Σάββατο 31 Δεκεμβρίου 2011

Nikos Gabriel Pentzikis
























A self-taught artist, (“however, anything but simple and untidy”) Nikos Gabriel Pentzikis enriched Modern Greek art with new characteristics that appeared for the first time.  Raised in Byzantine Thessaloniki and having a deep knowledge of Byzantine arts and letters, as well as being familiar from an early age with all the movements and trends in European modernism and the avant-garde, he combined elements of post-Impressionism (Seurat) in his work and formed a uniquely personal expression.  Pentzikis’ work is related directly to his intellectual world, his particular perception, and his modernist and audacious writings. As he had so often said, the core and the spark of his artistic work were his Orthodox beliefs and the writings of the Church Fathers.

He lived and died in “Mother Thessaloniki”.  He studied Pharmacy and Applied Optics in Strasbourg and Paris (1926-1929).  During the years between 1930 and 1955 he was in charge of the pharmacy that he had inherited from his father on Egnatia Street and during the period 1955-1968 he worked in a pharmaceutical company.  He exhibited his work for the first time in 1944, having already found his voice in literature and poetry with the publication of Andreas Dimakoudis and The Dead Man and the Resurrection as well as the collection of poems Eikones.  His artistic education propelled him into writing art critiques and essays (on Papaloukas and Gkikas).

His early works were created with pencils and oil but he quickly turned to tempera, which he used until the end of his life, because he considered oil as being too sensual.  During this early period (1950-1967) he depicted the landscape of Macedonia and its vegetation, but also his birthplace with its working class houses and Byzantine churches.  Adopting elements of pointillism, he articulates his post-impressionist compositions, in which color plays a leading role.  Successive layers of short, rapid brushstrokes dominate his lyrical works, with the use of harmonious colors but without perspective or a play of shadow and light.

In the second period of his work (1967-1993) he employed the improvised, exhausting method of “psifarithmisis” (a method that he developed in which colors corresponded to certain numbers).  Pages from the Synaxarion of St. Nicodemus Hagiorite (but also love letters, post cards, place names) provided the raw material for his work until the end of his life and Pentzikis tried to “translate” into colors the harmony and spirit of the holy book which he used.  The synaxarion of every day (embedded with other texts) is deconstructed into words, each word in letters, each letter in numbers, each of which corresponded to a color: 1 = blue, 2 = yellow, 5 = orange, etc.  The religious themes inevitably increased and the colors became more evocative and darker.

Byzantine and European, complex and innocent, orthodox and modern, Pentzikis wove with innumerable brushstrokes, with boundless love and patience, a mystical landscape where the relationships between man and the ultimate emerge – where, however, hermeticism and the symbolic extension do not obscure the precious aspects of life, the uneasy expertise of a contemporary artistic consciousness.





KALFAYAN GALLERIES | ATHENS   13 December 2011 – 28 January 2012    Curated by Errikos Sofras

Πέμπτη 29 Δεκεμβρίου 2011

Ἀλέξανδρος Παπαδιαμάντης --- Ὁ Ἔρωτας στὰ χιόνια







Καρδιὰ τοῦ χειμῶνος. Χριστούγεννα, Ἅις-Βασίλης, Φῶτα.
Καὶ αὐτὸς ἐσηκώνετο τὸ πρωί, ἔρριπτεν εἰς τοὺς ὤμους τὴν παλιὰν πατατούκαν του, τὸ μόνον ροῦχον ὁποῦ ἐσώζετο ἀκόμη ἀπὸ τοὺς πρὸ τῆς εὐτυχίας τοῦ χρόνους, καὶ κατήρχετο εἰς τὴν παραθαλάσσιον ἀγοράν, μορμυρίζων, ἐνῷ κατέβαινεν ἀπὸ τὸ παλαιὸν μισογκρεμισμένον σπίτι, μὲ τρόπον ὥστε νὰ τὸν ἀκούῃ ἡ γειτόνισσα:
- Σεβτᾶς εἶν᾿ αὐτός, δὲν εἶναι τσορβᾶς...- ἔρωντας εἶναι, δὲν εἶναι γέρωντας.
Τὸ ἔλεγε τόσον συχνά, ὥστε ὅλες οἱ γειτονοποῦλες ὁποῦ τὸν ἤκουαν τοῦ τὸ ἐκόλλησαν τέλος ὡς παρατσούκλι: «Ὁ μπάρμπα-Γιαννιὸς ὁ Ἔρωντας».
Διότι δὲν ἦτο πλέον νέος, οὔτε εὔμορφος, οὔτε ἄσπρα εἶχεν. Ὅλα αὐτὰ τὰ εἶχε φθείρει πρὸ χρόνων πολλῶν, μαζὶ μὲ τὸ καράβι, εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν, εἰς τὴν Μασσαλίαν.
Εἶχεν ἀρχίσει τὸ στάδιόν του μὲ αὐτὴν τὴν πατατούκαν, ὅταν ἐπρωτομπαρκάρησε ναύτης εἰς τὴν βομβάρδαν τοῦ ἐξαδέλφου του. Εἶχεν ἀποκτήσει, ἀπὸ τὰ μερδικά του ὅσα ἐλάμβανεν ἀπὸ τὰ ταξίδια, μετοχὴν ἐπὶ τοῦ πλοίου, εἶτα εἶχεν ἀποκτήσει πλοῖον ἰδικόν του, καὶ εἶχε κάμει καλὰ ταξίδια. Εἶχε φορέσει ἀγγλικὲς τσόχες, βελούδινα γελέκα, ψηλὰ καπέλα, εἶχε κρεμάσει καδένες χρυσὲς μὲ ὡρολόγια, εἶχεν ἀποκτήσει χρήματα· ἀλλὰ τὰ ἔφαγεν ὅλα ἐγκαίρως μὲ τὰς Φρύνας εἰς τὴν Μασσαλίαν, καὶ ἄλλο δὲν τοῦ ἔμεινεν εἰμὴ ἡ παλιὰ πατατοῦκα, τὴν ὁποίαν ἐφόρει πεταχτὴν ἐπ᾿ ὤμων, ἐνῷ κατέβαινε τὸ πρωὶ εἰς τὴν παραλίαν, διὰ νὰ μπαρκάρῃ σύντροφός με καμμίαν βρατσέραν εἰς μικρὸν ναῦλον, ἢ διὰ νὰ πάγῃ μὲ ξένην βάρκαν νὰ βγάλη κανένα χταπόδι ἐντὸς τοῦ λιμένος.
Κανένα δὲν εἶχεν εἰς τὸν κόσμον, ἦτον ἔρημος. Εἶχε νυμφευθῆ, καὶ εἶχε χηρεύσει, εἶχεν ἀποκτήσει τέκνον, καὶ εἶχεν ἀτεκνωθῆ.
Καὶ ἀργὰ τὸ βράδυ, τὴν νύκτα, τὰ μεσάνυκτα, ἀφοῦ ἔπινεν ὀλίγα ποτήρια διὰ νὰ ξεχάσῃ ἢ διὰ νὰ ζεσταθῇ, ἐπανήρχετο εἰς τὸ παλιόσπιτο τὸ μισογκρεμισμένον, ἐκχύνων εἰς τραγούδια τὸν πόνον του:
Σοκάκι μου μακρύ-στενό, μὲ τὴν κατεβασιά σου,
κᾶμε κ᾿ ἐμένα γείτονα μὲ τὴν γειτόνισσά σου.
Ἄλλοτε παραπονούμενος εὐθύμως:
Γειτόνισσα, γειτόνισσα, πολυλογοῦ καὶ ψεύτρα,
δὲν εἶπες μία φορὰ κ᾿ ἐσύ, Γιαννιό μου ἔλα μέσα.
Χειμὼν βαρύς, ἐπὶ ἡμέρας ὁ οὐρανὸς κλειστός. Ἐπάνω εἰς τὰ βουνὰ χιόνες, κάτω εἰς τὸν κάμπον χιονόνερον. Ἡ πρωία ἐνθύμιζε τὸ δημῶδες:
Βρέχει, βρέχει καὶ χιονίζει,
κι ὁ παπὰς χειρομυλίζει.
Δὲν ἐχειρομύλιζεν ὁ παπάς, ἐχειρομύλιζεν ἡ γειτόνισσα, ἡ πολυλογοῦ καὶ ψεύτρα, τοῦ ᾄσματος τοῦ μπάρμπα-Γιαννιοῦ. Διότι τοιοῦτον πρᾶγμα ἦτο· μυλωνοῦ ἐργαζομένη μὲ τὴν χεῖρα, γυρίζουσα τὸν χειρόμυλον. Σημειώσατε ὅτι, τὸν καιρὸν ἐκεῖνον, τὸ ἀρχοντολόγι τοῦ τόπου τὸ εἶχεν εἰς κακόν του νὰ φάγῃ ψωμὶ ζυμωμένον μὲ ἄλευρον ἀπὸ νερόμυλον ἢ ἀνεμόμυλον, κ᾿ ἐπροτίμα τὸ διὰ χειρομύλου ἀλεσμένον.
Καὶ εἶχεν πελατείαν μεγάλην, ἡ Πολυλογοῦ. Ἐγυάλιζεν, εἶχε μάτια μεγάλα, εἶχε βερνίκι εἰς τὰ μάγουλά της. Εἶχεν ἕνα ἄνδρα, τέσσαρα παιδιά, κ᾿ ἕνα γαϊδουράκι μικρὸν διὰ νὰ κουβαλᾷ τὰ ἀλέσματα. Ὅλα τὰ ἀγαποῦσε, τὸν ἄνδρα της, τὰ παιδιά της, τὸ γαϊδουράκι της. Μόνον τὸν μπάρμπα-Γιαννιὸν δὲν ἀγαποῦσε.
Ποῖος νὰ τὸν ἀγαπήση αὐτόν; Ἦτο ἔρημος εἰς τὸν κόσμον.
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Καὶ εἶχε πέσει εἰς τὸν ἔρωτα, μὲ τὴν γειτόνισσαν τὴν Πολυλογοῦ, διὰ νὰ ξεχάση τὸ καράβι του, τὰς Λαΐδας τῆς Μασσαλίας, τὴν θάλασσαν καὶ τὰ κύματά της, τὰ βάσανά του, τὰς ἀσωτίας του, τὴν γυναῖκα του, τὸ παιδί του. Καὶ εἶχε πέσει εἰς τὸ κρασὶ διὰ νὰ ξεχάσῃ τὴν γειτόνισσαν.
Συχνὰ ὅταν ἐπανήρχετο τὸ βράδυ, νύκτα, μεσάνυκτα, καὶ ἡ σκιά του, μακρά, ὑψηλή, λιγνή, μὲ τὴν πατατούκαν φεύγουσαν καὶ γλιστροῦσαν ἀπὸ τοὺς ὤμους του, προέκυπτεν εἰς τὸν μακρόν, στενὸν δρομίσκον, καὶ αἱ νιφάδες, μυῖαι λευκαί, τολύπαι βάμβακος, ἐφέροντο στροβιληδὸν εἰς τὸν ἀέρα, καὶ ἔπιπτον εἰς τὴν γῆν, καὶ ἔβλεπε τὸ βουνὸν ν᾿ ἀσπρίζῃ εἰς τὸ σκότος, ἔβλεπε τὸ παράθυρον τῆς γειτόνισσας κλειστόν, βωβόν, καὶ τὸν φεγγίτην νὰ λάμπῃ θαμβά, θολά, καὶ ἤκουε τὸν χειρόμυλον νὰ τρίζῃ ἀκόμη, καὶ ὁ χειρόμυλος ἔπαυε, καὶ ἤκουε τὴν γλῶσσαν τῆς ν᾿ ἀλέθῃ, κ᾿ ἐνθυμεῖτο τὸν ἄνδρα της, τὰ παιδιά της, τὸ γαϊδουράκι της, ὁποῦ αὐτὴ ὅλα τὰ ἀγαποῦσε, ἐνῷ αὐτὸν δὲν ἐγύριζε μάτι νὰ τὸν ἰδῇ, ἐκαπνίζετο, ὅπως τὸ μελίσσι, ἐσφλομώνετο, ὅπως τὸ χταπόδι, καὶ παρεδίδετο εἰς σκέψεις φιλοσοφικὰς καὶ εἰς ποιητικὰς εἰκόνας.
- Νὰ εἶχεν ὁ ἔρωτας σαΐτες!... νὰ εἶχε βρόχια... νὰ εἶχε φωτιές... Νὰ τρυποῦσε μὲ τὶς σαΐτες του τὰ παραθύρια... νὰ ζέσταινε τὶς καρδιές... νὰ ἔστηνε τὰ βρόχια του ἀπάνω στὰ χιόνια... Ἕνας γέρο-Φερετζέλης πιάνει μὲ τὶς θηλιές του χιλιάδες κοτσύφια.
Ἐφαντάζετο τὸν ἔρωτα ὡς ἕνα εἶδος γερο-Φερετζέλη, ὅστις νὰ διημερεύῃ πέραν, εἰς τὸν ὑψηλόν, πευκόσκιον λόφον, καὶ ν᾿ ἀσχολῆται εἰς τὸ νὰ στήνῃ βρόχια ἐπάνω εἰς τὰ χιόνια, διὰ νὰ συλλάβῃ τὶς ἀθῷες καρδιές, ὡς μισοπαγωμένα κοσσύφια, τὰ ὁποῖα ψάχνουν εἰς μάτην, διὰ ν᾿ ἀνακαλύψουν τελευταίαν τινα χαμάδα μείνασαν εἰς τὸν ἐλαιῶνα. Ἐξέλιπον οἱ μικροὶ μακρυλοὶ καρποὶ ἀπὸ τὰς ἀγριελαίας εἰς τὸ βουνὸν τοῦ Βαραντᾶ, ἐξέλιπον τὰ μύρτα ἀπὸ τὰς εὐώδεις μυρσίνας εἰς τῆς Μαμοῦς τὸ ρέμα, καὶ τώρα τὰ κοσσυφάκια τὰ λάλα μὲ τὸ ἀμαυρὸν πτέρωμα, οἱ κηρομύται οἱ γλυκεῖς καὶ αἱ κίχλαι αἱ εὔθυμοι πίπτουσι θύματα τῆς θηλιᾶς τοῦ γερο-Φερετζέλη.
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Τὴν ἄλλην βραδιὰν ἐπανήρχετο, ὄχι πολὺ οἰνοβαρής, ἔρριπτε βλέμμα εἰς τὰ παράθυρα τῆς Πολυλογοῦς, ὕψωνε τοὺς ὤμους, κ᾿ ἐμορμύριζεν:
- Ἕνας Θεὸς θὰ μᾶς κρίνῃ... κ᾿ ἕνας θάνατος θὰ μᾶς ξεχωρίσῃ.
Καὶ εἶτα μετὰ στεναγμοῦ προσέθετε:
- K᾿ ἕνα κοιμητήρι θὰ μᾶς σμίξῃ.
Ἀλλὰ δὲν ἠμποροῦσε, πρὶν ἀπέλθη νὰ κοιμηθῆ, νὰ μὴν ὑποψάλη τὸ σύνηθες ᾆσμα του:
Σοκάκι μου μακρύ-στενό, μὲ τὴν κατεβασιά σου,
κᾶμε κ᾿ ἐμένα γείτονα μὲ τὴν γειτόνισσά σου.
Τὴν ἄλλην βραδιάν, ἡ χιὼν εἶχε στρωθῆ σινδών, εἰς ὅλον τὸν μακρόν, στενὸν δρομίσκον.
- Ἄσπρο σινδόνι... νὰ μᾶς ἀσπρίσῃ ὅλους στὸ μάτι τοῦ Θεοῦ... ν᾿ ἀσπρίσουν τὰ σωθικά μας... νὰ μὴν ἔχουμε κακὴ καρδιὰ μέσα μας.
Ἐφαντάζετο ἀμυδρῶς μίαν εἰκόνα, μίαν ὀπτασίαν, ἓν ξυπνητὸν ὄνειρον. Ὡσὰν ἡ χιὼν νὰ ἰσοπεδώσῃ καὶ ν᾿ ἀσπρίσῃ ὅλα τὰ πράγματα, ὅλας τὰς ἁμαρτίας, ὅλα τὰ περασμένα: Τὸ καράβι, τὴν θάλασσαν, τὰ ψηλὰ καπέλα, τὰ ὡρολόγια, τὰς ἁλύσεις τὰς χρυσᾶς καὶ τὰς ἁλύσεις τὰς σιδηρᾶς, τὰς πόρνας τῆς Μασσαλίας, τὴν ἀσωτίαν, τὴν δυστυχίαν, τὰ ναυάγια, νὰ τὰ σκεπάσῃ, νὰ τὰ ἐξαγνίσῃ, νὰ τὰ σαβανώσῃ, διὰ νὰ μὴ παρασταθοῦν ὅλα γυμνὰ καὶ τετραχηλισμένα, καὶ ὡς ἐξ ὀργίων καὶ φραγκικῶν χορῶν ἐξερχόμενα, εἰς τὸ ὄμμα τοῦ Κριτοῦ, τοῦ Παλαιοῦ Ἡμερῶν, τοῦ Τρισαγίου. N᾿ ἀσπρίσῃ καὶ νὰ σαβανώσῃ τὸν δρομίσκον τὸν μακρὸν καὶ τὸν στενὸν μὲ τὴν κατεβασιάν του καὶ μὲ τὴν δυσωδίαν του, καὶ τὸν οἰκίσκον τὸν παλαιὸν καὶ καταρρέοντα, καὶ τὴν πατατούκαν τὴν λερὴν καὶ κουρελιασμένην: Νὰ σαβανώσῃ καὶ νὰ σκεπάσῃ τὴν γειτόνισσαν τὴν πολυλογοῦ καὶ ψεύτραν, καὶ τὸν χειρόμυλόν της, καὶ τὴν φιλοφροσύνην της, τὴν ψευτοπολιτικήν της, τὴν φλυαρίαν της, καὶ τὸ γυάλισμά της, τὸ βερνίκι καὶ τὸ κοκκινάδι της, καὶ τὸ χαμόγελόν της, καὶ τὸν ἄνδρα της, τὰ παιδιά της καὶ τὸ γαϊδουράκι της: Ὅλα, ὅλα νὰ τὰ καλύψη, νὰ τὰ ἀσπρίση, νὰ τὰ ἁγνίση!
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Τὴν ἄλλην βραδιάν, τὴν τελευταίαν, νύκτα, μεσάνυκτα, ἐπανῆλθε μεθυσμένος πλειότερον παράποτε.
Δὲν ἔστεκε πλέον εἰς τὰ πόδια του, δὲν ἐκινεῖτο οὐδ᾿ ἀνέπνεε πλέον.
Χειμὼν βαρύς, οἰκία καταρρέουσα, καρδία ρημασμένη. Μοναξία, ἀνία, κόσμος βαρύς, κακός, ἀνάλγητος. Ὑγεία κατεστραμμένη. Σῶμα βασανισμένον, φθαρμένον, σωθικὰ λυωμένα. Δὲν ἠμποροῦσε πλέον νὰ ζήσῃ, νὰ αἰσθανθῇ, νὰ χαρῇ. Δὲν ἠμποροῦσε νὰ εὕρῃ παρηγορίαν, νὰ ζεσταθῇ. Ἔπιε διὰ νὰ σταθῇ, ἔπιε διὰ νὰ πατήσῃ, ἔπιε διὰ νὰ γλιστρήσῃ. Δὲν ἐπάτει πλέον ἀσφαλῶς τὸ ἔδαφος.
Ηὖρε τὸν δρόμον, τὸν ἀνεγνώρισεν. Ἐπιάσθη ἀπὸ τὸ ἀγκωνάρι. Ἐκλονήθη. Ἀκούμβησε τὶς πλάτες, ἐστύλωσε τὰ πόδια. Ἐμορμύρισε:
- Νὰ εἶχαν οἱ φωτιὲς ἔρωτα!... Νὰ εἶχαν οἱ θηλιὲς χιόνια...
Δὲν ἠμποροῦσε πλέον νὰ σχηματίσῃ λογικὴν πρότασιν. Συνέχεε λέξεις καὶ ἐννοίας.
Πάλιν ἐκλονήθη. Ἐπιάσθη ἀπὸ τὸν παραστάτην μιᾶς θύρας. Κατὰ λάθος ἤγγισε τὸ ρόπτρον. Τὸ ρόπτρον ἤχησε δυνατά.
- Ποιὸς εἶναι;
Ἦτο ἡ θύρα τῆς Πολυλογοῦς, τῆς γειτόνισσας. Εὐλογοφανῶς θὰ ἠδύνατό τις νὰ τοῦ ἀποδώση πρόθεσιν ὅτι ἐπεχείρει ν᾿ ἀναβῇ, καλῶς ἢ κακῶς, εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν της. Πῶς ὄχι;
Ἐπάνω ἐκινοῦντο φῶτα καὶ ἄνθρωποι. Ἴσως ἐγίνοντο ἑτοιμασίαι. Χριστούγεννα, Ἅις-Βασίλης, Φῶτα, παραμοναί. Καρδιὰ τοῦ χειμῶνος.
- Ποιὸς εἶναι; εἶπε πάλιν ἡ φωνή.
Τὸ παράθυρον ἔτριξεν. Ὁ μπάρμπα-Γιαννιὸς ἦτο ἀκριβῶς ὑπὸ τὸν ἐξώστην, ἀόρατος ἄνωθεν. Δὲν εἶναι τίποτε. Τὸ παράθυρον ἐκλείσθη σπασμωδικῶς. Μίαν στιγμὴν ἂς ἀργοποροῦσε!
Ὁ μπάρμπα-Γιαννιὸς ἐστηρίζετο ὄρθιος εἰς τὸν παραστάτην. Ἐδοκίμασε νὰ εἴπῃ τὸ τραγούδι του, ἀλλ᾿ εἰς τὸ πνεῦμα του τὸ ὑποβρύχιον, τοῦ ἤρχοντο ὡς ναυάγια αἱ λέξεις:
«Γειτόνισσα πολυλογοῦ, μακρύ-στενὸ σοκάκι!...»
Μόλις ἤρθρωσε τὰς λέξεις, καὶ σχεδὸν δὲν ἠκούσθησαν. Ἐχάθησαν εἰς τὸν βόμβον τοῦ ἀνέμου καὶ εἰς τὸν στρόβιλον τῆς χιόνος.
- Καὶ ἐγὼ σοκάκι εἶμαι, ἐμορμύρισε... ζωντανὸ σοκάκι.
Ἐξεπιάσθη ἀπὸ τὴν λαβήν του. Ἐκλονήθη, ἐσαρρίσθη, ἔκλινε καὶ ἔπεσεν. Ἐξηπλώθη ἐπὶ τῆς χιόνος, καὶ κατέλαβε μὲ τὸ μακρόν του ἀνάστημα ὅλον τὸ πλάτος τοῦ μακροῦ στενοῦ δρομίσκου.
Ἅπαξ ἐδοκίμασε νὰ σηκωθῇ, καὶ εἶτα ἐναρκώθη. Εὕρισκε φρικώδη ζέστην εἰς τὴν χιόνα.
«Εἶχαν οἱ φωτιὲς ἔρωτα!... Εἶχαν οἱ θηλιὲς χιόνια!»
Καὶ τὸ παράθυρον πρὸ μιᾶς στιγμῆς εἶχε κλεισθῆ. Καὶ ἂν μίαν μόνον στιγμὴν ἠργοπόρει, ὁ σύζυγος τῆς Πολυλογοῦς θὰ ἔβλεπε τὸν ἄνθρωπον νὰ πέσῃ ἐπὶ τῆς χιόνος.
Πλὴν δὲν τὸν εἶδεν οὔτε αὐτὸς οὔτε κανεὶς ἄλλος. K᾿ ἐπάνω εἰς τὴν χιόνα ἔπεσε χιών. Καὶ ἡ χιὼν ἐστοιβάχθη, ἐσωρεύθη δυὸ πιθαμάς, ἐκορυφώθη. Καὶ ἡ χιὼν ἔγινε σινδών, σάβανον.
Καὶ ὁ μπάρμπα-Γιαννιὸς ἄσπρισεν ὅλος, κ᾿ ἐκοιμήθη ὑπὸ τὴν χιόνα, διὰ νὰ μὴ παρασταθῇ γυμνὸς καὶ τετραχηλισμένος, αὐτὸς καὶ ἡ ζωή του καὶ αἱ πράξεις του, ἐνώπιον τοῦ Κριτοῦ, τοῦ Παλαιοῦ Ἡμερῶν, τοῦ Τρισαγίου.






http://users.uoa.gr/~nektar/arts/tributes/alexandros_papadiamantis/o_erwtas_sta_xionia.ht  Ἀλέξανδρος  Παπαδιαμάντης, Ἅπαντα , ἐπιμ. Ν.Δ. Τριανταφυλλόπουλος, Ἀθήνα, ἐκδ  Δόμος, 1989





GEORGE SEFERIS --- The Cats of Saint Nicholas











             But deep inside me sings  the Fury's lyreless threnody;
                my heart, self-taught, has lost   the precious confidence of hope . . .
                                                                          Aeschylus, "Agamemnon"

'That's the Cape of Cats ahead,' the captain said to me,
pointing through the mist to a low stretch of shore,
the beach deserted; it was Christmas day —
'. . . and there, in the distance to the west, is where
Aphrodite rose out of the waves;
they call the place "Greek's Rock."
Left ten degrees rudder!'
She had Salome's eyes, the cat I lost a year ago;
and old Ramazan, how he would look death square in the eyes,
whole days long in the snow of the East,
under the frozen sun,
days long square in the eyes: the young hearth god.
Don't stop, traveller.
'Left ten degrees rudder,' muttered the helmsman.

. . . my friend, though, might well have stopped,
now between ships,
shut up in a small house with pictures,
searching for windows behind the frames.
The ship's bell struck
like a coin from some vanished city
that brings to mind, as it falls,
alms from another time.
'It's strange,' the captain said.
'That bell — given what day it is —
reminded me of another, the monastery bell.
A monk told me the story,
a half-mad monk, a kind of dreamer.

'It was during the great drought,
forty years without rain,
the whole island devastated,
people died and snakes were born.
This cape had millions of snakes
thick as a man's legs
and full of poison.
In those days the monastery of St Nicholas
was held by the monks of St Basil,
and they couldn't work their fields,
couldn't put their flocks to pasture.
In the end they were saved by the cats they raised.
Every day at dawn a bell would strike
and an army of cats would move into battle.
They'd fight the day long,
until the bell sounded for the evening feed.
Supper done, the bell would sound again
and out they'd go to battle through the night.
They say it was a marvellous sight to see them,
some lame, some blind, others missing
a nose, an ear, their hides in shreds.
So to the sound of four bells a day
months went by, years, season after season.
Wildly obstinate, always wounded,
they annihilated the snakes but in the end disappeared;
they just couldn't take in that much poison.
Like a sunken ship
they left no trace on the surface:
not a miaow, not a bell even.
Steady as you go!
Poor devils, what could they do,
fighting like that day and night, drinking
the poisonous blood of those snakes?
Generations of poison, centuries of poison.'
'Steady as you go,' indifferently echoed the helmsman.

                                    Wednesday, 5 February, 1969
                          
                                  Translated  by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

Κυριακή 25 Δεκεμβρίου 2011

Reza Derakshani -silent jingle bells















Silent Jingle Bells (from the Mirror of Times series)  http://www.rezaderakshani.com/






Πέμπτη 22 Δεκεμβρίου 2011

The Gnostic Cultus of Fatima in Shi'ite Islam---Louis Massignon








Louis Massignon
(1938)
« Der gnostische Kult der Fatima in shiitischen Islam » (1938); Opera Minora(Beirut: Dar Al-Maaref Liban, 1963), I, 514-22. (Trans.) Mitra Hazini and Aaron Cheak. (Ed.) Wahid Azal (2007).


"In the Presence of the Lord, the meaning (al-murad) of the Sabbath is Fatima the Resplendent (al-fâtima al-zahra'), because She is the Day of the Book (yawm al-kitâb). Verily the Godhead hath caused all created things (kullu-shay') to appear through Her..."
-- Essence of the Seven Letters, Tafsîr Sûrat’ul-Baqara (Comm. the Surah of the Cow)



Despite the fact that international law has accepted two or three specifically Islamic nations as its members, it is still increasingly difficult for the modern civilized world to accept Islam as an equal among the other major monotheistic religions. Yet their God is the God of Abraham, just as it is for the Christians and Jews, and contrary to the demands of the extreme Zionists, Islam too has just as much right to exist inPalestine. This becomes even more evident when one considers the results of the latest genealogical research, for Moslem blood has mixed with Christian blood over the past thirteen centuries and has penetrated into many European lands. In a manner of speaking, the Moslem family, in which the wife is able to remain Christian or Jewish, has been “kept open from one side.” We may also mention a frequently dangerous inclination towards exoticism among French student circles, whereby young Christian girls are enticed into marrying foreign Moslem students due to a sense of sentimental compensation for the abuse of power that occurred on Islamic soil during French colonization.
Now, it might seem unusual for an Islamic scholar to participate in a series of lectures dealing with religio-historical problems pertaining to the cultus of the Holy Mother, for, in general, the position of women in Islam is theoretically rather subordinate. Her legal testimony, for instance, is worth only half that of a man’s. Even so, a softening of the position is also known; although she can be divorced without her permission, and while the reciprocal right does not apply, the last few years have actually succeeded in improving her essential legal status. As to the Arabic literary tradition, it does not regard a woman simply as a slave to the desires of a man; it also celebrates women of courage, knowledge and nobility. Furthermore, it was in Islamic lands that that high form of Minne emerged which extols a Platonic veneration of the beloved Beatrice (Leila, Bothenia).
Finally—and this is also the justification for my lecture—there are some Islamic sects who raise the cultus of Fatima, the beloved daughter of the Prophet who is revered by almost all Moslem people, to a form of divine adoration. She was first venerated under the name al-batūl, “the virgin,” for it was as a virgin when she married her cousin ‘Ali and bore him sons, two of whom would become the legitimate leaders of the Shī’ites and claimants to the highest power as ‘Ali’s successors.
To this day one can still recognize, here and there, a distinctive feature among the Shī’ite sects of the Isma’ilis who await the coming of the Mahdi: a virgin who comes to be called al-rawda, “paradise,” to whom they seek to offer the leadership of their sect because they hope she will bring the Mahdi into the world. In the ninth century a young widow was held under supervision for seven years because it was supposed that she might be carrying the long-awaited Mahdi under her bosom.
Historically we know very little about the short life of Fatima, as Lammens’ far too cynical and disparaging study misinforms us. The Islamic traditions do not enable the relationship between Fatima and her father to be clearly ascertained. Besides, she had a particularly ill-disposed rival: Ayisha, her Father’s favorite wife.
We know that her father gave her away in marriage to her cousin ‘Ali, and that she was the only daughter of the prophet who gave him grandsons that survived. There is, moreover, no indication that she was denied any sign of heartfelt affection from her father, particularly during the last year of the prophet’s life.
Indeed, after the childhood death of Ibrahim, the son of his Coptic concubine Maria, the prophet had no other hope for the continuation of his lineage other than through the children ofFatima.
Now when, during a festive celebration, the prophet was negotiating a treaty with the Christian authorities of Najrān (from the tribe of ‘Abdel Madān)—a treaty which represents the first “capitulation” between Christians and Moslems—a divergence of opinion arose between the prophet and the Christian envoy, and their negotiations ground to a dead halt on the issue of the incarnation. The prophet wanted to have the question resolved through ordeals and referred his opponent to the verdict of divine judgement. The Koran makes an allusion to these ordeals or mobahala, to which the angst-ridden Christians ultimately capitulated. According to such ritual of divine justice [or execration], each party is supposed to summon hostages from their own ranks to offer in pledge of their convictions. According to general Islamic tradition, the prophet’s hostages were composed of his daughter Fatima, his son in law, and his two grandsons, Hassan and Hossein. With the prophet himself, five people are thusly designated by this singular investiture, which, as the Muslim Hindus expressly emphasize, was represented through the five fingers of a single talismanic hand—the “Hand of Fatima.” Here the explanation familiar in North Africa, according to which the talisman is simply dismissed as a vestige of Carthaginian magic, is invalidated.
When the prophet died, his son-in-law ‘Ali hardly dared wrest power for himself, but he also refused for months thereafter to pledge an oath of allegiance to Abubakr, Ayisha’s father, whom Fatima too never recognized as caliph. This robbed her of her paternal inheritance, and Abubakr withdrew her ownership rights over the oasis of Fadah. He even had a house-search performed during which she was so badly mistreated that she prematurely delivered a stillborn son, Mohsin.
A few months after her father’s death, Fatima also died, and ‘Ali had to decide whether or not to pledge his oath of allegiance to Abubakr.
In all genuine, that is to say Shī’ite, Islamic circles, Fatimastands at the centre of a collective Islamic legitimization problem. This is due not only to the fact that through her husband she is the mother of the ‘Alids— hence all the descendants of the prophet who are entitled to wear the green turban, who in Africa are called the “Shofra” (plural of Sharif)— but also because she forms the point of contact between the two male lineages: that of her father Mohammed and that of her husband ‘Ali.
The fact remains—for those who believe that the divine covenant which elevates the prophet over his own kind was not withdrawn from the community upon his death but rather became transferred first to his son-in-law ‘Ali and then to his descendants (according to rules which not even the Shī’ites themselves are in complete accord regarding), a major difficulty arises: the power will be passed on through the male lineage, and yet ‘Ali is not the son by blood, but only the son-in-law of the prophet. Explanations have been sought to suggest that he could have been the adoptive brother of the prophet, following the ancient biblical precedent of Aaron, who became the successor of Moses. Some have also claimed that ‘Ali’s father Abu Taleb was similarly elected by divine grace, like his brother Abdallah, the father of the prophet. But all these arguments are clearly makeshift, and Shī’ite reverence—forced to bridge the lacuna—ultimately made a virtue out of necessity and thereby introduced the cultus of Fatima.
And so she becomes the binding link between the two masculine branches: that of her father and that of her husband. Like fruit sprung from a tree in paradise, she is in truth neither girl, woman nor mother in flesh. Rather, she is the phenomenal form of a divine idea. Through her, the “five” of the mobahalanow form a [syzygic] unity. In essence she is the initiation, the “shimmering color of predestination,” not the initiatrix or the embodiment of inspiration, as one finds in other cults (the nymph of Numa; Ennoia). In a very remarkable manifestation that arises in the meditation of these sects, she appears as a veiled light-form sitting with a crown on her head, wearing two ear ornaments and holding a sword in her hand: the crown is her father, the two earrings her sons, the sword her husband.
The greeting by which she is addressed in prayer is peculiar enough: “Welcome art thou, O Mother of your Father.” The Arabic form (umm abiha) is an old tribal greeting which was used when the son bore the name of the father of his mother. Here the use of the formula signifies that it is from her that the second divine principle emanates, the mīm, which manifested in her father in order to be manifest anew in her sons. In a similar vein of thought, she appears as the “source of the sun” (the red point on the western sky), from whence the sickle of the moon is born at the beginning of each month, the lunar crescent which, for the Shī’ites, symbolizes the “Imāmat.”
In a Sunni text of ‘Abul Fadl Ahmadi († 942 of Hedjra), it is written that ‘Ali must be regarded as the true Tuba-tree of Paradise, for he serves as the veil through which the light ofFatima manifests itself. The proof that this Shī’ite gnosticcultus of Fatima is not based on her human fertility but rather on her beneficent grace is demonstrated by the secret name that she carries after the initiation: instead of her female name,Fatima, she is known only by the name Fatir. But Fatir is a masculine divine epithet. It already features in the Koran, where it signifies “Creator,” or more precisely, “he who lets appear.” What she will let appear, however, is the human form in which, at certain temporal intervals, the Godhead manifests itself in order to test humankind, to demand from it time andagain the highest oath of allegiance. In point of fact, history already exists for the Shī’ites as a repeated rebellion of the misled majority in outrage against the highest personified divinity…in the form of the ‘Alids.
What follows is one of the essential texts. Surfacing in the fourteenth century, it probably stems from the Shī’ite sect of Nusayris (although it originally derives from an entire spectrum of far older compositions). Effectively, it functions as a long litany enumerating all the symbols in the Koran that represent Fatima.
QASIDA OF IBRAHIM TUSI († c. 750/1350)
[Note: A qasida is an Arabic or Persian elegiac poem with a tripartite verse structure—(AC)].
Seemingly a free takhmīs based on a qasida of his master, ‘Ali-b-Mansūr Suwayri (fl. c. 714/1314):
I. How well do you know this mysterious Fitra? And where doth her magnificent clarity come from? Does she belong to the highest pre-eternal essence, does she manifest the attributes of the name, or is she the phenomenal form of the veil?
II. Is she the sacred flame of the torch? Or the glass lantern of the glowing light? Or the revealing clarity of the radiating star whose glittering scintillas ignite the olive tree?
III. Doth the oil ignite itself in her splendor? Or does her splendor come from a pre-existent fire? Yea! It was her will which rose before the well-guided (Wohlgeleiteten) to direct them by the clarity of her Mohammedean light—those who had come to power in her houses.
IV. Her houses are true temples which speak of the Name which is recognized beneath the essential veils. From her arises the confounding of the Name with the Bab, a secret and sacred phenomena.
V. From her arose shadows, the spiritual forms of future mankind, and the day of Mithaq where spirits nestled together to hear the divine lector proclaim to the elect the revelation of our luminous masters.
VI. Through her we have experienced the phenomenon of life, through her Adam was venerated (by the Angels): and through her there was the pact—the divine bond—along with the sublime and magnanimous witnesses who proclaimed the uniqueness of the Godhead when they saw him (‘Ali), those big-bellied and the bald.
VII. She is the image before which one prostrates oneself; she is the highest proof and touchstone for the unbeliever who revolts, who denies God by saying (“I am more worthy!”)— before being cast down by his cowardice into the ranks of thedamned.
VIII. This sublime appearance would not be recognized by the ignorant, who remain shut off. But those who obey her shall be redeemed and honored in the paradise of delights among the lords of all creation.
IX. She is the strong grip, the word that cuts; from her comes the brightness which separates light from darkness—for she has divided and split the world—here the redeemed, there the vanquished—and never the twain shall meet.
X. She is the tree with twelve branches whose fruits have been cultivated in secret since the beginning of time, preserved for the elect in measured share, those leaders of seekers and lovers.
XI. She is the sanctuary of paradise with the Tuba tree, she is the source of Salsal, that exquisite drink of which never satiates, which heals hearts and grants every wish to the
learned and the wise.
XII. She is their residence built since eternity, their majestically towering shelter. She is the raging sea, the light of the Name, the book which conceals within itself all wisdom, of which the text of the Koran is but an outer cover, a distant echo.
XIII. She is the Aqsa Mosque of Jerusalem where the elect and the sacred have ascended to honor the Unique and the Merciful, the situs irradiated by the streaming clarity which pours forth from the luminous stars.
XIV. She is the one who nurtures all creatures at her breast without ever weaning her children or diminishing the abundance of her bosom. She bestows her gifts upon all who seek the truth and the genuinely essential, and upon those who are radiant masters.
XV. It was through her that Cain abandoned the right path; she was Abel’s fire sacrifice, a divine symbol enshrouded in flame to testify against the wicked.
XVI. She is the rock from which the twelve springs have their source, the impeccable pearls—Imāms of pure knowledge—preserved for those inflamed with love for her, and who drink out of her chalice.
XVII. She is the (reddish) cow of the white bāqir, thanks to which the innocent were redeemed from death. Upon being reproached they said: “This is what killed me, I recognize it.” Truth appeared to Moses, who openly proclaimed it.
XVIII. She is the night of power which enjoys glorious renown, her endurance is longer than a thousand moons; here the angels and spirits climb down to earth, and, forsooth, divide the fate of men according to their angelic directive.
XIX. Her light darkens the sun’s gifts when her full moon comes to term, occulted by three veils, three silent veils; and Mohammed leads them with words and directions.
XX. She is the substance of her name—“the holy”—the “creatrix of incarnation”—her veil indicates divine ambiguity, and its borrowed light shines for the elect by night.
XXI. And on the day that the prophet vanished (i.e. as he died), he appeared afresh within her; suffused with eloquence, she became the veil which enraptures those of wisdom and reason, and by the source of the master of revelation (‘Ali), she became the singular and highest ontological essence.
XXII. She is the one whose mysteries became visible to us on the day of fadak; castles and fortresses trembled as she opposed the wicked, and all surrendered their heaving scourges to make peace with ‘Ali.
XXIII. But ‘Ali pacified them when he saw them tearing their souls. And he said: “Steady! Be calm! Your fate is as near as the breaking dawn, and like the day, the judge will appoint them to appear before him.
XXIV. And she returned, smiling, back to her house, both Hassans following her. Her enemies, unsuspecting, will soon be plummeting into the burning fires of hell.
[The corresponding Koranic verses are: I = 30.29; II-III = 24.35; V-VII = 7.10; XII =52.4-6; XIII = 17.1; XVI = 7.160; Numbers 33. 29; XVII = 2.63-69; … compare the cow of Ayisha. XVIII = 97; XIX: the three veils are ‘Ali, Hasan and Hosein.]
(XXV-CXIX refer to the succession of the imams and the Bab.)
In reference to this qasida, it should be noted that Fatir [creatrix], the mysterious name of Fatima, was probably chosen because the numerical value of the letters which form the name produce the same total as the numerical value of the name of Mary (Maryam). For these gnostic circles there is a form of reappearance (the reincarnation of one identical, unchanging archetype from one cycle to the next). Thus, Fatima is simply the reoccurrence of Maryam. The numerical value of both names is 290. From this identification it follows that certain reciprocal reactions in Islamic intellectual circles—in which a traditional Fatima-type is opposed to a traditional Maria-type—should be determined with more precision. So too the proclamation scene (which is described by Jalal-addin Rumi in his Mathnawi in such an idiosyncratic manner) and the theories surrounding the conception and birth of the Imāms.
The women around Mohammed played a role in his family life as well as in his political life. While the Shī’ites remember the Prophet’s first wife Khadija very fondly—the “Umm Salama”—this is in no way the case with Ayisha and Hafsa, daughters of the two initial successors of Mohammed. For Shī’ites they are the “wicked women” of the prophet, who are, moreover, pointed out in one of the verses of the Koran as the disobedient ones. On the other hand, there is a special adoration towards Ayisah and Hafsa amongst Sunnis who are hostile towards Shī’ites.
In the north western part of Kashmir, in the area of Baltistan, where there are mainly Isma’ilis (hence Shī’ites) living, there is an anti-Shī’ite enclave of Kelun-shah who practice a cult devoted blatantly to Ayisha and Hafsa. As Francke observes (Moslem World, 1929, 139), this must be a surviving minority of the Buddhist cult of the two Taras.

Therefore, if we want to compare the role of this female intercessory power in Islam with that of Christianity and Judaism, we will notice that in Islam we are in no way dealing with the personification of the Torah as in Israel (which deals with a marriage of the community to the power of God); nor are we dealing with the Christian Panagia to distinguish a chosen one through the intercession of the Holy Spirit. The Shī’ite traditions are very clear on this: Fatima, who is holding a sword in her hand and is also named El Zahrā, “the brilliant/effulgent,” has an essential eschatological role to play—she will restore justice through irreconcilable vengeance. She will appear at the final judgment with flowing hair to demand justice for the murder of her children; she will appear against those responsible for the premature delivery of her last son, Mohsin, whose blood drenched body she carries in her arms; she will appear against those who poisoned her eldest son Hassan and slew her second son Hossein in Karbala. In this image, then, she is essentially the embodiment of divine retribution, just as she was the embodiment of selectivity at the beginning of time; for those who love her and her successors, who are already thereby assured of paradiseShe is the sād, the letter which symbolizes the pre-eternal purity of the elect.


Μιχάλης Γκανάς -Χριστουγεννιάτικη ιστορία--





Κάθεται μόνος
και καθαρίζει τ’ όπλο του δίπλα στο τζάκι.
Κανείς δε θά ’ρθει και το ξέρει,
κλείσαν οι δρόμοι από το χιόνι, σαν πέρυσι,
σαν πρόπερσι, Χριστούγεννα και πάλι
και τα ποτά κρυώνουν στο ντουλάπι.
Το τσίπουρο στυφό, το ούζο γάλα
και το κρασί ραγίζει τα μπουκάλια.
Εκείνη τρία χρόνια πεθαμένη.
Κάθεται μόνος του δίπλα στο τζάκι,
δεν πίνει, δεν καπνίζει, δε μιλάει.
Στην τηλεόραση χιονίζει,
το στρώνει αργά στο πάτωμα και στο τραπέζι
και στις παλιές φωτογραφίες,
γνώριμα μάτια των νεκρών,
που τον κοιτάζουν απ’ το μέλλον.
Εκείνη τρία χρόνια πεθαμένη
και μόνο το δικό της βλέμμα
έρχεται από τα περασμένα.
Κοντεύουνε μεσάνυχτα
και καθαρίζει τ’ όπλο του απ’ το πρωί.
Πώς να του πω «Καλά Χριστούγεννα»,
ευχές δε φθάνουν ως εδώ,
δρόμοι κλεισμένοι, τηλέφωνα κομμένα,
η σκέψη αρπάζεται απ’ το κλαδί της μνήμης,
μα να τρυπώσει δεν μπορεί στη μοναξιά του.
Μια μοναξιά που χτίστηκε σιγά σιγά
μ’ όλα τα υλικά και δίχως λόγια.
Κοντεύουνε ξημερώματα κι ακόμη
γυαλίζει τ’ όπλο του δίπλα στο τζάκι
με αργές κινήσεις σα να το χαϊδεύει.
Μένει στα δάχτυλα το λάδι
αλλά το χάδι χάνεται.
Θυμάται κυνηγετικές σκηνές
με αγριογούρουνα και χιόνια ματωμένα,
πριν γίνει θήραμα κι ο ίδιος
στην μπούκα ενός κρυμμένου κυνηγού,
που τον παραμονεύει αθέατος
αφήνοντας να τον προδίδουν κάθε τόσο
πότε μια λάμψη κάνης,
πότε μια κίνηση στις κουμαριές
κι η μυρωδιά απ’ το βαρύ καπνό του.
Ξέρει καλά ότι κρατάει
μακρύκανο παλιό μπροστογεμές
γεμάτο σκάγια και μπαρούτι μαύρο.
Όταν αποφασίσει να του ρίξει
δε θα προλάβει πάλι να τον δει
πίσω απ’ το σύννεφο της ντουφεκιάς του.
Αν σκέφτεται στ’ αλήθεια κάτι τέτοια,
και δεν τον τιμωρώ εγώ μ’ αυτές τις σκέψεις,
πώς να πλαγιάσει και να κοιμηθεί.
Λέω να γίνω πατέρας του πατέρα μου,
ένας πατέρας που του έτυχε
σιωπηλό και δύστροπο παιδί,
και να του πω μια ιστορία
για να τον πάρει ο ύπνος.
Ύπνε που παίρνεις τα παιδιά πάρε και τον πατέρα…
Ύπνε που παίρνεις τα παιδιά
πάρε και τον πατέρα· απ’ τις μασχάλες πιάσ’ τονε
σα νά ’ταν λαβωμένος. Όπου πηγαίνεις τα παιδιά
εκεί περπάτησέ τον, με το βαρύ αμπέχωνο
στις πλάτες του ν’ αχνίζει.
Δώσ’ του κι ένα καλό σκυλί
και τους παλιούς του φίλους, και ρίξε χιόνι ύστερα
άσπρο σαν κάθε χρόνο. Να βγαίνει η μάνα να κοιτά
από το παραθύρι, την έγνοια της να βλέπουμε
στα γαλανά της μάτια, κι όλοι να της το κρύβουμε
πως είναι πεθαμένη.
Ύπνε που παίρνεις τα παιδιά
πάρε κι εμάς μαζί σου, με τους ανήλικους γονείς,
παιδάκια των παιδιών μας. Σε στρωματσάδα ρίξε μας
μια νύχτα του χειμώνα, πίσω απ’ τα ματοτσίνορα
ν’ ακούμε τους μεγάλους, να βήχουν, να σωπαίνουνε,
να βλαστημούν το χιόνι. Κι εμείς να τους λυπόμαστε
που γίνανε μεγάλοι και να βιαζόμαστε πολύ
να μοιάσουμε σ’ εκείνους, να δούν πως μεγαλώσαμε
να παρηγορηθούνε.



ΜΙΧΑΛΗΣ  ΓΚΑΝΑΣ -ΓΥΑΛΙΝΑ ΓΙΑΝΝΕΝΑ εκδ  ΚΑΣΤΑΝΙΩΤΗ 1989