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Wednesday, 20 July 2016

"Our Land", Yannis Ritsos


Wherever I am in Greece (Tzoumerka, Zagori, Paxos, Corfu), 
Ritsos' poems and images connect and  resound, even where no olive trees can grow.









Yannis Ritsos, from Our Land:



We climbed the hill to look over our land:
fields poor and few, stones, olive trees…
We shaped the old man’s clothes
into a scarecrow against the ravens…
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.


tr. Edmund Keeley



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