Comments & Greek artists, Greek painters: But, oh my heart, listen to the sailors’ chant!

Poets & Greek artists, modern Greek artists, Greek painters


Yannis Stavrou, The Spirit of the Sailor, oil on canvas

A Boredom, made desolate by cruel hope

Still believes in the last goodbye of handkerchiefs!

And perhaps the masts, inviting lightning,

Are those the gale bends over shipwrecks,

Lost, without masts, without masts, no fertile islands...

But, oh my heart, listen to the sailors’ chant!

Mallarmé Stéphane

Sea Breeze


The flesh is sad, alas! - and I' ve read all the books.

Let’s go! Far off. Let’s go! I sense

That the birds, intoxicated, fly

Deep into unknown spume and sky!

Nothing – not even old gardens mirrored by eyes –

Can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea,

O nights, or the abandoned light of my lamp,

On the void of paper, that whiteness defends,

No, not even the young woman feeding her child.

I shall go! Steamer, straining at your ropes

Lift your anchor towards an exotic rawness!

A Boredom, made desolate by cruel hope

Still believes in the last goodbye of handkerchiefs!

And perhaps the masts, inviting lightning,

Are those the gale bends over shipwrecks,

Lost, without masts, without masts, no fertile islands...

But, oh my heart, listen to the sailors’ chant!

Mallarmé Stéphane (1842-1898)
(portait by Édouard Manet)

Brise marine

La chair est triste, hélas ! et j’ai lu tous les livres.

Fuir ! là-bas fuir ! Je sens que des oiseaux sont ivres

D’être parmi l’écume inconnue et les cieux !

Rien, ni les vieux jardins reflétés par les yeux

Ne retiendra ce cœur qui dans la mer se trempe

Ô nuits ! ni la clarté déserte de ma lampe

Sur le vide papier que la blancheur défend

Et ni la jeune femme allaitant son enfant.

Je partirai ! Steamer balançant ta mâture,

Lève l’ancre pour une exotique nature !

Un Ennui, désolé par les cruels espoirs,

Croit encore à l’adieu suprême des mouchoirs !

Et, peut-être, les mâts, invitant les orages

Sont-ils de ceux qu’un vent penche sur les naufrages

Perdus, sans mâts, sans mâts, ni fertiles îlots...

Mais, ô mon cœur, entends le chant des matelots !

To the Sole Concern

To the sole task of voyaging

Beyond an India dark and splendid

– Goes time’s messenger, this greeting,

Cape that your stern has doubled

As on some low yard plunging

Along with the vessel riding

Skimmed in constant frolicking

A bird bringing fresh tidings

That without the helm flickering

Shrieked in pure monotones

An utterly useless bearing

Night, despair, and precious stones

Reflected by its singing so

To the smile of pale Vasco.