An Unsought for Calling: (My life as a translator from the modern Greek)

An Unsought for Calling (My life as a translator from the modern Greek) Rae Dalven It all began one summer evening in Paris about ten days before I was to sail back to New York. I was having a drink at the Bois de Boulogne with my nephew Marcos, a native of Janina, now so-journing in Paris. "We have a poet in the family," Marcos said suddenly. "Really? Who is he?" "Joseph Eliyia. And he's poor," he added. "Well, then," I replied, "I'll send him some money right now." I opened my traveler's check book, and tore out five ten dollar checks. "Will $50.00 be too little for a start?" "Oh, no! In drachmas $50.00 is a lot of money." "We'll send him some more when I get back to New York." Marcos gave me Joseph's address in Athens where he was living with Hanoula, his widowed mother. "Joseph is studying to be a high school teacher of French," he added. "Oh! Then I'll write to him in French. I'll send him a registered letter; he may answer me before I leave." "I'm sure he will." Joseph replied sooner than I had expected. In his letter he thanked me for the money, and begged me to visit Athens before leaving for New York. I explained that this would be impossible at this time, but I promised to write him again as soon as I reached home. When I returned to New York, my husband and I sent Joseph more money. We were pleased to learn soon after that Joseph had accepted an appointment to teach French in a high school in Kilkis, a northern city of Greece which he had selected to be close to Salonika, so he could continue his Hebrew studies there. Joseph was a Hebrew scholar who was already recognized for his Hebrew translations into demotic Greek. Unfortunately, our correspondence ended quite suddenly in 1931. Joseph had accidentally drunk polluted water, was afflicted with typhus, and died in Athens 13 days later. He was 29 years old. My husband and I made our first trip back to Janina four Journal of Modern Greek Studies, Volume 8, 1990. 307 308 Rae Dalven years after Joseph's death. Sarina, another widowed sister-in-law, had invited us to attend Marcos' marriage, and we decided to go. Sarina had a palatial home in Janina, near the lake front. Hanoula was also in Janina for the wedding. One day, not long after our arrival, Hanoula took me aside, and told me that her son Joseph had left a dying wish with her to get me to translate his poetry into English. "But I never did this before," I protested. "You can't refuse me," she insisted. "It was Joseph's dying wish." And right then and there, this illiterate woman arranged to give me power of attorney to all his works. I had never read any of Joseph's poetry until then—nor did Joseph ever suggest that I translate his poems in any of the letters we exchanged during the three years of our correspondence. I agreed to take a few of his poems back with me to New York, to see if I could translate his poems. We stayed in Janina one month, and I returned to my teaching in New York. Now I used my spare hours to translate Joseph's poems, which were written in the Janina vernacular dialect, familiar to me from my home. Well, that is when my life changed. I fell in love with Joseph's poems; I would lie awake at night lamenting the death of this young lyrical poet who had lost his life so uselessly. The following summer I returned to Janina alone, and stayed at Sarina's home. Hanoula was also there. Hanoula introduced me to all of Joseph's literary friends in Janina. She also spoke to me of Joseph's Athenian friends, all of whose names she remembered. In the capital, I met Gregory Xenopoulos, then editor of Nea Estia, Heracles Apostolides, editor of the Large Greek Encyclopedia where Joseph's articles on Jewish life appeared regularly...