Denial by Yiorgos Seferis

Denial a poem by Yiorgos Seferis

[English translation by Edmund Keeley
and Phillip Sherrard]

On the secret seashore
white like a pigeon
we thirsted at noon;
but the water was brackish.

On the golden sand
we wrote her name;
but the sea-breeze blew
and the writing vanished.

With what spirit, what heart,
what desire and passion
we lived our life: a mistake!
So we changed our life..

ΑΡΝΗΣΗ

Στο περιγιάλι το κρυφό
κι άσπρο σαν περιστέρι
διψάσαμε το μεσημέρι·
μα το νερό γλυφό.

Πάνω στην άμμο την ξανθή
γράψαμε τ' όνομά της·
ωραία που φύσηξεν ο μπάτης
και σβύστηκε η γραφή.

Mε τι καρδιά, με τι πνοή,
τι πόθους και τι πάθος,
πήραμε τη ζωή μας· λάθος!
κι αλλάξαμε ζωή.


Written on May Fourth

Yes, it is my birthday, and yes, I have been shamelessly indulging myself. And I I hope that each of you will do the same for yourself when your special day rolls around.
Why not? It is our one day in 365 that is our very own and is always special. I know people who go through their birthdays pretending that they are no different from any other day. Of course it is possible to do this- but why?

When I was a little girl I always wanted a horse, desperately. I collected pictures and figurines- Appaloosas, Palominos, Clydesdales, every horse and all horses I loved, and I devoured stories of the Black stallion, I envied cowboys for their lives on horseback. I would cry for a horse every birthday and Christmas. It was a totally unrealistic desire, we had neither space nor money to keep an animal, or even for me to take regular horseback riding lessons. My mother, always wanting to make me happy, went to visit a local farmer and stable keeper. Then she told me that I had to get over wanting a horse so badly, it just wasn?t possible. But, she said, what she could do was arrange for me to have a horse one day each year. Together we decided that that day would be my birthday. On the morning of my birthday I would wake up early and wait and wait for the sound of the truck with the pony trailer, and from that moment when the horse arrived- usually it was a pony, but a few times it was a gentle chestnut mare-I was in heaven. The owner showed me simple things, how to mount and dismount gracefully, how to use a curry comb, how to feed the horse a carrot or sugar cube, and I felt very special to have this knowledge. Then, in the afternoon, my friends would come for a party. Each child was given the opportunity to ride the horse around the yard, led by the owner. And, given that there was a real hose to ride, that would be a great party. But that was just the beginning. As many of you know, my father is a magician, that is how he made his living for 50 years. So after the pony rides ?my? horse would be tethered and we would gather around my father, while he did magic tricks and made balloon animals, one for each of us. Each year my parties got larger and larger, because no one could be left out of such a good time. This went on for six or seven years. I don?t even remember the last one,or if a part of me knew at the time that a marker of childhood had passed.
But I do know that every year, when I wake up on my birthday, a part of me still waits for the sound of the truck that will bring magic to the day.

And that is what I am thinking about today, and why I am telling you this. I truly believe that our own special day, celebrating our entering this world, should be a time when we celebrate our own self, who we are and who we are perpetually in process of becoming..

And if on that day we know, sure as sunrise, that the truck that holds the magic will appear-well, it usually does. OK, we may not get a balloon animal every year, but each birthday brings a bit of magic.