Always Here
There is no problem. I am
here. I am always here.
I wrote the Song of the
Harpist in 2000 BC in Egypt.
I wrote The Odyssey in 800 BC in Ionia.
I wrote the Tao Te Ching in 600 BC in China.
I wrote the Mathnavi i Manavi in the 11th century at Ikonion.
I wrote, exiled in Ravenna, the Comedy which Boccaccio called Divine.
I wrote the Woman of Zakynthos,
The Four Quartets
The Kihli
and Manthraspenta.
There is no problem. I am
here. I am always here.
Thus Spoke The Muse
Poets are nothing but
waves
of the ocean whose name is Spirit.
I Come From
I do not know if it was
Ritsos or Homer
who convinced me to enter the Trojan Horse
holding only a sword and a mirror.
I come from the
desert,
where the sand is the crush of every form.
I come from the
Ursae,
carrying a sack full of stars,
holding in my hand a moon-mask.
I come from the hut,
plaited with branches of lightning.
I come from a house made
of mirrors.
I come from the mountain
gorge,
that is curved like a sword
half filled with snow,
half filled with flowers.
I come from the banks of
the mountain river
where waterfalls – ascetics
stand up inside jars
made of stone.
I come from the
North;
wearing two half-moons as skates,
sliding continuously on the snow
for three thousand years.
I come from the Tatarian
hordes;
I am the soldier who slaughtered Attar and
I am also Attar himself
and the knife which slaughtered him.
I come from the black
galaxy of ants,
which sweeps away a dead butterfly
like an angel’s sailing-boat
like Icarus after his fall.
I come from Greece,
which with her
Peloponnesean hand
reached out and scattered
the islands around herself
so that she doesn’t lie alone in the sea.
I come from the hole of a
rotten branch
where I was officiating, wearing the dress of a wild bee or the vestments of a butterfly.
I come from the dusk of
Thessaly,
where I was pasturing a flock of fires
for a thousand years.
I come from the book of
Anaximandros;
I am always there, wherever, I go.
They asked me where I
come from.
What could I tell them?
They wouldn’t understand me
and then they would lead me
tied up to the psychiatrist.
“I’ come”, I said
plainly, “from Agrinio*”,
hiding inside that word,
as much as I could,
the “agrios”, the “ni”, and
above all
the “o”,
which is a well, a trap, my home, a mirror and
a labyrinth
(the most complicated labyrinth,
even though it looks so simple; just a little ring).
*Agrinio: A city of
Aetolia in Greece, whose name derives from the word “Agrios” (i.e “Wild”), the
name of a mythical hero from ancient Aetolia.
I wrote The Odyssey in 800 BC in Ionia.
I wrote the Tao Te Ching in 600 BC in China.
I wrote the Mathnavi i Manavi in the 11th century at Ikonion.
I wrote, exiled in Ravenna, the Comedy which Boccaccio called Divine.
I wrote the Woman of Zakynthos,
The Four Quartets
The Kihli
and Manthraspenta.
of the ocean whose name is Spirit.
who convinced me to enter the Trojan Horse
holding only a sword and a mirror.
where the sand is the crush of every form.
carrying a sack full of stars,
holding in my hand a moon-mask.
plaited with branches of lightning.
that is curved like a sword
half filled with snow,
half filled with flowers.
where waterfalls – ascetics
stand up inside jars
made of stone.
wearing two half-moons as skates,
sliding continuously on the snow
for three thousand years.
I am the soldier who slaughtered Attar and
I am also Attar himself
and the knife which slaughtered him.
which sweeps away a dead butterfly
like an angel’s sailing-boat
like Icarus after his fall.
which with her
Peloponnesean hand
reached out and scattered
the islands around herself
so that she doesn’t lie alone in the sea.
where I was officiating, wearing the dress of a wild bee or the vestments of a butterfly.
where I was pasturing a flock of fires
for a thousand years.
I am always there, wherever, I go.
What could I tell them?
They wouldn’t understand me
and then they would lead me
tied up to the psychiatrist.
hiding inside that word,
as much as I could,
the “agrios”, the “ni”, and
above all
the “o”,
which is a well, a trap, my home, a mirror and
a labyrinth
(the most complicated labyrinth,
even though it looks so simple; just a little ring).
(Τranslated by Vasso Dermani and Urania)
* Yannis Yfantis was born in Raina, a valley of Aetolia, in Greece. After living for 32 years in Thessaloniki, he has returned lately to his place of origin. He now shares his time between Raina of Agrinion and Pelasgikon of Lefkas island. He studied Law at Aristotle University, where he also attended classes on Philosophy, Archaeology and Astronomy. He broadcasted for two years in the National Radio of Thessaloniki the programmes entitled: "Greek and international poetry" and "In reality, the issue is one". He was also invited to give lectures about his poetic and visual work as well as about Rimbaud, Seferis, Ritsos, Elytis, Kavafis, Kazantzakis and Kavadias in many High Schools and Universities in Greece. Many of his poems have been translated in English, French, Bulgarian, Italian, Russian, Spanish, and recently in Arabic, Chinese, German, Finnish, Hebrew, Serbian, Slav-Macedonian and Persian. Some of his poems have been set to music by the English musician Ivan Moody. He set some of his poems to music himself, as well as one poem of Solon, and poems of Sufi, Indian and Zen poets. Books of his have been published in Italian, French, Bulgarian and Spanish. He has been invited to present his work in several festivals abroad. Although he believes that books are made by themselves, he received, unexpectedly, for them, the Cavafis Prize for 1995 in Alexandria of Egypt. In November 2003 he has been invited by the Bavarian Ministry of Culture, for three months, to Feldafing, near the lake Starnbergersee. His website: www.yfantis.gr