Κυριακή, 11 Αυγούστου 2013

Λευκές σελίδες


Το λευκό της λησμονιάς

Το λευκό της αθωότητας
Το λευκό της αιώνιας επιστροφής
Ξαναγράφοντας την ιστορία από την αρχή
Ξαναφτιάχνοντας τον κόσμο από την αρχή
Λευκά σεντόνια
Λευκές σελίδες


....
Α.Φ.



Πέμπτη, 1 Αυγούστου 2013

Anaktoria on the Stoop

by G. Wesley Purdy

Soft as palely loitering spring she lingers,
sitting knock-kneed, mild; as the florid season,
so she too, unmindful, accepts caresses,
   bending as slightly.
Lips unguarded, full, as if seeking, sought for,
brush expectant day, its small breathing quickened;
she is somewhere distanter: there a strangely
   crystalline rapture.
Hair goes wisps as boldly as love is taken,
falls there all about her a chestnut laughter;
rayon gardens bloom there, surprise among them,
   startled eyes question.
Who can know the mastery seizes her? What
sight, what strophe, may quicken the hand to wisdom
such as Anaktoria's knows: half-lifted,
   suddenly foreign?

About Anactoria....


Some say an army of horsemen or footmen or rowers
Is the most beautiful thing over the coal-black earth,
But I say it is that thing, whatever it is,
That one loves and desires.


All easy it is to make this clear to anyone,
For Helen, far surpassing all mortals in beauty,
Leaving behind the best of all men,
Departed, sailing for Troy —
And not at all did she remember
Parents, nor love of children,
But passion drove her.

Now my Anactoria too is gone, and
I would rather see her supple walk
And the bright sparkle of her face
Than all the chariots of Lydia
And foot-soldiers in arms.

SAPPHO's Fragment 16, Translated by Peter Saint - Andre