Anne Sylvestre ‘Une sorcière comme les autres’

Je vous ai porté vivant

Je vous ai porté enfant

Dieu comme vous étiez lourd

Pesant votre poids d’amour

Je vous ai porté encore

À l’heure de votre mort

Je vous ai porté des fleurs

Je vous ai morcelé mon coeur

Quand vous jouiez à la guerre

Moi je gardais la maison

J’ai usé de mes prières

Les barreaux de vos prisons

Quand vous mourriez sous les bombes

Je vous cherchais en hurlant

Me voilà comme une tombe

Avec tout le malheur dedans

Ce n’est que moi, c'est elle ou moi

Celle qui parle ou qui se tait

Celle qui pleure ou qui est gaie

C’est Jeanne d’Arc ou bien Margot

Fille de vague ou de ruisseau

Et c'est mon coeur ou bien le leur

Et c'est la soeur ou l’inconnue

Celle qui n’est jamais venue

Celle qui est venue trop tard

Fille de rêve ou de hasard

Et c’est ma mère ou la vôtre

Une sorcière comme les autres

Anne Sylvestre, A witch like the others

I carried you alive

I carried you child

God how heavy you were

Weighing your love weight

I carried you again

At the time of your death

I brought you flowers

I split my heart for you

When you played war

I kept the house

I used my prayers

The bars of your prisons

When you died under the bombs

I was looking for you screaming

Here I am like a grave

With despair inside me

It's only me, it's her or me

The one who speaks or is silent

The one who cries or is happy

It's Joan of Arc or Margot

Daughter of a wave or stream

And it's my heart or theirs

And it's the sister or the unknown

The one that never came

The one that came too late

Daughter of chance or dreams

And it's my mother, or yours

A witch like the others

Σημεῖο Ἀναγνωρίσεως

ἄγαλμα γυναίκας μέ δεμένα χέρια

 Ὅλοι σέ λένε κατευθείαν ἄγαλμα,
ἐγώ σέ πρσφωνῶ γυναίκα κατευθείαν. 

Στολίζεις κάποιο πάρκο¹.
Ἀπό μακριά ἐξαπατᾶς.

Θαρρεῖ κανείς πώς ἔχεις ἐλαφρά ἀνακαθήσει 
νά θυμηθεῖς ἕνα ὡραῖο ὄνειρο πού εἶδες,
πώς παίρνεις φόρα νά τό ζήσεις.
Ἀπό κοντά ξεκαθαρίζει τό ὄνειρο: 
δεμένα εἶναι πισθάγκωνα τά χέρια σου

μ' ἕνα σκοινί μαρμάρινο
κι ἡ στάση σου εἶναι ἡ θέλησή σου 
κάτι νά σέ βοηθήσει νά ξεφύγεις 
τήν ἀγωνία τοῦ αἰχμάλωτου. 
Ἔτσι σέ παραγγείλανε στό γλύπτη:

αἰχμάλωτη.

Δέν μπορεῖς
οὔτε μιά βροχή νά ζυγίσεις στό χέρι σου, 
οὔτε μιά ἐλαφριά μαργαρίτα.
Δεμένα εἶναι τά χέρια σου.

Καί δέν εἶν' τό μάρμαρο μόνο ὁ Ἄργος.²
Ἄν κάτι πήγαινε ν' ἀλλάξει
στήν πορεία τῶν μαρμάρων,
ἄν ἄρχιζαν τ' ἀγάλματα ἀγῶνες
γιά ἐλευθερίες καί ἰσότητες,

ὅπως οἱ δοῦλοι,
οἱ νεκροί
καί τό αἴσθημά μας,
ἐσύ θά πορευόσουνα
μές στήν κοσμογονία τῶν μαρμάρων

μέ δεμένα πάλι τά χέρια, αἰχμάλωτη.

Ὅλοι σέ λένε κατευθείαν ἄγαλμα, 
ἐγώ σέ λέω γυναίκα ἀμέσως. 
Ὄχι γιατί γυναίκα σέ παρέδωσε 

στό μάρμαρο ὁ γλύπτης

κι ὑπόσχονται οἱ γοφοί σου 
εὐγονία³ ἀγαλμάτων, 
καλή σοδειά ἀκινησίας.
Γιά τά δεμένα χέρια σου, πού ἔχεις 
ὅσους πολλούς αἰῶνες σέ γνωρίζω,

σέ λέω γυναίκα. 

Σέ λέω γυναίκα 
γιατ' εἶσ’ αἰχμάλωτη.

(Τό λίγο τοῦ κόσμου, 1971)  

Κική Δημουλά

Recognition Sign

(a statue of a woman with tied hands)

KIKI DIMOULA 

(Translation: Maria Dimitropoulou 28/1/2018)

They all call you a statue, straight away,
I, straight away, call you a woman.

The ornament of a park. (1)

Misleading us from a distance.

One might think you have lightly sat up

to remember a fine dream you saw,
that you are speeding up to live it.

But coming closer, the dream is revealed:
your hands are tied up behind your back

with a marble rope
and your posture is your will
for something to help you escape
from the agony of a captive.

That’s how you were ordered to the sculptor:

a captive.

You cannot even
weigh a rain in your hand,
not even a light daisy.
Tied up are your hands.

And your Argus is not only the marble. (2)
If something was about to change
in the course of the marbles,
if the statues started fights

over freedoms and equalities,

just like the slaves would do
or the dead
and our feeling,

you would walk through
the cosmogony of the marbles

having your hands tied up once more, a captive.

You are instantly called a statue,
I call you instantly a woman.

Not because you were handed in by the sculptor
as a woman to the marble

and your hips promise 

good and affluent birth of statues,
good harvest of immobility.
It’s for the tied hands you have

throughout all the centuries that I have known you

that’s why I call you a woman.
 

I call you a woman
because you are a captive.

1. It’s about the marble sculpture of Konstantinos Seferlis “The Northern Epirus” (1951) which is situated at the Tositsa Square in Athens. The tied up woman is perceived, not as a historical and national allegory, but rather as a symbol of social oppression of women.
2. Argus Panoptes, is a many-eyed giant in Greek mythology set by Hera as a very effective watchman of Io. Io has been the mythic symbol of the oppressed and persecuted woman

TO  WOMEN

Alda Merini (1995)

Fragile, opulenta donna, matrice del paradiso

sei un granello di colpa

anche agli occhi di Dio

malgrado le tue sante guerre

per l’emancipazione.

Spaccarono la tua bellezza

e rimane uno scheletro d’amore

che però grida ancora vendetta

e soltanto tu riesci

ancora a piangere,

poi ti volgi e vedi ancora i tuoi figli,

poi ti volti e non sai ancora dire

e taci meravigliata

e allora diventi grande come la terra

e innalzi il tuo canto d’amore.

TO  WOMEN

Alda Merini (1995)

Fragile, opulent woman, matrix of paradise

you are a grain of guilt

even in the eyes of God

despite your holy wars

for emancipation.

They split your beauty

of which a skeleton of love remains

which, however, still cries for revenge

and you are the only one

who can still cry;

then you turn and see your children again,

then you turn around and you still can not express

the amazement and joy

and then you become as big as the earth

and raise your song of love.

Joc

                     de Ileana Malancioiu

Îmi iau numărul meu de pietre

şi le aşez cât mai riscant

şi-ncep jocul convinsă

că oricum voi pierde.

De ce joci, totuşi?

mă veţi întreba.

Ce altceva pot să fac?

vă voi răspunde.

Apoi liniştită

voi muta mai departe

piatră după piatră

munte după munte.

Game

                   by Ileana Malancioiu

I get my number of stones

and place them as risky as possible

I start to play convinced

that I will lose anyway.

Why do you play, though?

you will ask me.

What else can I do?

I will answer you.

Then quiet

I will keep on moving

stone after stone

mountain after mountain.

Mulleres de Iria Rivas

Mulleres que loitan,

curan,

aman,

fin,

choran,

e crían.

Mulleres que abrazan

que danzan

traballan, xogan e saen.

Mulleres escultura, compañeiras de vida.

Mulleres que abren,

camiños e vidas.

Mulleres que aman,

mulleres obxecto obrigadas a vivir

nunha sociedade patriarcal,

mulleres que saben,

mulleres que aman.

Mulleres que gobernan,

mulleres motor,

Frida,Marie,Jane,Alva,Wangari,

Malala.

Mulleres vida, mulleres Nobel.

Mulleres, nazis, fillas, avoas e

persoas.

Mulleres.

Ti.

Eu.

Women by Iria Rivas

Women who fight,

heal,

love,

end,

cry,

and create.

Women who embrace

who dance

work, play and go out.

Sculpted women,

partners in life.

Women who open,

paths and lives.

Women who love,

objectified women, forced to

live

in a patriarchal society,

women who know,

women who love.

Women who rule,

engine women,

Frida, Marie, Jane, Alva, Wangari,

Malala.

Living women, Nobel women.

Women, Nazis, daughters, grandmothers and

people.

Women.

You.

I.