The rock and the wave. Ο βράχος και το κύμα.

There is no way we can restrict water for ever. Naturally or artificially, it will find a way to escape. It will eat away the rock slowly and escape. It will create lakes, steams rivers, waterfalls. The waves of the sea is water in motion. Its force is shaping the coastlines, by eating them slowly, grinding the rocks to sand and eating away the soil.
I have tried to translate for you the poem "The rock and the wave" by the distinguished Greek poet Aristotle Valaoritis. (1824-1879). He says it all. I do not know if I have made a decent job translating the poem but please, bear with me.

The rock and the wave.

“Move to the side rock and let me pass!”. The brave wave,

blurred, bluish,says to the rock of the seashore.

Move to the side, in my chest which was dead and cold

a black northern wind has found refuge, and a black storm.

I do not have froth for armor, hollow roar for mayhem

I have rivers of blood, I have grown like a giant

by the curses of the people who had enough, who said now,

rock you will fall, your terrible time has come.

When I was coming, slowly, fearful, tattered,

and I was kissing and washing your feet like a slave,

you were looking down at me proudly and you were calling the world

to see the contempt of my froth.

Meanwhile, secretly, while I was kissing you,

day and night I was digging and biting your flesh

and the wound I was opening, the pit I was digging

I was covering with seaweed and hiding it in the sand.

Look down to see your roots on the sea bed

I wave eaten out your foundations, I have made you a hollow stone

Move to the side rock and let me pass! The leg of the slave

Will tread on your neck. I woke up a lion.”

The rock was sleeping. Hiding in the mist

looks like unconscious, dead, shrouded.

Its temple covered with wrinkles, was illuminated

by the pale moon's half lit rays.

All around it, dreams and curses are flying,

and in the whirlwind, ghosts are sailing,

like vultures flying noisily

when they smell the stench of a dead body.

The rock heard a thousand times in the air

the roar of the wave, the unmerciful threat

and answers back with a tremendous roar without even waking up

and is shuddering like it is going to give up.

“Wave, what do you want from me and why are you threatening me?

Who are you who dare, instead of cooling me off,

instead of sweetening my dreams with your songs,

and wash my heel with your cool waters,

are standing in front of me, dreadful, crowned with froth?

Whoever you are, learn this : I am not dying easily!”

“Rock, they call me Revenge. Time has watered me

with bile and contempt. I have grown up with pain.

I was a tear once, now look at me,

I am a vast sea. Kneel down and worship me.

In here, in my chest, as you can see, I do not have seaweed.

I am carrying a cloud of souls, a desert and a conviction.

Wake up now. The trails of death are looking for you.

You made me a wooden bed. You laded me with carcasses.

You have thrown me to foreign seashores.. Many have laughed and scorned me

while I was dying out and my steps were secretly poisoned with charity.

Move to the side rock and let me pass! The calmness is over.

I am the purgatory, I am your merciless enemy,

I am standing in front of you like a giant!”

The rock became speechless. The wave in its momentum

drowned its hollow body at once.

It is lost in the abyss, it is frayed, burning out, melting

as if it was made of snow.

The wild sea is groaning over it for a little while

then it calmed. Now, at the place where the ghost was

there is only the wave, blue and white

playing over the tomb.

Aristotle Valaoritis Αριστοτέλης Βαλαωρίτης

Δεν είναι εύκολο να τιθασεύσης το νερό. Όπου και να προσπαθήσεις να το περιορίσεις στην φύση η τεχνητά, κάποια στιγμή θα ξεφύγεις. Θα διαβρώσει τα φράγματα, τους βράχους και θα δημιουργήσει λίμνες, ρυάκια, ποτάμια και καταρράκτες. Στη θάλασσα πάλι τα κύματα διαμορφώνουν και σχηματίζουν τις ακτές τρώγοντας τους βράχους και το έδαφος.

Αντί για άλλα λόγια λέω να ξαναθυμηθούμε το ποίημα "Ο βράχος και το κύμα" του Αριστοτέλη Βαλαωρίτη. (1824-1879). Είναι νομίζω περισσότερο από ποτέ άλλοτε επίκαιρο.

Ὁ βράχος καὶ τὸ κύμα

«Μέριασε βράχε νὰ διαβῶ!» τὸ κύμα ἀνδρειωμένο
λέγει στὴν πέτρα τοῦ γυαλοῦ θολό, μελανιασμένο.
Μέριασε, μὲς στὰ στήθη μου, ποὖσαν νεκρὰ καὶ κρύα,
μαῦρος βοριὰς ἐφώλιασε καὶ μαύρη τρικυμία.

Ἀφροὺς δὲν ἔχω γι᾿ ἄρματα, κούφια βοὴ γι᾿ ἀντάρα,
ἔχω ποτάμι αἵματα, μὲ θέριεψε ἡ κατάρα
τοῦ κόσμου, ποὺ βαρέθηκε, τοῦ κόσμου, πού ῾πε τώρα,
βράχε, θὰ πέσης, ἔφτασεν ἡ φοβερή σου ἡ ὥρα!

Ὅταν ἐρχόμουνα σιγά, δειλό, παραδαρμένο
καὶ σὄγλυφα καὶ σὄπλενα τὰ πόδια δουλωμένο,
περήφανα μ᾿ ἐκύτταζες καὶ φώναζες τοῦ κόσμου
νὰ δεῖ τὴν καταφρόνεση, ποὺ πάθαινε ὁ ἀφρός μου.

Κι ἀντὶς ἐγὼ κρυφὰ κρυφά, ἐκεῖ ποὺ σ᾿ ἐφιλοῦσα
μέρα καὶ νύχτα σ᾿ ἔσκαφτα, τὴ σάρκα σου ἐδαγκοῦσα
καὶ τὴν πληγὴ ποὺ σ᾿ ἄνοιγα, τὸ λάκκο πού ῾θε κάμω
μὲ φύκη τὸν ἐπλάκωνα, τὸν ἔκρυβα στὴν ἄμμο.

Σκύψε νὰ ἰδῆς τὴ ρίζα σου στῆς θάλασσας τὰ βύθη,
τὰ θέμελά σου τά ῾φαγα, σ᾿ ἔκαμα κουφολίθι.
Μέριασε, βράχε, νὰ διαβῶ! Τοῦ δούλου τὸ ποδάρι
θὰ σὲ πατήση στὸ λαιμό... Ἐξύπνησα λιοντάρι!»

Ὁ βράχος ἐκοιμότουνε. Στην καταχνιὰ κρυμμένος,
ἀναίσθητος σοῦ φαίνεται, νεκρός, σαβανωμένος.
Τοῦ φώτιζαν τὸ μέτωπο, σχισμένο ἀπὸ ρυτίδες,
τοῦ φεγγαριοῦ, ποὖταν χλωμό, μισόσβηστες ἀχτίδες.
Ὁλόγυρά του ὀνείρατα, κατάρες ἀνεμίζουν
καὶ στὸν ἀνεμοστρόβιλο φαντάσματα ἀρμενίζουν,
καθὼς ἀνεμοδέρνουνε καὶ φτεροθορυβοῦνε
τὴ δυσωδία τοῦ νεκροῦ τὰ ὄρνια ἂν μυριστοῦνε.

Τὸ μούγκρισμα τοῦ κύματος, τὴν ἄσπλαγχνη φοβέρα,
χίλιες φορὲς τὴν ἄκουσεν ὁ βράχος στὸν ἀθέρα
ν᾿ ἀντιβοᾶ τρομαχτικὰ χωρὶς κὰν νὰ ξυπνήσει,
καὶ σήμερα ἀνατρίχιασε, λὲς θὰ λιγοψυχήσει.
«Κῦμα, τὶ θέλεις ἀπὸ μὲ καὶ τὶ μὲ φοβερίζεις;
Ποιὸς εἶσαι σὺ κι ἐτόλμησες, ἀντὶ νὰ μὲ δροσίζεις,
ἀντὶ μὲ τὸ τραγούδι σου τὸν ὕπνο μου νὰ εὐφραίνεις,
καὶ μὲ τὰ κρύα σου νερὰ τὴ φτέρνα μου νὰ πλένεις,
ἐμπρός μου στέκεις φοβερό, μ᾿ ἀφροὺς στεφανωμένο;
Ὅποιος κι ἂν εἶσαι μάθε το, εὔκολα δὲν πεθαίνω!»

«Βράχε, μὲ λένε Ἐκδίκηση. Μ᾿ ἐπότισεν ὁ χρόνος
χολὴ καὶ καταφρόνεση. Μ᾿ ἀνάθρεψεν ὁ πόνος.
Ἤμουνα δάκρυ μιὰ φορὰ καὶ τώρα κοίταξέ με,
ἔγινα θάλασσα πλατιά, πέσε, προσκύνησέ με.
Ἐδῶ μέσα στὰ σπλάγχνα μου, βλέπεις, δὲν ἔχω φύκη,
σέρνω ἕνα σύγνεφο ψυχές, ἐρμιὰ καὶ καταδίκη,
ξύπνησε τώρα, σὲ ζητοῦν τοῦ ἄδη μου τ᾿ ἀχνάρια...
Μ᾿ ἔκαμες ξυλοκρέβατο... Μὲ φόρτωσες κουφάρια...
Σὲ ξένους μ᾿ ἔριξες γιαλούς... Τὸ ψυχομάχημά μου
τὸ περιγέλασαν πολλοὶ καὶ τὰ πατήματά μου
τὰ φαρμακέψανε κρυφὰ μὲ τὴν ἐλεημοσύνη.
Μέριασε βράχε, νὰ διαβῶ, ἐπέρασε ἡ γαλήνη,
καταποτήρας εἶμαι ἐγώ, ὁ ἄσπονδος ἐχθρός σου,
γίγαντας στέκω ἐμπρός σου!»

Ὁ βράχος ἐβουβάθηκε. Τὸ κῦμα στὴν ὁρμή του
ἐκαταπόντησε μεμιᾶς τὸ κούφιο τὸ κορμί του.
Χάνεται μὲς τὴν ἄβυσσο, τρίβεται, σβήεται, λιώνει
σὰ νἆταν ἀπὸ χιόνι.
Ἐπάνωθέ του ἐβόγγιζε γιὰ λίγο ἀγριεμένη
ἡ θάλασσα κι ἐκλείστηκε. Τώρα δὲν ἀπομένει
στὸν τόπο ποὖταν τὸ στοιχειό, κανεὶς παρὰ τὸ κῦμα,
ποὺ παίζει γαλανόλευκο ἐπάνω ἀπὸ τὸ μνῆμα.