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George Seferis’s Followers (156)
George Seferis
Born
in Urla, Smyrna (then Asia Minor), Turkey
December 13, 1901
Died
September 20, 1971
Genre
Influences
|
Ποιήματα
by
—
published
1950
—
23 editions
|
|
|
Collected Poems
by
—
published
1969
—
28 editions
|
|
|
Έξι νύχτες στην Ακρόπολη
by
—
published
1974
—
12 editions
|
|
|
Complete Poems
by
—
published
1986
—
7 editions
|
|
|
Μυθιστόρημα
by
—
published
1935
—
6 editions
|
|
|
Μέρες Α΄
by
—
published
1975
|
|
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A Poet's Journal: Days of 1945-1951
by
—
published
1974
—
14 editions
|
|
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Στροφή
by
—
published
1931
|
|
|
Novel and Other Poems
by |
|
|
Μέρες Β΄
by
—
published
1975
—
2 editions
|
|
“Don't ask me who's influenced me. A lion is made up of all the lambs he's digested, and I've been reading all my life.”
―
―
“My old friend, what are you looking for?
After years abroad you’ve come back
with images you’ve nourished
under foreign skies
far from you own country.’
‘I’m looking for my old garden;
the trees come to my waist
and the hills resemble terraces
yet as a child
I used to play on the grass
under great shadows
and I would run for hours
breathless over the slopes.’
‘My old friend, rest,
you’ll get used to it little by little;
together we will climb
the paths you once knew,
we will sit together
under the plane trees’ dome.
They’ll come back to you little by little,
your garden and your slopes.’
‘I’m looking for my old house,
the tall windows
darkened by ivy;
I’m looking for the ancient column
known to sailors.
How can I get into this coop?
The roof comes to my shoulders
and however far I look
I see men on their knees
as though saying their prayers.’
‘My old friend, don’t you hear me?
You’ll get used to it little by little.
Your house is the one you see
and soon friends and relatives
will come knocking at the door
to welcome you back tenderly.’
‘Why is your voice so distant?
Raise your head a little
so that I understand you.
As you speak you grow
gradually smaller
as though you’re sinking into the ground.’
‘My old friend, stop a moment and think:
you’ll get used to it little by little.
Your nostalgia has created
a non-existent country, with laws
alien to earth and man.’
‘Now I can’t hear a sound.
My last friend has sunk.
Strange how from time to time
they level everything down.
Here a thousand scythe-bearing chariots go past
and mow everything down”
―
After years abroad you’ve come back
with images you’ve nourished
under foreign skies
far from you own country.’
‘I’m looking for my old garden;
the trees come to my waist
and the hills resemble terraces
yet as a child
I used to play on the grass
under great shadows
and I would run for hours
breathless over the slopes.’
‘My old friend, rest,
you’ll get used to it little by little;
together we will climb
the paths you once knew,
we will sit together
under the plane trees’ dome.
They’ll come back to you little by little,
your garden and your slopes.’
‘I’m looking for my old house,
the tall windows
darkened by ivy;
I’m looking for the ancient column
known to sailors.
How can I get into this coop?
The roof comes to my shoulders
and however far I look
I see men on their knees
as though saying their prayers.’
‘My old friend, don’t you hear me?
You’ll get used to it little by little.
Your house is the one you see
and soon friends and relatives
will come knocking at the door
to welcome you back tenderly.’
‘Why is your voice so distant?
Raise your head a little
so that I understand you.
As you speak you grow
gradually smaller
as though you’re sinking into the ground.’
‘My old friend, stop a moment and think:
you’ll get used to it little by little.
Your nostalgia has created
a non-existent country, with laws
alien to earth and man.’
‘Now I can’t hear a sound.
My last friend has sunk.
Strange how from time to time
they level everything down.
Here a thousand scythe-bearing chariots go past
and mow everything down”
―
“And a soul
if it is to know itself
must look
into its own soul:
the stranger and enemy, we've seen him in the mirror.”
―
if it is to know itself
must look
into its own soul:
the stranger and enemy, we've seen him in the mirror.”
―
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