Re-examined: a poem in three languages
George Sfougaras
Poet’s note
After the disastrous 1922 Greco-Turkish war half a million Muslims from Greece and one and a half million Christians from Turkey were ‘exchanged’ to create two ‘homogenous’ nation states. Many had never set foot in their future homeland, many spoke only the language of their respective birth country. This poem references that enforced migration.
After the disastrous 1922 Greco-Turkish war half a million Muslims from Greece and one and a half million Christians from Turkey were ‘exchanged’ to create two ‘homogenous’ nation states. Many had never set foot in their future homeland, many spoke only the language of their respective birth country. This poem references that enforced migration.
‘Continental Drift’ Hand painted lithograph, George Sfougaras
Pain
Ah yavrum, my baby, my beloved; she saves the sweet words for the children She is angry with him. Cehenneme git! Go to hell! Why could you not save us? He stares down at his hands, yipranmış eller,
His worn hands
They would work another soil, another land, same job, same sweat; but the grapes would never be as sweet for him. Acı üzüm, bitter grapes. He had little to say on this, his words were kept for the olive trees and the sacks of raisins in the cart,
Piled high like bodies
He did not live to see old age. Onun kaderi değildi, it was not his destiny, δεν ήταν γραμμένο, it was not written. It was his death sentence this ağrı this pain, these bitter tears, acı gözyaşları, τα πικρά δάκρυα for his hastily
Abandoned home
Η νέα πατρίδα ήταν όμορφη, the new homeland was beautiful. But his eyes were fixed on the past. Η γιαγιά φορούσε μαύρα, Büyükanne Siyah giydi, grandmother wore the black clothes of a widow but the 6 children thrived somehow, tanrıya şükür, Δόξα τω θεώ, thank God. New languages have taken over
Our dreams now
But we remember the sweetness of the old ones, Όταν πονάμε όταν προσευχόμαστε, όταν αγαπάμε...When we hurt, when we pray, when we love,
When we hope.
Ah yavrum, my baby, my beloved; she saves the sweet words for the children She is angry with him. Cehenneme git! Go to hell! Why could you not save us? He stares down at his hands, yipranmış eller,
His worn hands
They would work another soil, another land, same job, same sweat; but the grapes would never be as sweet for him. Acı üzüm, bitter grapes. He had little to say on this, his words were kept for the olive trees and the sacks of raisins in the cart,
Piled high like bodies
He did not live to see old age. Onun kaderi değildi, it was not his destiny, δεν ήταν γραμμένο, it was not written. It was his death sentence this ağrı this pain, these bitter tears, acı gözyaşları, τα πικρά δάκρυα for his hastily
Abandoned home
Η νέα πατρίδα ήταν όμορφη, the new homeland was beautiful. But his eyes were fixed on the past. Η γιαγιά φορούσε μαύρα, Büyükanne Siyah giydi, grandmother wore the black clothes of a widow but the 6 children thrived somehow, tanrıya şükür, Δόξα τω θεώ, thank God. New languages have taken over
Our dreams now
But we remember the sweetness of the old ones, Όταν πονάμε όταν προσευχόμαστε, όταν αγαπάμε...When we hurt, when we pray, when we love,
When we hope.
George Sfougaras is a contemporary British Greek artist, based in Leicester, England. His work is concerned with memory, identity, cultural inheritance, migration and the impact of history on the present. He is a member of the Leicester Society of Artists and the Leicester Print Workshop. In 2017, he established the Focus on Identity International collective, comprising artists from European and Middle Eastern countries. Sfougaras was born in Heraklion, Crete, to Christian parents who were refugees from Asia Minor (Modern Turkey) and who subsequently came to the UK during the 1970s military Junta period. Those narratives, the unexpected challenges of the new country, and his career as a teacher within the British school system form the cornerstones of his work. www.georgesfougaras.com
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