Αν δε μου 'δινες την ποίηση, Κύριε - Νικηφόρος Βρεττάκος

Nikiforos Vrettakos was born in 1912 in Krokees, a village near Sparta. He was a sensitive, humanitarian and visionary poet and one of the leading representatives of Modern Greek literature. He connected his life and work with the intellectual, political and social pursuits of the Greek people during the 20^th century. He focused on the human existence, writing about emotion and the senses, the concept of beauty within Nature, the power of Memory, the Greek heritage through language, the essence of civilization. He was an active member of the Greek Resistance. During the dictatorship in Greece (1967-1974) he lived as a self-exiled in Switzerland. He engaged himself with prose, criticism and journalism. He won a lot of prizes for his work and he was a member of the Academy of Athens and honorary Doctor of Literature in the University of Athens.

Αν δε μου ’δινες την ποίηση, Κύριε

Αν δε μου ’δινες την ποίηση, Κύριε,

δε θα ’χα τίποτα για να ζήσω.

Αυτά τα χωράφια δε θα ’ταν δικά μου.

Eνώ τώρα ευτύχησα να ’χω μηλιές,

να πετάξουνε κλώνους οι πέτρες μου,

να γιομίσουν οι φούχτες μου ήλιο,

η έρημός μου λαό,

τα περιβόλια μου αηδόνια.

Λοιπόν πώς σου φαίνονται; Είδες

τα στάχυα μου, Κύριε; Είδες τ’ αμπέλια μου;

Είδες τι όμορφα που πέφτει το φως

στις γαλήνιες κοιλάδες μου;

Κι έχω ακόμη καιρό!

Δεν ξεχέρσωσα όλο το χώρο μου, Κύριε.

Μ’ ανασκάφτει ο πόνος μου κι ο κλήρος μου μεγαλώνει.

Ασωτεύω το γέλιο μου σαν ψωμί που μοιράζεται.

Ωστόσο, 

δεν ξοδεύω τον ήλιο σου άδικα.

Δεν πετώ ούτε ψίχουλο απ’ ό,τι μου δίνεις.

Γιατί σκέφτομαι την ερμιά και τις κατεβασιές του χειμώνα.

Γιατί θa ’ρθει το βράδυ μου. Γιατί φτάνει όπου να ’ναι

το βράδυ μου, Κύριε, και πρέπει να ’χω κάμει πριν φύγω

την καλύβα μου εκκλησιά

για τους τσοπάνηδες της αγάπης.

 

Νικηφόρος Βρεττάκος

If you hadn’t given me poetry, oh Lord

If you hadn’t given me poetry, oh Lord,

I would have nothing to live on.

These fields wouldn’t be mine.

But now I am blessed with apple trees,

with branches sprouting from my stones,

to have my palms filled with sun,

my desert with people

my gardens with nightingales.

Well, what do you think of them? Have you seen

my fields of wheat, Lord? Have you seen my vineyards?

Have you seen how beautifully the light falls

upon my peaceful valleys?

And I still have time!

I haven’t cleared all of my land, Lord.

My pain digs into me and my holding grows.

I exhaust my laughter like bread shared.

Still,

I don’t waste your sun in vain.

I don’t throw away even a crumb of what you’ve given me.

Because I am thinking of the solitude and the torrents of winter.

Because my twilight will come. Because any time now

my twilight will be here, Lord, and before I go

I  must have turned my hut into a church

for the shepherds of love. 

                                                                                                                                                              Nikiphoros Vrettakos

                          Translation: Katerina Manoussaki, Tasos Botzekides