ΣΚΙΕΣ

Nito-onna - Kage no Eiga

Shadow Film - A Woman with Two Heads

μια ταινία του

Shuji Terayama (1935-1983)

ΟΝΕΙΡΑ

AUGUSTO MONTERROSO

LA CUCARACHA SOÑADORA

Era una vez una Cucaracha llamada Gregorio Samsa que soñaba que era una Cucaracha llamada Franz Kafka que soñaba que era un escritor que escribía acerca de un empleado llamado Gregorio Samsa que soñaba que era una Cucaracha.

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Η ΟΝΕΙΡΟΠΑΡΜΕΝΗ ΚΑΤΣΑΡΙΔΑ

Ήτανε μια φορά μια Κατσαρίδα ονόματι Γκρέγκορ Σάμσα που ονειρευόταν ότι ήταν μια Κατσαρίδα ονόματι Φραντς Κάφκα που ονειρευόταν ότι ήταν ένας συγγραφέας που έγραφε για έναν υπάλληλο ονόματι Γκρέγκορ Σάμσα που ονειρευόταν ότι ήταν μια Κατσαρίδα.


AUGUSTO MONTERROSO (1921-2003)
Απο το βιβλίο LA OVEJA NEGRA Y DEMÁS FÁBULOS, Mexico City, 1969
Μετέφρασε (κατ'όναρ!) ο Locus Solus

ΤΟ ΠΟΙΗΜΑ ΝΑ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΝΥΧΤΑ

ΝΙΚΟΣ-ΑΛΕΞΗΣ ΑΣΛΑΝΟΓΛΟΥ

ARS POETICA

Το ποίημα θέλω να είναι νύχτα, περιπλάνηση
σε ξεμοναχιασμένους δρόμους και σε αρτηρίες
όπου η ζωή χορεύει. Θέλω να είναι
αγώνας, όχι μια μουσική που λύνεται
μα πάθος για την μέσα έκφραση μιας ασυναρτησίας
μιας αταξίας που θα γίνει παρανάλωμα
αν δεν τα παίξουμε όλα για όλα.

Όταν οι άλλοι, αδιάφοροι, με σιγουριά
ξοδεύονται άσκοπα ή ετοιμάζονται το βράδυ
να πεθάνουν, όλη τη νύχτα ψάχνω για ψηφίδες
αδιάφθορες μες στον μονόλογο τον καθημερινό
κι ας είναι οι πιο φθαρμένες. Να φεγγρίζουν
μες στο πυκνό σκοτάδι τους σαν τ' αχαμνά ζωύφια
τυχαίες, σκοτωμένες απ' το νόημα
με αίσθημα ποτισμένες.


NΙΚΟΣ-ΑΛΕΞΗΣ ΑΣΛΑΝΟΓΛΟΥ (1931-1996)
Απο το βιβλίο Ο ΔΥΣΚΟΛΟΣ ΘΑΝΑΤΟΣ, Εκδόσεις ΕΓΝΑΤΙΑ, 1978

ΚΑΛΗ ΜΑΣ ΟΡΕΞΗ !

JAN SVANKMAJER

FOOD

ΠΛΗΝ ΕΝΟΣ

"...Et tous seront partis
Sauf un
Qui restera toujours
Seul
Pour garder la nuit"

PIERRE REVERDY

****

CASA DO FADO

FADO

μια ταινία
του
CARLOS SAURA

ΠΟΣΑ ΚΡΥΜΜΕΝΑ ΠΟΣΑ ΜΥΣΤΙΚΑ

ΓΙΩΡΓΟΣ ΜΟΡΑΡΗΣ

ΤΟ ΑΣΘΜΑ ΤΗΣ ΜΕΔΟΥΣΑΣ

Το άσθμα της μέδουσας φωλιάζει
στ' απολιθωμένο δάσος του βυθού
και σαν δίχτυα κινούνται οι χιλιοπλεγμένες του ρίζες.
Ένας άγγελος εξολοθρευτής σαλπίζει
μέσα στην έκσταση των γυναικών.
Πόσα κρυμμένα επωάζονται
κάτω από τα πούπουλα των φτερών του
πόσα μυστικά.
Εκείνες σφίγγουν στην αγκαλιά τους ωκεανούς
αφήνοντας τ' όνομά τους
σ' όσα υποσχέθηκε κι αφαίρεσε το κύμα.

ΓΙΩΡΓΟΣ ΜΟΡΑΡΗΣ
Απο τη συλλογή ΣΥΝΑΝΑΣΤΡΟΦΕΣ ΤΗΣ ΣΙΩΠΗΣ, εκδ. Καστανιώτη, 1991

ΜΕΤΑ ΤΟΝ ΠΟΛΕΜΟ

JOTAMARIO ARBELÁEZ

DESPUÉS DE LA GUERRA

un día
después de la guerra
si hay guerra
si después de la guerra hay un día
te tomaré en mis brazos
un día después de la guerra
si hay guerra
si después de la guerra hay un día
si después de la guerra tengo brazos
y te haré con amor el amor
un día después de la guerra
si hay guerra
si después de la guerra hay un día
si después de la guerra hay amor
y si hay con qué hacer el amor


JOTAMARIO ARBELÁEZ

Η ΒΙΟΛΕΤΤΑ

Violette Nozière

(1978)

μια ταινία του CLAUDE CHABROL

Η ΤΕΧΝΗ ΤΟΥ HAJEK-HALKE

HEINZ HAJEK-HALKE (1898-1983)

ΔΕΝ ΕΧΩ ΠΟΡΤΑ

WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA

CONVERSATION WITH A STONE

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I want to enter your insides,
have a look round,
breathe my fill of you."

"Go away," says the stone.
"I'm shut tight.
Even if you break me to pieces,
we'll all still be closed.
You can grind us to sand,
we still won't let you in."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I've come out of pure curiosity.
Only life can quench it.
I mean to stroll through your palace,
then go calling on a leaf, a drop of water.
I don't have much time.
My mortality should touch you."

"I'm made of stone," says the stone,
"and must therefore keep a straight face.
Go away.
I don't have the muscles to laugh."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I hear you have great empty halls inside you,
unseen, their beauty in vain,
soundless, not echoing anyone's steps.
Admit you don't know them well yourself."

"Great and empty, true enough," says the stone,
"but there isn't any room.
Beautiful, perhaps, but not to the taste
of your poor senses.
You may get to know me, but you'll never know me through.
My whole surface is turned toward you,
all my insides turned away."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I don't seek refuge for eternity.
I'm not unhappy.
I'm not homeless.
My world is worth returning to.
I'll enter and exit empty-handed.
And my proof I was there
will be only words,
which no one will believe."

"You shall not enter," says the stone.
"You lack the sense of taking part.
No other sense can make up for your missing sense of taking part.
Even sight heightened to become all-seeing
will do you no good without a sense of taking part.
You shall not enter, you have only a sense of what that sense should be,
only its seed, imagination."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I haven't got two thousand centuries,
so let me come under your roof."

"If you don't believe me," says the stone,
"just ask the leaf, it will tell you the same.
Ask a drop of water, it will say what the leaf has said.
And, finally, ask a hair from your own head.
I am bursting with laughter, yes, laughter, vast laughter,
although I don't know how to laugh."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in."

"I don't have a door," says the stone.

WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA

2012

ΚΑΛΗ ΧΡΟΝΙΑ !

L' ALBERO DEGLI ZOCCOLI

ERMANNO OLMI

ΔΕΝΤΡΟ ΓΙΑ ΤΣΟΚΑΡΑ

ΚΑΛΑ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΥΓΕΝΝΑ !

CHRISTMAS CARD FROM A HOOKER IN MINNEAPOLIS

Charlie, I'm pregnant
Living on 9th Street
Above a dirty book store
Of Yukeland Avenue
Stopped taking dope
Quit drinking whiskey
My old man plays a trombone
Works out at the track

He says that he loves me
Even though it's not his baby
Says that he'll raise him up
Like he would his own son
He gave me a ring
That was worn by his mother
Takes me out dancing
Every Saturday night

Charlie, I think about you
Everytime I pass the fillin' station
On account of the grease
You used to wear in your hair
Still have that record
Little Anthony and the Imperials
Someone stole my record player
How do you like that?

Charlie, I almost went crazy
After Mario got busted
Went back to Omaha
To live with my folks
And everyone I used to know
Is either dead or in prison
Came back to Minneapolis
This time I think I'm gonna stay

Charlie, I think I'm happy
The first time since my accident
Wish I had all the money
I used to spend on dope
Buy me a used car lot
And I wouldn't sell any of em
Just drive a different car everyday
Depending how I feel

Charlie, for Christ's sakes
If you wanna know the truth of it
I don't have a husband
He don't play the trombone
I need to borrow money
To pay this lawyer, Charlie, hey
I'll be eligable for parol
Come Valentine's Day


TOM WAITS

ΓΡΥΛΟΙ ΚΑΙ ΣΤΙΧΟΙ

ALEXANDRE O'NEILL

Periclitam os grilos

Periclitam os grilos:
a noite é nada.
Quem tem filhos tem cadilhos.
(Que quadra tão bem rimada!)

Não espere, leitor, que eu diga:
«Debaixo daquela arcada...»
Não venho fazer intriga:
versejo só - e mais nada.

Assim o terceiro verso
desta tirada
(reparou que é um provérbio?)
não significa nada.

Se a noite é nada e os grilos
não estão de asa parada,
não vou puxar, só por isso,
o fio à sua meada,

leitor que me pede a história
que já trás engatilhada,
leitor que não se habitua
a que não aconteça nada

em poesia que comece
como esta foi começada
e acabe como esta
vai ser agora acabada...

ALEXANDRE O'NEILL (1924-1986)

ΣΕΖΑΡΙΑ ΕΒΟΡΑ

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...Assim dxam morrê ô flor
Na sombra di bo odjinho
Dxam morrê ta sonha
Assim c'ma pomba na sê ninho...

...Laisse-moi mourir ainsi ô fleur
A l'ombre de ton petit regard
Laisse-moi mourir en rêvant
Comme la colombe dans son nid...



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