venerdì 17 luglio 2009


Let me tell you some words about an incredible “hellenico-persian” blog. And I use this adjective in its cultural sense: Hellenism is not only today’s Greece and Persianism is not only today’s Iran. These two countries have one point in common indeed: they have always had variable geometry borders and their great cultures have influenced many other countries…
And God knows that Cyprus has given and still gives a lot to Hellenism
This blog is ΝΟCΤΟC
I have discovered it by clicking on some link (I don’t even remember where: probably by looking for some information about Persian language) and I found so many articles about Iran and Cyprus. Not to talk about the music he uploads to his Imeem page.
I just wanted to share with you 3 Iranian poems he translated in Greek and published online in Greek and English for the first time; I copy only one of them and simply give you the links to the 2 others for more informations about these poets and also for you to enjoy the beautiful pictures he uploaded with those poems.
Sadly for those who are studying persian like me, he has not added the persian text of these poems…
Κάτω από την διαστατική σκιά του χλωμού φεγγαριού
σε μια ομίχλη που μοιάζει με λάμψη, μελαγχολική και μαγευτική
ήταν κατάκοιτη, και οι μαύρες πλεξίδες της
κυμάτιζαν στον αέρα
μια σκοτεινή σιλουέτα ενάντια στη λάμψη της νύχτας.

Το ρυάκι ξεχειλισμένο από νερό
τραγουδούσε για αυτούς που έφυγαν
για αγάπες του παρελθόντος και για τους νεκρούς
έκρυβε εντάσεις από μυστικούς πόνους.

Κάτω από το κρύο και κουρασμένο σεληνόφως, η πλαγιά του βουνού
σαν μια μακρινή επιθυμία
σαν ένα φωτοστέφανο της ελπίδας
ή σαν γυμνή, ζεστή και τρεμάμενη σε μετάξι
κοιμόταν μέσα στη ζάλη
ενώ το βράδυ περνούσε
πλούσια αλλά ήσυχα λαγκάδια

Αυτή, η ελπίδα μου, η ενσάρκωση των ονείρων μου
κάηκε στις ζεστές φλόγες της δικής της φαντασίας
τραγουδώντας στο λαμπερό μέτωπο του σεληνόφως
το παραμύθι της λύπης μου- για τη δική της συστολή.

Φερεϊτούν Ταβαλάρι
Under the dappled shade of the pale moon
in a mist-like glow, somber and bewitching
she was prostate, and her black brainds
waving in the wind
a dark silhouette against the night's glow.

The brook overflowing with water
sang of the departed
of past loves and the dead
it held strains of secret pain.

Under the cold and tired moonlight, the mountainside
like a distant desire
like a halo of hope
or like a nude, warm and atremble in silk
slept in a daze
while the eventide passed
lush but quiet fields

She, my hope, my dreams' incarnation
burned in the warm flames of her own fancy
singing to the glowing brow of the moonlight
the tale of my sorrow- of her own coyness.

By Fereydun Talallary

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