Death and Resurrection of Constantinos Palaeologus

Odysseas Elytis

I

As he stood there erect before the Gate

and impregnable in his sorrow

Far from the world where his spirit sought

to bring Paradise to his measure

And harder even than stone

for no one had ever looked

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on him tenderly–at times his crooked teeth

whitened strangely

And as he passed by with his gaze a little

beyond mankind and from them all

extracted One who smiled on him

The Real one

whom death could never seize

He took care to pronounce the word

sea clearly that all the dolphins

within might shine

And the desolation so great it might

contain all of God

and every water drop ascending steadfastly toward

the sun

As a young man he had gold glittering

and gleaming on the shoulders of the great

And one night

he remembers

during a great storm the neck of the sea

roared so it turned murky

but he would not submit to it

The world’s an oppressive place to live through

yet with a little pride it’s worth it.

II

Dear God what now

Who had to battle with thousands

and not only his loneliness

Who?

He who knew with a single word

how to slake the thirst of entire worlds

What?

From whom they taken everything

And his sandals with their crisscrossed

straps and his pointed trident

and the wall he mounted every afternoon

like an unruly and pitching boat

to hold the reigns against the water

And a handful of vervain

which he had rubbed against a girl’s cheek

at midnight

to kiss her

(how the waters of the moon gurled

on the stone steps three cliff-lengths

above the sea …)

Noon out if night

And not one person by his side

Only his faithful words that mingled

all their colors to leave in his mind

a lance of white light

And opposite

along the whole wall’s length

a host of heads poured in plaster

as far as his eye could see

“Noon out of night — all life a radiance!”

he shouted and rushed into the horde

dragging behind him an endless golden line

And at once he felt

the final pallor

overmastering him

as it hastened from afar.

III

Now

as the sun’s wheel turned more and more swiftly

the courtyards plunged into winter and once

again emerged red from the geranium

And the small cool domes

like blue medusae

reached each time into the silverwork

the wind so delicately worked as a painting

for other times more distant

Virgin maidens

their breasts glowing a summer dawn

brought him branches of fresh palm leaves

and those of the myrtle uprooted

from the depths of the sea

Dripping iodine

while under his feet he heard

the prows of black ships

sucked into the great whirlpool

the ancient and smoked sea-craft

from which still erect with riveted gaze

the Mothers of God stood rebuking

Horses overturned on dump-heads

a rabble of buildings large and small

debris and dust flaming in the air

And there lying prone

always with an unbroken word

between his teeth

Himself

the last of the Hellenes!