αγριμολογος

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love –
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me –
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud one night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we –
Of many far wiser than we –
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea –
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

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Yves Bonnefoy (1923-2016)

Nous ne nous voyons plus dans la même lumière,
Nous n’avons plus les mêmes yeux, les mêmes mains.
L’arbre est plus proche et la voix des sources plus vive,
Nos pas sont plus profonds, parmi les morts.

Dieu qui n’es pas, pose ta main sur notre épaule, Ébauche notre corps du poids de ton retour,
Achève de mêler à nos âmes ces astres,
Ces bois, ces cris d’oiseaux, ces ombres et ces jours

Renonce-toi en nous comme un fruit se déchire,
Ellace-nous en toi.
Découvre-nous
Le sens mystérieux de ce qui n’est que simple
Et lut tombé sans feu dans des mots sans amour.

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Τάσος Λειβαδίτης (1921-1988)

Καντάτα

Ἕνα περίεργο ἐπεισόδιο διαβάζαμε τελευταία στὶς ἐφημερίδες,
ἕνας ἄντρας πῆγε σ᾿ ἕνα ἀπ᾿ αὐτὰ τὰ «σπίτια»,
πῆρε μιὰ γυναῖκα,
μὰ μόλις μπαίνουν στὸ δωμάτιο,
ἀντὶ νὰ γδυθεῖ καὶ νὰ ἐπαναλάβει τὴν αἰώνια κίνηση,
γονάτισε μπροστά της, λέει, καὶ τῆς ζητοῦσε νὰ τὸν ἀφήσει
νὰ κλάψει στὰ πόδια της. Ἐκείνη βάζει τὶς φωνές,
«ἐδῶ ἔρχονται γιὰ ἄλλα πράγματα»,
οἱ ἄλλοι ἀπ᾿ ἔξω δώστου χτυπήματα στὴν πόρτα.
Μὲ τὰ πολλὰ ἄνοιξαν καὶ τὸν διώξανε μὲ τὶς κλωτσιὲς
— ἀκοῦς ἐκεῖ διαστροφὴ νὰ θέλει, νὰ κλάψει μπρός σε μιὰ γυναῖκα.
Ἐκεῖνος ἔστριψε τὴ γωνία καὶ χάθηκε καταντροπιασμένος.
Κανεὶς δὲν τὸν ξανάδε πιά.
Καὶ μόνο ἐκείνη ἡ γυναῖκα,
θὰ ᾿ρθεῖ ἡ ἀναπότρεπτη ὥρα μιὰ νύχτα, ποὺ θὰ νοιώσει τὸν τρόμο ξαφνικά,
πῶς στέρησε τὸν ἑαυτὸ τῆς ἀπ᾿ τὴν πιὸ βαθιά,
τὴν πιὸ μεγάλη ἐρωτικὴ πράξη
μὴν ἀφήνοντας ἕναν ἄντρα νὰ κλάψει στὰ πόδια της.

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