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Leave Me At The Sea

Theo Angelopoulos 

I wish you all health and happiness; but I cannot share your journey. I am only a guest here. All things I touch, they wound me and then they no longer belong to me. There’s always someone declaring ‘this is mine’. I possess nothing, I once said. Arrogance – for now I finally realize that nothing really is nothing. I don’t even have a name; I must seek one, now and again. Grant me a landscape to look at. Leave me at sea. I’m wishing you all health and happiness.

(1982)

English translation: Paschalis Nikolaou

Unpublished poem by Theodoros Angelopoulos (1982), written before he started working on the script of the film “Voyage to Cythera”

#theo angelopoulos#theodoros angelopoulos#voyage to cythera#poem#poetry
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Part from your buddies at the station In the morning go into town with your coat buttoned up Find yourself a room, and when your buddy knocks Don’t open, O don’t open the door But Erase the traces! If you meet your parents in the city of Hamburg or somewhere else Pass them like a stranger, turn a corner, don’t acknowledge them Pull the hat they gave you down over your face Don’t show, O don’t show your face But Erase the traces! Eat the meat that’s there! Don’t save! Go into any house if it rains, and sit on any chair that’s there But don’t stay sitting! And don’t forget your hat! I tell you, Erase the traces! Whatever you say, don’t say it twice If you find your ideas in anyone else, disown them. He who has signed nothing, who has left no picture behind Who was not there at the time, who has said nothing How are they to catch him! Erase the traces! Make sure, when you turn your thoughts to dying That no gravestone divulges where you lie With a clear inscription indicting you And the year of your death, which convicts you! Once again, Erase the traces! (That’s what I was told.)

Bertolt Brecht / “Reader for Those Who Live in Cities: First Poem“ (1926)

#bertolt brecht#walter benjamin#poem#poetry#city dwellers#1926
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"The Seventh (A hetedik)"

Attila József (1905 - 1937)

If you set out in this world, better be born seven times. Once, in a house on fire, once, in a freezing flood, once, in a wild madhouse, once, in a field of ripe wheat, once, in an empty cloister, and once among pigs in sty. Six babes crying, not enough: you yourself must be the seventh.

When you must fight to survive, let your enemy see seven. One, away from work on Sunday, one, starting his work on Monday, one, who teaches without payment, one, who learned to swim by drowning, one, who is the seed of a forest, and one, whom wild forefathers protect, but all their tricks are not enough: you yourself must be the seventh.

If you want to find a woman, let seven men go for her. One, who gives heart for words, one, who takes care of himself, one, who claims to be a dreamer, one, who through her skirt can feel her, one, who knows the hooks and snaps, one, who steps upon her scarf: let them buzz like flies around her. You yourself must be the seventh.

If you write and can afford it, let seven men write your poem. One, who builds a marble village, one, who was born in his sleep, one, who charts the sky and knows it, one, whom words call by his name, one, who perfected his soul, one, who dissects living rats. Two are brave and four are wise; You yourself must be the seventh.

And if all went as was written, you will die for seven men. One, who is rocked and suckled, one, who grabs a hard young breast, one, who throws down empty dishes, one, who helps the poor win; one, who worked till he goes to pieces, one, who just stares at the moon. The world will be your tombstone: you yourself must be the seventh.

#attila józsef#attila jozsef#john berger#a seventh man#poem#poetry#migration
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