Featured Poem

Rabies

Aunt Shataflia was bitten by a dog and went rabid.
Rabies, then, was the worst of evils –
no one got better, everybody died.
We killed and buried dogs
so that the evil would not spread,
and we killed and buried the dog that bit Aunt Shataflia.
But what to do with the old rabid woman?
Only God could seize her spirit.
And yet the rabid can’t roam free.
We locked Aunt Shataflia in a barn, made a hole in the roof,
and poured buckets of water down onto her.
She shrieked all day and night and died in pain,
alone, she and God, her frozen eyes
open in torment.
No one was there to close them as she died.


Listen to the poem read in Arvanitika by Yorgos Soukoulis or read the original below.

» Comment on this translation 0 comment(s)

Listen to this poem:
» Read notes
About the translation:
» Read translator's notes
Poet:
Yorgos Soukoulis
Translator:
Peter Constantine
Original language:
Arvanitika
Issue:
Series 3 No.15 - Poetry and the State

Original poem

About the authors

Poet

Yorgos Soukoulis

Yorgos Soukoulis, born in 1932 in the Corinthian mountain village of Agios Yiannis, is the first Arvanitika writer to break th...

» Read more

Translator

Peter Constantine

Peter Constantine's most recent translations are Sophocles' Three Theban Plays (Barnes & Noble Classics, 2008) and The Es...

» Read more

Rabies (Λίσα)

» Read the Notes

Πλιάκενε Σιατάφιλι ε κέι ζίνε νιέ κενν ιλισιάσουρε εδέ ου λισιάσε εδέ αγιό.
Λίσα άτα βίτρα ισ’ μπ’ εμάδα εκέκιε –
ψε ντονί ιλισιάσουρε σμπίνεϊ μίρε εδέ βντίσε.
Λίσα ζιι γκα κένντε εδέ κουρ εμίρε μίρε, νιέριζιτε τσ’ ε κέινε,
ε βρίσνε κενν εδέ ε κάουινε
πρ τ’ μόσε χάπει λίσα.
Aστού ου μπ’ εδέ πρ κενν τσ’ ζου πλιάκενε Σιατάφιλι.
Πο τσ’ μπίνετε νάνι, πρ πλιάκενε τσ’ ισ’ λισιάσουρε?
Ντονιέ σδινίσετε τ’ μάρε σπίρτινε νίετ νιερίουτ, βέτιμε ινιζότε.
Πο σι τ’ λιέσσε νιέ τ’ λισιάσουρε σκλίδουρε τσ’ ο ζίρε εδέ ο λισιάσνε
ντιέλτε εδέ τ’ τιέριτε νιέριες?
Γκα αγιό, κλιτσίνε πλιάκενε Σιατάφιλι ντ’ καστόρε, χάπνε νιέ βίρε γκα κεραμίδετε,
εδέ ι στιίνε ούγιε, με νιέ γκουβά,
νιέρα σα τσ’ ου ντιλίε, με πόνε, με θίρμε ντίτε ε νάτε,
εδέ φούντιτ βέτιμε, αγιό εδέ ινιζότε, με σσίτε χάπετε γκα φρίκα,
ψε νουκου ουγγίντ ντονί τ’ για μπίουν όρενε τσ’ ίκεν.

Comment

No Comments

ADD YOUR COMMENT


Browse poems

By original language »

By issue of MPT »

Go Digital

Subscribe to the digital edition of MPT for access to all back issues and to the Exactly app.» View free trial issue

Back to top
Supported by Arts Council England

Copyright © Modern Poetry in Translation and contributors
Website design ashbydesign
Developed by Code Frontiers
Powered by Storemill