Αἱ νύμφαι τοῦ Αἰγαίου ~ Περικλῆς Γιαννόπουλος
Category : Modern Greek Aestheticism & Antiquity
«Αἱ νύμφαι τοῦ Αἰγαίου» (Ὡς Μαίανδρος· περ. «Παναθήναια», τόμ. Β’, 30-4-1901, σελ. 58-59)
Εἰς τοὺ Αἰγαίου τὰ ὀνειρώδη ῥεύματα, σπαρμένα κοσμοθραύσματα, ἀπὸ τὰ κοσμοῦντα τὰ ὕδατα ἀπὸ τοῦ Ἰονίου καὶ τοῦ Μυρτῷου μέχρι τοῦ Θρακικοῦ καὶ μέχρι τοῦ Λιβυκοῦ Πελάγους, ὑψοῦνται ἀπὸ τῶν κυμάτων, πολύμορφα συμπλέγματα ὁρέων, ἄλλα περιδέραιον Ἑλλάδος, ἄλλα περιδέραιον Ἀσίας, ἄλλα χοροὶ ἀνὰ μέσον αὐτοῦ, αἱ πολυάριθμοι, αἱ πολύμορφοι, αἱ πολυώνυμοι καὶ πολύφημοι Νῆσοι, συνθέτουσαι λαμπροτάτην ὁπτασίαν ἐπιγείων ἀθυρμάτων.
Καλοῦνται :
Ἄνδρος -Τῆνος – Δῆλος – Μύκονος – Νάξος – Πάρος –
Σῦρος -Ἴος – Θήρα – Μῆλος – Ἀμοργός…
Καλοῦνται :
Κύπρος – Ῥόδος – Κῶς – Λέρος – Πάτμος – Σάμος – Χίος – Λέσβος…
Καὶ πανίσχυρος καὶ λαμπρὰ ὡς Αἰσχύλειος τραγῳδία ἡ γιγάντειος ΚΡΗΤΗ, ὁ ἀλυσοδεμένος Προμηθεύς τοῦ νέου βαρβάρου κόσμου, δεσπόζει τῶν θαλασσῶν.
Οὐρανοὶ καὶ σύννεφα, ἄνεμοι καὶ κύματα, σχήματα καὶ χρώματα, φύσις και ἂνθρωποι, διὰ τῶν ἁβροτάτων περιελούσθησαν χαρίτων, διὰ τῶν ποιητικωτάτων ἐστεφανώθησαν καλλονῶν· καὶ ἀκόμη ὁ χρόνος ἐπὶ αἰῶνας αἰώνων, κλώθων τὴν μοῖραν τοῦ ἑλληνικοῦ χώματος καὶ τοῦ ἑλληνικοῦ ὄντος, διὰ τῶν κορυφαιοτάτων ἀνθρωπίνων ποιημάτων, περιέρρανε ταῦτα πάντα.
Ἀπὸ τῶν πρώτων λαμπροπτύχων θρύλων τῆς παναρχαιοτάτης ἐμφανίσεως, ἡμέρᾳ τῇ ἡμερᾳ, ἐσωρεύθησαν, ἱερατικοὶ ὕμνοι, ᾄσματα, εἰδύλλια, παιᾶνες, τρόπαια, ὅλα τὰ ἄνθη τῶν γηΐνων καλλονῶν, ἀπὸ τῶν Σαπφικῶν καὶ τῶν Ἀνακρεοντείων ᾠδῶν καὶ τῶν λιθίνων ποιημάτων, μέχρι τῶν μελανωτάτων τραγωδιῶν, τὰς ὁποίας ἔπαιξαν τὰ διασταυρούμενα κύματα τῶν ἀσιανῶν βαρβάρων καὶ τῶν σταυραδέλφων αὐτῶν λῃστοπειρατῶν Εὐρωπαίων, τῶν Σταυροφόρων θηρίων τοῦ Μεσαιῶνος, μὲ τοὺς θηριώδεις ῥασοφόρους διαβόλους, οἱ ὁποίοι ἀτίμασαν τὸν Σταυρόν, ἐσάρωσαν καὶ κατερρύπαναν τὰ ἄγια χώματα, πρόμαχοι τοῦ Τούρκου, τοῦ σταματήσαντος τὴν ζωὴν ἡμῶν.
Ὅλα, ὅλα διῆλθον, ὅλοι καὶ ὅλα ἐσωρεύθησαν εἰς ἐρείπια, ἐτρίφθησαν καὶ ἀνεμίχθησαν εἰς τέφραν καὶ ἔμειναν μόνον τὰ χώματα καὶ εἰς αὐτὰ ῥιζωμένος μόνος ὁ ΕΛΛΗΝ. Καὶ διὰ νὰ μῂ λείπῃ οὐδ᾽ αὐτὴ ἡ ὑπερτάτη ποίησις τοῦ θανάτου, τὰ χρωματισμένα χώματα καταρρέουν ὁλοὲν ἐντὸς τῶν ὑδάτων, διότι αἱ νῆσοι νεκροῦνται, θνήσκουν ὁλοέν, τὰ θρύμματα τόσων καλλονῶν καὶ τόσων τραγωδιῶν ἀδελφωμένα, κυλίονται διαλυόμενα εἰς τὰ βάθη τοῦ κυανοῦ ῥεύματος.
Ἀλλ᾽ ὅταν ὁ Φοῖβος διαβαίνῃ τοῦ κυανοῦ θόλου τὸν ἄσπιλον αἰθέρα ἀφυπνίζων τὰς ἐνεργείας τῆς ζωῆς, διεγείρων τοὺς τρελλοὺς ἀνέμους, ὅταν κυανοβαμμένον τὸ κῦμα δι᾽ ἁλμάτων ἀφροστεφάνων σκιρτᾷ ἀγαλλόμενον ἐν τῇ ἀβυσσαλέᾳ ἀγκάλῃ, οὔτε ἀνθρώπων κυψέλαι, οὔτε νῆσοι, οὔτε ὅρη εἶνε τὰ ὁρώμενα πλέον.
Εἶναι Νύμφαι ἀναδυόμεναι ὑδάτων, ζῶσαι καὶ κινούμεναι ἢ ἀπομακρυνόμεναι, φοροῦσαι φορέματα χρωμάτων πανηδίστων, κρύβουσαι τὸ πρόσωπον μὲ ἀχνοποιημένους πέπλους, ἀβρῶς μειδιῶσαι ἢ ἐρωτοτροποῦσαι ἢ ἡδέως μελαγχολοῦσαι, ἐπαφίνουσαι εἰς τοὺς ἀνέμους πρωϊνὰ ἐρωτικὰ ᾄσματα πόθων καὶ ἐλπίδων κελαδήματα ἢ τὰ βραδινὰ τραγούδια παραπόνων καὶ λυπῶν καὶ νοσταλγιῶν λαλήματα. Εἶνε Νύμφαι αἰρόμεναι μέχρις ὀμφαλοῦ, δεχόμεναι τοῦς ἀφρώδεις ἐναγκαλισμοὺς καὶ γελώσαι εὐρώστως, ἢ οἰστρηλατούμεναι καὶ ὑψοῦσαι τοὺς πέπλους καὶ προτείνουσαι τὰ στήθη καὶ βοῶσαι μὲ κέρας δυνατώτατα τοὺς παλαιοὺς παιᾶνας, τοὺς ἀρχαίους θριάμβους, πληροῦσαι τὸ φῶς καὶ τοὺς ἀνέμους καὶ τὰ κύματα ἡδονικῶν γελώτων, ἐμψυχοῦσαι τὰ πάντα, ὡς σώματα θήλεα ταραγμένα ἀπὸ δυνατὴν ἡδονὴν, ὑπὲρ τὰ ταράγματα τῶν κυμάτων.
Ἀλλ᾽ αἱ ὥραι τῶν ἑωθινῶν ἀφυπνίσεων εἶνε βαθυτάτη μουσικὴ συμφωνία γραμμῶν καὶ χρωμάτων, θηλέων φερόντων ἐπὶ τοῦ προσώπου τεντωμένα τὰ ἄνθη τῶν φιλημάτων, ἀλλ᾽ αἱ ὧραι τῶν βραδινῶν ἀποχαιρετισμῶν, ὧραι ἀλησμόνητοι, ὧραι ἀζωγράφητοι διαρρέουν τῆς ψυχῆς τοῦ ἐφημέρου τῆς γῆς διαβάτου, πληροῦσαι αὐτὴν κάλλους ποικιλωτάτου, αἴρουσαι αὐτὴν δι᾽ ὀλίγας στιγμὰς εἰς ἐντελῆ καῦσιν, καθ᾽ ἅς ὅλαι αἱ αἰσθήσεις μεταλαμβάνουν καλλονῆς, ὡσὰν αὐτὰ τὰ ζητούμενα πυρετωδῶς ὄνειρα τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐγίνοντο αἰσθητότατα, ζῶντα, κινούμενα και σβυνόμενα ἁπαλώτατα διὰ νὰ ἀνατείλουν πάλιν.
Ἀλλὰ τοῦ παγκάλου αυτοῦ ἀενάου θεάματος ἐφίπταται ἀὴρ νοσταλγίας, ὡσὰν ὅλα ἀπὸ τῶν νεφῶν καὶ τῶν κυμάτων μέχρι τῶν ἀνθυλλίων καὶ τῶν χρωμάτων, ν᾽ ἀναζητοὺν καὶ ν᾽ ἀναμένουν καὶ νὰ ἐπικαλοῦνται τοὺς νέους ποιητὰς καὶ καλλιτέχνας, οἱ ὁποίοι νοοῦντες τὸ κάλλος των καὶ πλέκοντες τὴν ἐφήμερον φωλεάν των ἐπι τῶν μαγικῶν αὐτῶν Νυμφαίων, μακρὰν τῶν βαρβάρων θορύβων, τῶν ψυχικῶν καὶ πνευματικῶν ταράχων, βιοῦντες ὅπως ἄλλοτε τὴν ἁπαλωτάτην ἑλληνικήν ζωήν, ἀνεύρουν πάλιν τὴν χαμένην εὐδαιμονίαν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου καὶ ὑπὸ τὰς θωπείας ἁβρῶν φυλλωμάτων καὶ φιλημάτων ἁπαλογράμμων θηλέων, ψάλλουν πάλιν τὴν ἡδονὴν τῆς ζωῆς καὶ μὲ τὴν συνοδείαν τῆς κιθάρας καὶ τοῦ οἴνου καὶ τοῦ ἔρωτος, ἀνεύρουν πάλιν τὰς ἀπλουστάτας γραμμὰς, ἐκφράσεις, ἁρμονίας, τοῦ τελείου.
ΜΑΙΑΝΔΡΟΣ
The Nymphs of The Aegean
Translated by : Ilias Kolokouris, PhD Candidate in Modern Greek Literature
In the dreamy tides of the Aegean, planted cosmic fragments, from those ornamenting the waters, from the Ionian and the Myrtoan up to the Thracian and down to the Libyan Sea, they are rising up high over the waves, polymorphic chains of mountains, some forming a necklace for Hellas, some a necklace for Asia, others dances in the midst of all of it, the multinumerous, the polymorphic, the polynomial and abounding in songs and legends Islands, composing a luminous vision of earthly odes.
We call them forth:
Andros, Tinos, Delos, Myconos, Naxos, Paros,
Syros, Ios, Thera, Melos, Amorgos…
We call them forth:
Cyprus, Rhodos, Kos, Leros, Patmos, Samos, Chios, Lesbos…
And all mighty, bright like an Aeschylean tragedy, the gigantic CRETE, the chained Prometheus of the barbaric new world, dominating the seas.
Skies and clouds, winds and waves, shapes and colours, nature and people, showered by gentile graces, crowned by all poetic beauties; and even time throughout the ages, spinning the fate of the hellenic soil and the hellenic being, by means of the best human poems, has besprinkled sacredly all of these.
From the very first bright folded legends of that all ancient demonstration, day by day, have heaped, one upon the other, sacred hymns, songs, idylls, chants of triumph, trophies, all of the blossoms of earthly beauties, from the Sapphic and Anacreontean odes and the stone poems, as far as the dark tragedies, which were staged by the intersecting waves of Asian barbarians and their blood-brothers Europeans, the thief-pirates, the Crusader Beasts of Medieval Times, with the brutal devils in cassocks, those who disgraced the Cross, ruined and polluted the sacred lands, fighting for the Turk, the one who halted our lives.
All of that, all of that went through, everyone and everything heaped up in ruins, rubbed and mixed up in ashes, and all that is left is the land, and in the land rooted all alone the HELLEN. And so as we shall not miss, not even that superb poetry of death, the coloured lands are flowing down insessantly within the waters, for the islands are dying in, they die little by little, slivers of evermore beauties, of evermore tragedies, in brotherhood, falling apart in pieces, rolling down in the depths of the cerulean current.
But when Phoebus strides through the cyanide dome of the immaculate ether, awakening the energies of life, arousing the insane winds, when the azzure painted wave leaping up with foam-crowned jumps is springing with joy in the abysmal embrace, these are neither humans’ chests, nor islands, nor mountains are those envisioned any more.
They are Nymphs rising up from the waters, living and moving or wandering away, wearing dresses of all pleasant colors, hiding their face with faintwoven veils, gracefully smiling or yearning for eros, or in sweet melancholy, they are letting loose out in the winds, morning erotic songs, chirps of desire and hope, or evening songs and of grievance and sorrows, and chattering melodies of nostalgia. They are Nymphs rising up to their navel, receiving the foamy sparkling embrace and laughing with strength, or driven by the gadfly of insane passion and pulling up their veils and exposing their breasts and howling with a horn intensely, howiling out the old Paeans, the ancient triumphs, satiating the light and the wind and the waves with hedonic laughters, animating every thing, just like female bodies agitated, bodies stirred by the might of sexual pleasure, bodies high up above the disquietudes of the waves.
But the hours of early morning awakenings are a deep musical symphony of lines and colors, of girls bearing on their faces stretched the flowers of kissing, but the hours of evening farewells, hours unforgettable, hours unpainted, are leaking out from the soul of the ephemeral passenger of earth, filling up his soul with obscure beauty, raising up his soul for a few moments to its complete cautery, its perfect burning, within which moments all of the senses are participating to that obscure beauty, as if those feverishly sought out dreams of man became perceptible, living, moving and disappearing smoothly, for the sake of appearing above the horizon again.
But over this all beautiful everflowing spectacle, over it, flying is an air of nostalgia, as if everything, be it clouds and waves, be it humble little flowers and colours, everything is searching for, expecting and praying for new poets and artists, who, understanding the beauty and weaving their ephemeral nest up on these magical Nymphaea, far away from the barbaric noises, far away from disturbances of the soul and the spirit, living, same as once, the smooth hellenic life, new poets and artists shall find once again that lost prosperity of man, and under the flattery of delicate foliage and kisses of gentle-lined women, shall chant once more the pleasure of life, and with the entourage of guitar and wine and eros, shall find once more the simplest lines, expressions, harmonies, of perfection.
ΜΑEΑNDER