Surrealism in Greece: An Anthology

Eleven

E. Ch. Gonatas (1924–2006) ​E l e v e n ​ O ne of the foremost storytellers of Greek surrealism, Gonatas has been a physically marginal figure in it. His solitary attitude (excepting a poetry journal undertaken along with Papaditsas in the late 1950s) is regrettable but reflects his programmatic unwillingness to court publicity. A lawyer by profession . The slim volume of his complete published works testifies to his eclecticism and has helped render him a “cult” writer, to use a rather tired expression. Gonatas ’s stories involve a renewed sense of the marvelous, whereby curious revelations always remain at arm’s length. He has made several imaginatively chosen translations , including works by Coleridge, Antonio Porchia, Yvan Goll and Wols. “I admire him very much. I am irritated by those worthless yet shrewd people who manage to obscure the important and modest ones” (Nikos Engonopoulos). I. From The Hiding Place (1959) But then begins a journey in my head Shakespeare, Sonnets Excavation (selections) She had hanged tiny mirrors on trees for the birds to look at themselves. *** After caressing it for some time with her erotic gaze she opened her palm and reached for it.Yet the enraged pear hit her hand and escaped, stood up on its tail and started to perform a wild, menacing dance on the tablecloth. 2 6 0    The Second Generation *** With a large pair of scissors he makes his way through the furniture, reaping the heavy branches that grow on all sides. They are in bloom, albeit unfrequented by birds (these are all gathered inside the chimney, which has remained unused since last winter). However, their bodies exude such warmth that he has no need for gloves, gaiters, or those woolen socks that start braying each time he tries to squeeze them through his tight boots. *** The hungry birds on the leaves are watching out for me, scratching their nails on the barks of trees, for one who has tasted my blood even once can no longer feed on fruit and mulberry juice. *** Do not ask for a watch, there is none, for, as I have explained to you, we are in a deep cave.Yet there is that large eye within the woven cage, just as there is my heart which strikes the hours and leads you through the dark. *** Inside the open lions’ mouths of the bronze bed knobs she had planted carnations, so as to hear in her sleep the buzzing flight of the thirsty bee. *** From the holes of the sponge small scorched animals emerged, and from the freshly buried coffin in the cemetery sprang the dead man—a young lad—in a brown dress; basil had not yet grown in the flowerpot of his teeth, and in the green rush of his eyes the great desire of ruin was not annulled—that overfed migratory pigeon with the seal hidden deep within the down of its neck. *** The forest raised on four wooden wheels departed with a groan, like a waterfall between mountains. *** On the stage, the lights are off. The theater is empty. A candle flies from seat to seat. E. Ch. Gonatas    2 6 1 *** With an indifferent and somber gaze he watched the pile of coffins heaped on the edge of the demolished fence full of red, green, and black dead thunderbolts. *** Inside the apples, there are happy babies, laughing. *** When the moon rises behind the rocks, nuns jump from their beds, undo their hair, unbutton their robes and then, sleepwalking, woven baskets in arms, they descend to the gardens. Silently sliding between the trees, they always follow the same path, upon the backs and heads of pigeons. The Secret One night, as I was walking all by myself, I discovered for the very first time my terrible secret: inside my youthful chest, I kept encaged a pair of living lanterns: a red one on my left side, a green one on my right. “So, I’m a ship!” I whispered slowly, blissfully. Then I tested my willpower: upon applying my full attention, I noticed with indescribable joy and pride that I was capable—upon setting in motion certain muscles, theretofore unused—of giving orders to either one of the lanterns, which hang from a luminous nerve within me, thick and soft as marrow. Thus enchanted I walked, on that marvelous evening, in the light that flowed from within me, upon its green and red...