The Potter
One day he finished with the pitchers,
the flower pots , the cook-
ing pots .Some clay
was left over. He made a woman. Her breasts
was left over. He made a woman. Her breasts
were big and firm
.His mind wandered.
He returned home late.
His wife grumbled
.He didn’t answer her. Next day
he kept more clay and even more the following day.
He wouldn’t go back home.
His wife left him .
His eyes burn. He’s half
-naked. He wears a red waist-band.
He lies all night with clay women
. At dawn
you can
hear him sing behind the fence of the workshop.
He took off his red
waist-band too. Naked . Completely naked.
And all around him
the empty pitchers ,
the empty cooking pots ,
the empty flower
pots
and the beautiful,
blind
, deaf-and-dumb women with the bitten
breasts
Way of Salvation
Nights; big storms.
The lonely woman hears
the waves climbing
up the stairs . She’s afraid
they’ll reach the second storey,
they’ll put the lamp out,
they’ll soak the matches
,
they’ll make their way to the bed
.Then ,
the lamp in the sea will be like the head of a drowned man
with only one yellow thought
. This saves her .
She hears the waves retreat again
. On the table,
she sees the lamp
–its glass a little clouded
by the salt.
Dexterous , proud ,
handsome, with a strong Knife,
he cut up the large fish in pieces on the wharf-
he threw the tail and the head in the sea
.
The blood trickled on the boards
, shining .
His feet and hands were red.
One woman told another
: “ His Knife
red-how well
it suits his black eyes-
red, black , red –”.
In the narrow street above,
the fishermen’s children
weighed fish , coal
on an ancient pair of sooty scales.
Death at Carlovassi
The dead man and the icon were in the inner room
. The woman
stood over him.
Both with crossed arms.
She didn’t recognize
him .
She uncrossed her arms.
The other woman , in the kitchen ,
was cleaning the string beans .
The sound of boiling water
in the
pot
poured into the dead man’s room
. The elder son came in. He
looked around.
He slowly pulled off his cap.
The first woman, aw noiselessly as
she could,
gathered the egg shells from the table and put them in her
pocket.
yannis ritsos
“
selected poems” translated by nikos stangos
ed /Penguin 1974