Συλλογή Αλαφροΐσκιωτος (1907)
Άγγελος Σικελιανός (1884–1951), 1907
A young poet on Lefkada hears a voice on the mountain calling him to carry a promise into word and deed. Greek lyricism at full lung. Emblematic title: αλαφροΐσκιωτος = «ελαφρά σκιασμένος» — touched, shadow-lit. The text is scan-prone (verse, breathless voice). For Greek readers, a card by a poet who believed poetry could found a religion. It opens with a question about beauty and ends with a vision of Odysseus and Ajax. Some of the 40 samples are compelling, a few are very weak and uneditable. Tags: purely the book as a whole and Greek/English variants allowed but only if they truly reflect the content. Any modern English renderings have to be clearly translations, because the book is in Greek; but the actual feed will show the Greek passage. A good mix of cards should feel like this collection: the opening ecstatic question, a sea-bath, a thirst, the olive grove, the people, the descent into a folk mourning, a wedding dance, the spring charm, the mountain ascent, the 'other gods' closing line. I'll return all cards with Greek field text and english objects. The verse moves with wind, sea light and a young man's longing, by turns ecstatic, breathless and rough at the edges.
Feels like longing, wonder and awe. About nature, identity and faith.
Who it’s for
You may like it if you enjoy Greek lyric poetry that reaches for myth, landscape and spiritual longing. The language is dense and breathless, though, and the collection has uneven stretches.
Why read it
Read it for the sea-bath, the olive grove and the mountain ascent, and for a poet trying to turn private wonder into shared ceremony.
Pages from the book
When the world suddenly goes quiet, what voice do you hear coming from inside you?
Και νά, σκοτάδι μοκλεισε τα βλέφαραπυκνό, βαθύ. Σαν ο ήλιος να ’σβησεν,ο κάμπος, το βουνό, το ακροθαλάσσισαν ίσκιος στην ψυχή μου υψώθηκαν,σαν κυπαρίσσι λύγισεκαι βούιξεν όλ΄ η πλάση.Στερνά σημάδια, χάθηκαν στα μάτια μουοι πέντε αϊτοί στα αιθέρια,στερνά σημάδια μέσα μου, που αστράψανεμαζίκαι σβήσανε όλα σαν αστέρια. What does it mean when a whole village greets you as though you had died and come back?
Και στο λαό εκατέβηκα·και των σπιτιών οι θύρεςάνοιξαν τόσο αγαλινά,σα να ήταν τάφου θύρες.Κ’ ήταν σα να μ’ αγκάλιαζανγυρίζοντας από τον τάφο- οι μοίρεςέτσι το γνέμα εκλώσανε -ή σα να ζωντανέψανεγια μένα οι πεθαμένοι·τόσο βαθιά στο χώμα οι ρίζες σμίγανε,τόσο η κορφή μας ήτανε στον ουρανόυψωμένη. The moment just before a storm — before anything breaks — can be the most alive one.
Την αστραψιάν αντάμωσαπριν βγει απ’ το σύγνεφο. Στον κρότοτου κεραυνού αντιχτύπησετο χτυποκάρδι της καρδιάς μου πρώτο·στ’ ανάλαφρα ξυπνήματα,σε ξαφνικό ένα θρο των φύλλων,στο ξέχειλο κουδούνισμα,στην απονύχτερη ησυχία των γρύλων,στις πρώτες τις μιλιές το θαμποχάραμαστο δρόμο, και στα πρώτα παραθύριαπου ανοίγουν του ψαρά, και στ’ αναβρύσματα,βαθιά στα δέντρα, των πουλιών τα μύρια·στης χαραυγής την ευωδιάκαι στο άξαφνοτης αύρας όπου χτύπαε σημαντήριστο Απέραντο, στ’ ανάβρυσμαγεμίζονταςτ’ ολόχρυσο του πόθου μου κροντήρι! Άγγελος Σικελιανός.Sikelianos (1884–1951) was born on Lefkada, the island whose southern cape, Lefkata, the poet leaps from in this collection — and he spent his life trying to revive a Delphic festival and a pagan Greek spirit.
Books that feel like this
More by Άγγελος Σικελιανός
Μήτηρ Θεού (1916-1917)
Άγγελος Σικελιανός, 1916
A poet walks among the dead as if among family, and finds a language for grief that is closer to feasting than to mourning. One unbroken hymn, in the rhythms of folk song, to a mother larger than any church.
Πάσχα των Ελλήνων (1918-1919)
Άγγελος Σικελιανός, 1918
A poet walks up a mountain at Easter and finds the old gods still breathing in the light, the bread and the sea.
Ποίηση
Άγγελος Σικελιανός, 1946
Ancient rites, sunburnt fields and a Greece that feels older than myth — poetry that makes the landscape a state of the soul.
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Questions readers ask
- Is Συλλογή Αλαφροΐσκιωτος (1907) for me?
- You may like it if you enjoy Greek lyric poetry that reaches for myth, landscape and spiritual longing. The language is dense and breathless, though, and the collection has uneven stretches.
- What is Συλλογή Αλαφροΐσκιωτος (1907) like?
- The verse moves with wind, sea light and a young man's longing, by turns ecstatic, breathless and rough at the edges. Feels like longing, wonder and awe. About nature, identity and faith.
- What should I read after Συλλογή Αλαφροΐσκιωτος (1907)?
- If you liked Συλλογή Αλαφροΐσκιωτος (1907), try 1939 (Γιώργος Σαραντάρης), Poetry (Henry van Dyke Jr.) and Gitanjali (Rabindranath Tagore).
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What if poetry stopped being verse and turned into a whole life?
Την ποίηση θα την κάνουμε μυθιστορία Μυθιστορία της άνοιξης και του καλοκαιριού Μυθιστορία του σώματος και της ψυχής Έλα να σπρώξουμε τους αιώνες μπροστά και πίσω Με τα γόνατα με τα χέρια με το στήθος Ν’ αφήσουμε χώρο στον εαυτό μας να σηκωθεί Να τεντώσει τα μπράτσα και ν’ ανασάνει Και να μπορέσει κάποτε σαν τον κεντρίσει ο πόθος Να πιάσει απ’ το δέντρο της πλάσης όλους τους καρπούς Μ’ όλα τα χελιδόνια να διασχίσει την οικουμένη Ένα ταξίδι σε μια αναπνοή.
1939 · Γιώργος Σαραντάρης
A sailor's love for the sea has fear in it; landsmen never understand.
We men hat go down for a livin’ in ships to the sea— We love it a different way from you poets that ’bide on the land. We are fond of it, sure! But, you take it as comin’ from me, There’s a fear and a hate in our love that a landsman can’t understand. Oh, who could help likin’ the salty smell, and the blue Of the waves that are lazily breathin’ as if they dreamed in the sun? She’s a Sleepin’ Beauty, the sea—but you can’t tell what she’ll do; And the seamen never trust her—they know too well what she’s done!
Poetry · Henry van Dyke Jr.
A wish for a last song that holds every kind of joy.
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song—the joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, the joy that sets the twin brothers, life and death, dancing over the wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its tears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
Gitanjali · Rabindranath Tagore
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