The Poetry of Yiannis Ritsos

I've added a few tracks to RADIO AXION ESTI (Widget located on the right margin). A few from an album containoing 23 hits of the great singer of Cretan folksongs, Nikos Xylouris (Item Code # CDMBI-11021-2), and a  two CD set  Romiosini-Axion Esti (Item Code # 1720-942-3) featuring the poetry of Yiannis Ritsos and Odysseas Elytis in musical form composed by Mikis Theodorakis and sung by George Dalaras. The are available for purchase at GreekMusic.com

Yannis Ritsos was a distinguished, modern Greek poet.  He was born in Monemvasia, Greece in 1909.  Ritsos was born into a wealthy but unfortunate family. His father died insane; his mother and a brother died of tuberculosis when he was 12. Reared by relatives, Ritsos attended Athens Law School briefly (1925), and was confined to a tuberculosis sanitarium (1927–31). His first collection was published in 1934.  He was sent into exile in 1948 - 52 because he was a member of the EAM (National Liberation Form) against the Germans.   

Despite all his misfortunes, Ritsos rose above the tragic events of his life to pour his feelings into a poetic medium  devoid of anger and recrimination. In long poems like his celebrated Romiosini (1947), Moonlight Sonata (1956) and most of his later volumes, Ritsos writes with compassion and hope, celebrating the life, toil, and dignity of the common man in an unadorned and direct language. In 1967, Ritsos was arrested again by the Greek junta and exiled, and was prohibited from publishing until 1972. By the end of his life, and despite the odds against him, Ritsos had published 117 books, including numerous plays and essays.

The poet came under heavy criticism for his militant verse and his devotion to the Greek Communist Party, from both comrades and opponents. His inner conflicts are evident in some recently discovered and newly published poems, as they are throughout his work. In a poem he wrote in 1958, Titos Patrikios sketched Ritsos: “And my teacher told me: / ‘The bourgeoisie have to recognize you first / so you can make your mark on the movement; / till then don’t say that further afield / you’ll get into trouble.’”

The poems of his last book: Late in the Night 1987-1989) are  filled  with sadness and the realization of loss, but, as always, the poet restores life and the world around him, preserving a gleam of hope. Having witnessed the downfall of his political ideology, he died in his sleep at home in 1990.

The following are some of the ‘simple things’ as Ritsos used to call his short poems.  The poems were translated by the distinguished translator, Edmund Keely and are found in his book “ Yannis Ritsos: Repetitions, Testimonies, Parentheses ”

Completeness Almost

You know, death doesn’t exist, he said to her.
I know, yes, now that I’m dead, she answered.
Your two shirts are ironed, in the drawer.
The only thing I’m missing is a small rose.

Mode of Acquisition

Whatever you hold in your hands
so carefully, wish so much love,
yours so totally, my companion,
you must give away
in order for it to become yours.

Because

Because the buses were stopped in front of the railing
because the dolls in the lighted shop windows gesticulated
because the girl with the bicycle lingered outside the drugstore
because the carpenter broke the glass door of the beer hall
because the child was alone in the elevator with a stolen pencil
because the dogs had abandoned the seaside villas 
because the rusty grater had been covered over by nettles
because the sky was ashen with a red fish
because the horse on the mountain was more alone than the star
because these and those both were hunted
because of this, only because of this, I told you lies.

Forgotten Tenderness

The grandmother was a good woman, she was quiet.
Beside her eyes there were many thin wrinkles like those of tea napkins
carefully embroidered.  She also had a light heart like a small bag full of cotton.

The grandmother left.  Maybe she went to spin her cotton
on the edge of the great night’s fireplace.
But how is it possible that the grand mother went out of the house,
and in the rain, and without taking her woollen shawl even ?

The little maid is crying on a chair in the hallway.
The light rain is also crying on the steps of Elkomenos Church.
The smallest grandchild didn’t cry, seeing how beautifully the rain,
the steps, the chair, and the little maid all were crying
over the little grandmother who now spins her wool unseen.

In the Ruins of an Ancient Temple

The museum guard was smoking in front of the sheepfold.
The sheep were grazing among the marble ruins.
Farther down the women were washing in the river
. You could hear the beat of the hammer in the blacksmith’s shop.
The shepherd whistled.  The sheep ran ti him as though the marble ruins were running.
The water’s thick nape shone with coolness behind the oleanders.  A woman spread  her
washed clothing on the shrubs and the statues -
she spread her husband’s underpants on Hera’s shoulders.

Foreign, peaceful, silent intimacy - years on years.  Down on the shore
the fishermen passed by with broadbaskets full of fish on their heads,
as though they were carrying long and narrow flashes of light:
gold, rose, and violet - the same as that procession bearing the long,
richly embroidered veil of the goddess that we cut up the other day
to arrange as curtains and table-cloths in our emptied houses.

Our Land

We climbed the hill to look over our land:
fields poor and few, stones, olive trees.
Vineyards head toward the sea. Beside the plow
a small fire smoulders. We shaped the old man's clothes
into a scarecrow against the ravens. Our days
are making their way toward a little bread and great sunshine.
Under the poplars a straw hat beams.
The rooster on the fence. The cow in yellow.
How did we manage to put our house and our life in order
with a hand made of stone? Up on the lintel
there's soot from the Easter candles, year by year:
tiny black crosses marked there by the dead
returning from the Resurrection Service. This land is much loved
with patience and dignity. Every night, out of the drywell,
the statues emerge cautiously and climb the trees.

Comments

[Scruffy]

Stavro,

In 1985 when I came to Greece, I remember this little song that seemed so quaint to me and it became my favorite Greek song.

Einay Gata
Einay Gata
O Kontos xoris Patata (or something like that)

or the one about the shephered who

"Vaso Givancy sto podardia mo"
epadi ole ti mera, vaso to tsapon (?)
He He He (shepheard song).

Oh the simple Greece in the mid 1980s...

[Margaret]

Stavros,

I think I prefer "simple things", that bypass the intellect and transcend nationality/ethnicity. I really like all the poems you've linked to - thanks for the links, especially those with the Greek alongside the English.

Margaret

[Hermes]

Ritsos is another giant. One of my favourite Ritsos poems is Woman. I cannot find the English translation anywhere right now but it comes highly recommended. The Late into the Night collection is also very good.

[Stavros]

Margaret,

I know you love poetry and I was hoping some of this would speak to your inner self as well. Wasn't it you that once remarked about being attracted to poems that expressed similar experiences that you shared with the author? Perhaps that might be why some of the patriotic poems might not appeal to you.

Elytis and Ritsos reflect their generation. A generation that lived through the trauma of war, occupation and civil war. Ritsos especially lived a life that resembled a Greek tragedy. Their experiences pervades their poetry. They were human beings who wrote about things we all have some understanding of, such as love and beauty. They also wrote about things that we have difficulty relating to since we may not have shared those same experiences. As Greeks, their work reflects the torment and pride inflicted by their Greekness. A Greekness that even Greeks themselves have trouble processing at times.

Hermes,

I don't share your more intimate knowledge of Ritsos or Elytis. Something I hope to rectify now that I have had a chance to read and hear them. I've decided to take the advice you gave me long ago and read them in their original, especially after listening to the readings of their work. Listening and reading their words in Greek was inspirational. That said I will have a good English translation at my side. Thanks for the information.

[Hermes]

Not a problem. I also need a Greek dictionary. I have discovered that Cavafy is very different in Greek than English. I always thought he was easily translatable but the English reader misses the irony as Cavafy changes between Greek idioms.

[Stavros]

Cavafy is definitely someone I want to learn more about. I searching for a good book about him. Any suggestions?

[Hermes]

I have not read a Cavafy biography but documents here and there. Check the Cavafy website or send them an email, they are very helpful, particularly Lambropoulos. Apologies I cannot be of much assistance. Have you seen the movie by the same Director responsible for El Greco? Very good.

However, I am not sure a Cavafy biography will tell you much. He was very secretive and spent a lot of time in his modest home in Alexandria. There are some excellent books on Alexandria or speak to Alexandrian Greeks themselves. The Alexandrian environment seems as interesting as Cavafy. How he came to view the world in the way that he did has probably as much to do with the history and culture of Alexandria as it did with Cavafy himself. I do not believe he would have written the same poetry if he lived in Athens. I was lucky enough that my parents have several family friends from Alexandria and the Alexandrian Greek club is not far from my home in Sydney in the suburb of you guessed it, Alexandria. By this way I learnt about Alexandria by listening and talking to these people and comparing them to other Greeks.

For me Cavafy is special because his poetry changed the way I interpreted certain things at a very young age. He made certain things seem possible that did not seem possible before. He also showed me the transformative potential of Art; particularly poetry, and helped me change the macho attitude I had towards these pursuits.

[Stavros]

Perhaps the Alexandrians like those Greeks from Constantinople and Smyrna, were more cosmopolitan and exposed to wide ranging influences.

I think I know what you mean about the "transformative power" of art. Especially the art that speaks to us in a personal way because the artist touches something in our soul. I have been listening to the readings of Elytis peotry from Axion Esti and Ritsos from Romiosini and I must admit they have really touched me in a way I can't explain on an emotional level.

Coincidentally, my Uncle Elia just sent me a book about Cavafy by Robert Liddell that I look forward to reading. I'll let you know if it is worthwhile.

[Hermes]

18 Lianotragoudia apo tin Pikri Patridia by Ritsos and Theodorakis is also brilliant.

This is Ritsos poem from his last collection before he died.

WHAT CAN NOT BE WEIGHED

Those who are left await their turn.
Mihalis gone, Stratis gone, Meletis,
Sotiris gone at 40. The mule-drivers
come down from the villages, their carts
loaded up with watermelons. Right in the street,
they plop them on the scales and weigh them.
"Poor crop," they say-and prices go up.
And old Stathis sits on his porch, oblivious,
gazing off at the ocean and chuckling to himself.
All this measuring and comparing-what's the use?
As if you could ever know the weight of things.
"Fresh watermelons," they shout, "ready for the knife!"
The mules doze in the heat, swishing their tails.

He is a genius.

[Stavros]

Thanks. Hermes. Superb. I am actively looking for a collection of his works including his newly discovered poems.

[Afshin Babazadeh]

Ritsos was first translated back in the early seventies into Persian. But his poetry touched modern persian peory in a quiet way

[Stavros]

Afshin,

I am pleasantly surprised to hear that Ritsos has had such a far ranging impact. I would be interested to learn more about it.

[Manolis Aligizakis]

Stavros can find a beautiful book, Cavafy's latest translation by Manolis a Greek-Canadian writer at www.libroslibertad.ca
I admire and congratulate the wish of some readers for good poetry and Cavafy is one of the best in the world.

Manolis

[Curtz W Jackson]

Greetings from Long Island,N.Y.

Sorry-having keypad problems-short note.

Ritsos' poem on video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HfD1d65ygvY

http://www.youtube.com/cjinspector

Regards,
Curtz

[Stavros]

Thanks Curtz,

If you like Ritsos, try Kavafy.