 Time then to learn
At times, and even now, not to expect.
at night a nightingale bids me
to say yes again. 24
He places a stone on top of the other,
18 He is not building a house.
If death had not existed Words. Solitary words.
what sculptor, what poet Not a poem.
would work for immortality.
25
19 He remembered, almost moved
Immutable, austere darkness the potato eaters,
stresses the star. the steam rising
Ah! You, my cunning one. from the hot potatoes.
And yet
20 on the misty windows
If I lied to you, he wrote with his finger
I wasnt trying to deceive you, a NOUGHT.
It was to protect you
from your shadow. 26
The houses opposite are white.
21 Behind the houses
All his gold medals are the mountain is blue.
hanging on the walls. Now, no colour tells you: I love.
And he in the ground
with only a bare set 27
of gold dentures. The words, once proud
are they, I wonder, sad now
22 that you are abandoning them?
Who left this flower Do they also grow old?
next to my cigarette?
Maybe, so that I can believe again.
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10 YA N N I S R I T S O S

28 33
You had a pure white horse. And yet, the sunset
Now its bridle colours the page rose again
around your neck. and your fingers all golden.
Who and where does it take you?
34
29 A blue butterfly
These intimate, simple objects on a white daisy.
became his friends, they trusted him. It convinced me.
He sits silently in their company,
he lights a cigarette 35
his only star. He holds the wind by the hand.
The two of them can go wherever they like,
Athens 28.IX.88 They dont go anywhere.
They sit silent, motionless
30 each hiding the other.
What more to say? What to do?
Bones, bones, bones. 36
And amongs them Did you see the bird that sat
the smallest yellow flower. on the forehead of the cow?
This is why I insist.
31
It was very cold those nights, 37
They made a fire to warm up. The words die out with the years,
They had nothing else. The word mother remains
They invoked futility. with her secret smile
and her black kerchief.
32
Everything abandons you little by little, 38
Each morning, under your door, you find His wings have grown too big.
the mournful notice of the death He would have to cut them
of an old friend. in that small barber shop of the
neighborhood
without looking in the mirror.
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SECONDS 11

39 He came down again leaning

Wherever you go, death on his tiredness.
follows you.
You turn for a second and show him 44
a small flower, a poem The time of concealments,
and death leaves. of ambiguous smiles.
But for how long? The wine in the eleven glasses has grown old,
The twelfth is empty.
40
The candle melts slowly, slowly, 45
drops of wax stain my papers Unarmed. Yes.
if only they could extinguish With only a feather
my black words. from his big wings
he still writes, a sad bloom,
41
He does not lay down his arms. 46
He tries to counteract the night The dancer who used to jump
that is coming with something beautiful. out of the window like an Angel
But each beauty is transparent and now on his knees
behind it the meadow with the asphodels he begs God
appears. for an orange.

4. X. 88 Athens 5.X.88

42 47
By the time I count on my fingers He does not offer his hand
up to ten, in greeting any more
night has come. to a bird, a cloud, a tree.
We have been left without dreams But see, a flower opens
without bread. urging him
to say thank you again.
43 Say it.
He tried again to go up
the great staircase. 48
He did not last. He sits alone on the park bench
with a bucket and a big brush
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12 YA N N I S R I T S O S

like a tired painter waiting 53

for some order (but from whom?) If the sequence was not cut,
to whitewash the ancient, if the child at the window
dark post office. wet his small finger
in the glass of the moon
49 If, if, Nothing.
The birds have gone, the leaves, the stars,
Now, 54
in a drop of water This quiet man
what journey can you undertake. how he enriched the world
with small tables at outdoor cafes
50 with leaves, birds and umbrellas.
With three coloured papers
white, red and black, 55
he makes an artificial flower, In the yellow field a black hen,
pins it on his lapel in the garden a peacock with his fanned tail,
does not go out. in the mud a rose petal,
a poem in the void.
51
Earlier, the moon protected you 56
from her own melancholy. With lyrical tricks you are trying to escape.
Now she pays no attention, You look at yourself in the water and feel a
indifferent in her passing, stranger.
proud in her silence, Ah! Yes, you are still handsome.
solitary. These wrinkles on your broad forehead
are the reflections of the water
52 that trembles with emotion.
No road in front of you.
If you could at least 57
turn back, With the great certainty of the desperate
maybe a sparrow he is hiding behind his smile,
would have waited for you he gives lollies to the children
in the old garden. and ballons to the old.
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SECONDS 13

58 63
In the telephone book Even now, from time to time
the numbers go out one by one, you can unlock the world
the names of friends disappear with the smallest trefoil.
and you are still here
holding tightly between your teeth 64
the golden coin of the moon. Did you notice the smile of statues?
My last coin fell on
59 the white pebbles.
Why should you look beyond? I dont pick it up.
The three very cunning women
hide half of their faces 15.X.88
behind their fans.
65
60 The pipes of the stove have rusted.
Old now, very tired The mirror has broken.
he still seeks to lean Who is this sleeping in our bed?
on the shoulder of a rose. On his forehead
a black bird.
61
How did that time pass? 66
What small chats with a sparrow Up there where you climbed
or with a little moon (didnt you know it?)
that traced on the moving water where can you find companions now.
your name, a thousand times
and you knew it, and you were. 67
A blind man in the museum
62 hits lightly the tiles
You look at the sea from the mountain with his walking stick.
a small white sailing boat The statues watch him
as if a page full of sorrow.
on which to write a childish poem.
Well, arent you going to write it? 68
Maybe the voice of a bird
will still defend us,
a star that shows us its partiality,
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14 YA N N I S R I T S O S

the blue line of the mountains in the

golden dusk 73
and the word which ripens in the deepest The white is the emptiness.
silence. I write a word on the white paper,
I make a hole in the emptiness
69 from where I see the movements of cars
The facades of the houses opposite shine. and the girl flower seller who
The children are playing in the school yard. leaves bunches of jasmine on the tables
A plane flies low, of popular restaurants.
its shadow falls on the terrace,
covers for a moment two pigeons that are kissing. 74
And you alone with your unwritten papers. The sick acrobat tries
to maintain his balance, counting
20.X.88 his swings, one by one, accurately.
At any rate, there are four windows
70 near the skylight.
The mirror went blind where
the ghosts of beautiful women passed. 75
In the corridor, the silver candlestick A small, fleeting butterfly
lies on the floor, extinguished. has taught me again to read blueness.
On the opposite balcony two young girls
71 how beautifully they sing.
The morning landscapes no longer come in
through the windows, nor the starry nights. 76
Only the black comes totally wrapped The sound of galloping horses in the night.
in broad, white bandages. I opened the window.
Stars and more stars.
72 If I whistle, you will come;
He wouldnt like to leave dressed
as for some formal occasion 22.X.88
but with a light shirt, open at the neck,
with a carefree smile, 77
among many coloured paper flags It rains the whole day.
of a childrens feast-day. Wet children wait at bus stops.
And you
21.X.88 behind the window pane
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SECONDS 15

strive embitters the lips of silence.

to transform a rain drop Tomorrow, I shall have to buy an umbrella.
into a diamond.
20.XII.88
78
Very cold in those days. 82
Neither fire place nor cigarette. We return to the things we have abandoned,
With a match they set fire to their manuscripts to the things that have abandoned us.
and their death shone. In our hands a lot of keys that dont
open neither door, drawer, nor suitcase
79 we tap them against each other and smile
The house has filled with the scent we no longer have to deceive anyone
of naphthalene and autumn. not even ourselves.
The rain beats on top of the taxi.
The old weather vanes have died in the poems Athens 1.I.89
and the marble girls wet with tears
wait under the cypress trees.
Note (by Yannis Ritsos)
27.XI.88 The first five SECONDS were
written in Karlovasi of Samos, the
80 20th August 1988. The rest were
He is no longer touched by events written in Athens from the 28th
nor by dreams. September 1988 to the 1st January
He takes off one shoe 1989. All were re-worked and re-
but does not take off the other.
written in Karlovasi in July 1989.
He lies down on his bed.
He pretends to be asleep
with a burnt out cigarette in his mouth.

20.XII.88

81
1 A group of 82 very short poems
Little by little, names no longer
published in 1991, after Ritsos death,
fit things. The smoke of cigarettes in a volume titled: Late, very late, into
fills the house. The nicotine the night (Kedros Publications,
Athens).