Elpenor

Takis Sinopoulos

Elpenor, how art thou come to this dark coast . . .
—Homer
 
Land of death. The frozen sea the black cypress trees
the shallow shore ravaged by salt and sun
the hollow boulders the stifling heat 
and not a drop of water, not a single flutter of a bird’s wings
only that endless formless clotted silence.

It was one of our men that spotted him
a young one that called out: Look, there stands Elpenor.
And our heads snapped round. Strange that we remembered him
for our memory had shrivelled to nought.
But it truly was Elpenor, standing by those black cypress trees
Consumed by his thoughts and blinded by the sun
his shorn fingertips clawing feebly at the sand.
And I called to him with joy: Elpenor,
Elpenor, how art thou come to this dark coast?
You who were impaled with that dark iron, you who perished
And whose remains just last winter we uncovered, thick blood clotting your lips
As your heart bled out against the tholepin’s rod.
With a cracked oar did we plant you at the edge of the shore
So that the whispers of the wind and the roars of the sea might keep you company
And here! Here we find you living! How art thou come to this dark coast
Blinded thus by spite and endless ruminations?

He did not turn to us. He could not hear. And I cried out again
A dark fear stirring deep within me: Elpenor, you, who courted fortune
Who went forth only with a rabbit’s foot slung around your neck, Elpenor,
You who are lost thus and wandering in the countless threads of history,
I greet you, and in return receive only mine echo
How art thou come here, old friend? What twist of fate
Brought you to this dark ship that bears us, wanderers as we too are
Numbed beneath this scorching sun, answer me
If your heart wills you to join us, answer me.

He did not turn to us. He could not hear. And the silence grew only heavier.
The unrelenting light dug deeper, wormed its way through the dirt.
The sea the cypress trees the shore, all entombed
In deathly silence. But he, that is, Elpenor,
Who we had with fervour pursued across these threadbare manuscripts
Tormented as we had been by the bitterness of his solitude
By the sun that burned through the gaps in his thought
By the shorn fingers that feebly cloyed at sand
But he, but he faded as an illusion, swiftly into nothingness
Carried not by winds nor by sound into the ether of eternity.

translated from the Greek by Konstantinos Doxiadis

Read the original in Greek

Listen to the original read by the translator:

“Elpenor” was written in response to the atrocities committed during the German and Italian occupation of Greece in the 1940s. Unlike other post-war poets such as Ritsos and Engonopoulos, Sinopoulos focuses on his personal experiences, rather than overarching national themes. By analysing the residual traumas that he faced, he paints a picture of the impact of the occupation on Greek society as a whole. Using the Homeric cast of characters as a springboard, Sinopoulos also sheds light on the complex national mythology of modern Greece, and shows how the depth of its history gave strength to the defenders.

One of the greatest challenges in translating the poem was maintaining Sinopoulos’ highly intimate tone. In Greek, Sinopoulos has an arsenal of gendered adjectives at his disposal, which serve to make the world surrounding the narrator much more vibrant and volatile. Trees, rocks and even the shore take on the role of characters, and we have the strong impression that they are watching us as we traverse the underworld. In English, this device cannot be employed in the same way. Instead, I had to introduce changes that would cumulatively add up to the same effect. For example, I made the pace of the poem faster by avoiding plosives and pauses, and shifting line breaks so as to force the reader to continue reading. As regards the intimacy and omniscience of the surroundings, I replaced gendered adjectives with indexicals, referring for example to “that endless formless clotted silence” or “those black cypress trees”. The aim is for the changes to produce a similar effect when considered cumulatively.

Takis Sinopoulos (1917–1981) was a Greek poet, translator and essayist. He is best known for his post-war collections, which reconciled French Symbolism with the political and personal turmoil he experienced during the German occupation and Greek Civil War throughout the 1940s. He served as a military doctor during both conflicts, and much of his later poetry depicts images of terror and desolation that haunted him for much of his life. A prolific contributor to (and reader of) literary magazines, Sinopoulos launched his career in the summer of 1934, quickly becoming an established name in the Greek literary scene.

Konstantinos Doxiadis is a Greek writer, poet and translator. He is the founder and editor-in-chief of La Piccioletta Barca, a digital magazine publishing poetry, fiction and translations. He is also a contributing writer to The Books' Journal, a contributing editor to The Cantos Project and a fiction reader for the Harvard Review. He is interested in the malleability of narrative voice, and enjoys experimenting with form in various literary mediums. He read philosophy at Trinity College, Cambridge, and is currently working on his debut novel.