The pearl and the ocean

A drop of rain trickled from a cloud into the ocean. When it beheld the breadth of its waters it was utterly confounded:

"What a place is this Sea, and what am I? If it is existent, verily I am non-existent." 

Whilst it was thus regarding itself with the eye of contempt, an oyster received and cherished it in its bosom.

Fortune preferred it to a place of honor; for it became a renowned royal Pearl.

Because it was humble, it found exaltation: it knocked at the door of Nonentity that it might arise into Being. 

Saʿdī

translated by Samuel Robinson.

(Picture: Leafage and drops, Jean Arp)

Y después

Los laberintos
que crea el tiempo,
se desvanecen.

(Sólo queda
el desierto.)

El corazón,
fuente del deseo,
se desvanece.

(Sólo queda
el desierto.)

La ilusión de la aurora
y los besos,
se desvanecen.

Θά ῾ρθει μιὰ μέρα

Θά ῾ρθει μιὰ μέρα ποὺ δὲ θά ῾χουμε πιὰ τί νὰ ποῦμε
Θὰ καθόμαστε ἀπέναντι καὶ θὰ κοιταζόμαστε στὰ μάτια
Ἡ σιωπή μου θὰ λέει: Πόσο εἶσαι ὄμορφη, μὰ δὲ
βρίσκω ἄλλο τρόπο νὰ στὸ πῶ
Θὰ ταξιδέψουμε κάπου, ἔτσι ἀπὸ ἀνία ἢ γιὰ νὰ
ποῦμε πὼς κι ἐμεῖς ταξιδέψαμε.
Ὁ κόσμος ψάχνει σ᾿ ὅλη του τὴ ζωὴ νὰ βρεῖ τουλάχιστο
τὸν ἔρωτα, μὰ δὲν βρίσκει τίποτα.
Σκέφτομαι συχνὰ πὼς ἡ ζωή μας εἶναι τόσο μικρὴ
ποὺ δὲν ἀξίζει κἂν νὰ τὴν ἀρχίσει κανείς.
Ἀπ᾿ τὴν Ἀθήνα θὰ πάω στὸ Μοντεβίδεο ἴσως καὶ
στὴ Σαγκάη, εἶναι κάτι κι αὐτὸ δὲ μπορεῖς
νὰ τὸ ἀμφισβητήσεις.
Καπνίσαμε -θυμήσου- ἀτέλειωτα τσιγάρα
συζητώντας ἕνα βράδυ
-ξεχνῶ πάνω σὲ τί- κι εἶναι κρῖμα γιατὶ ἦταν τόσο
 μα τόσο ἐνδιαφέρον.
Μιὰ μέρα, ἂς ἤτανε, νὰ φύγω μακριά σου ἀλλὰ κι
ἐκεῖ θά ῾ρθεις καὶ θὰ μὲ ζητήσεις
Δὲ μπορεῖ, Θέ μου, νὰ φύγει κανεὶς μοναχός του.

Μανόλης Ἀναγνωστάκης

(Picture: Melancholy, Odilon Redon)

Mal Du Depart

Θὰ μείνω πάντα ἰδανικὸς κι ἀνάξιος ἐραστὴς
τῶν μακρυσμένων ταξιδιῶν καὶ τῶν γαλάζιων πόντων,
καὶ θὰ πεθάνω μία βραδιά, σὰν ὅλες τὶς βραδιές,
χωρὶς νὰ σχίσω τὴ θολὴ γραμμὴ τῶν ὁριζόντων.

Γιὰ τὸ Μαδράς, τὴ Σιγγαπούρ, τ᾿ Ἀλγέρι καὶ τὸ Σφὰξ
θ᾿ ἀναχωροῦν σὰν πάντοτε περήφανα τὰ πλοῖα,
κι ἐγώ, σκυφτὸς σ᾿ ἕνα γραφεῖο μὲ χάρτες ναυτικούς,
θὰ κάνω ἀθροίσεις σὲ χοντρὰ λογιστικὰ βιβλία.

Death Will Come with Your Eyes

Death will come with your eyes—
this death that accompanies us
from morning till night, sleepless,
deaf, like an old regret
or a stupid vice. Your eyes
will be a useless word,
a muted cry, a silence.
As you see them each morning
when alone you lean over
the mirror. O cherished hope,
that day we too shall know
that you are life and nothing.

We come and go, but for the gain, where is it?

We come and go, but for the gain, where is it?

And spin life's woof, but for the warp, where is it?

And many a righteous man has burned to dust

In heaven's blue rondure, but their smoke, where is it?


Omar Khayyam

(Translated by Edward Henry Whinfield)

(Picture: Allegory of Prudence, Titian)

Epitaph On A Tyrant

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter.
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

W. H. Auden

(Picture: Untitled, Kukryniksy)