By plane and steamboat – Dionysis Savvopoulos

Here’s another great Greek zeimbekiko song, the latest in a little series (see here for my posts on Roza and Love Song) I’ve been doing as a result of repeated listening to the CDs of the live zeimpekiko concert that Dimitris Mitropanos gave at the Akti Peiraias with Dimitris Mpasos and Themis Adamantidis in 2005. This time the lyrics and the music are by Dionysis Savvopoulos and it’s called By plane and steamboat:

By plane and steamboat
and with our old friends
we wander around in the dark
and yet you can’t hear us.

You can’t hear us singing
with electric voices
in underground galleries
until our paths meet
your fundamental principles.

My father, Mpatis,
came from Smyrna in ’22
and lived for fifty years
in a secret cellar.

In this place those who loved
ate dirty bread
and their passions followed
an underground route.

Yesterday evening I saw a friend
going around like a goblin
on a motorbike
and dogs were running behind him.

Stand up my soul and turn the power on
Set fire to your clothes
Set fire to your instruments
let our great voices
start up like a black spirit.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Deciphering the Love Song of Alkis Alkaios

I posted recently about the obscurity of the lyrics in the Greek song Roza which was written by Alkis Alkaios. Here’s another very well-known example of his lyrics (again set to music by Mikroutsikos) which I have been struggling to understand:

Love song
In a dug-out you come and go
while it’s pouring with rain.
You wander in the land of the Visigoths
and hanging gardens win you over
but you rub your wings together.

Saltiness covered your naked body.
I brought you fresh water from Delphi.
You said your life will be cut in two
and before I managed to deny it three times
the key of paradise became rusty.

The caravan speeds through the dust
and hunts your mad shadow.
How can the mind be calmed with a sheet?
How can the Mediterranean be bound by ropes?
My love, whose name was Antigone.

What night has taken your light
and in which galaxy can I find you?
Here it’s Attica, a grey pit,
I am a cheap shooting gallery
where foreign soldiers, swearing, practise.

Once again it is the music that turns it into a great song, in spite of its obscurity, as here performed by Mitropanos, Mpasos and Adamantidis at the Zeimbekiko Live concert in Peiraias:

 

 

 

Great song – but what does it mean?

When I started this blog, I intended to focus on photography and travel. That still remains my main aim, but for the moment my study of Modern Greek has pulled me off-track into the translation of Greek poems and listening to, and reading the texts of, some classic Greek songs.

The linguistic effort required to read and understand poems by, for example, Seferis, Elytis and Ritsos in the original Greek mirrors the effort to understand them as poems. I find it very satisfying to at least make the effort, even though I know I will never fully understand all the cultural allusions and associations. Sometimes the poems are really difficult to understand and not necessarily because they are difficult linguistically.  More often though, I find this type of obscurity in Greek songs.

I have been listening to a lot of Rembetika, the music that came out of the Asia Minor migration and invigorated Greek popular music from the early 1920s onwards. The obscurity here for me is linguistic and comes from not fully appreciating the context and the slang in the song texts.

But more recently I came across the great singer Dimitris Mitropanos and the extraordinary concert of Zeimbekiko songs he recorded at a concert recorded with Dimitris Mpasos and Themis Adamantidis in Peiraias in 2005. The recording features one of his greatest songs, Roza, with lyrics written by the poet Alkis Alkaios and music by Thanos Mikroutsikos.

It has been claimed that song is about Rosa Luxemburg, the Marxist activist and thinker murdered in the suppression of the Spartacist uprising in Berlin 1919. This association may be due to the fact that Mitropanos’s was a lifelong Communist. In fact the lyricist Alkaios always refused to explain the meaning of the lyrics despite repeated requests, especially from Mikroutsikos. Even if it actually was about Rosa Luxemburg, it doesn’t make the song’s text any easier to understand.  Here’s my translation:

Roza
My dry and parched lips
Are searching for water on the asphalt
Vehicles pass close by me
And you tell me that a downpour is waiting for us
And drag me off to a dank club.

We walk together along the same road
But our cells are separated
We are going back to a magic country
I don’t want to know any more what we are asking for
It’s enough for you to give me two kisses.

You play me at roulette and you lose to me
In a nightmare fairy tale
My voice is now the voice of an insect
My life a climbing plant
You cut me off and throw me into the void.

How does need become history?
How does history become silence?
Why do you look at me, numbed, Roza?
Forgive me for not understanding
What the computers and numbers are saying.

My love made from coal and sulphur
How has time changed you like this?
Vehicles pass over us
and in the fog and the downpour
I sleep, hungry, by your side.

How does need become history?
How does history become silence?
Why do you look at me, numbed, Roza?
Forgive me for not understanding
What the computers and numbers are saying.

Whatever it means, it’s the music that makes it a great song and carries you through the cloudiness of the lyrics and the lack of any coherent narrative. I may write some more soon about Alkaios’s lyrics because I find them so intriguing, but I would also like to write something about the challenges of real obscurity in poetry.