“the fingers on the rim, as the poet put it.”
—George Seferis, Mythistorema #2*
The wild fig tree that has put down roots
Deep in its depths and taken over
The well’s mouth tells us no more
Wishing here—the ropes have broken
And the grooves on its lip serve
To remind us those lines of maidens
Who pulled up pail after pail of water
Year after year have long since departed,
And where once there was nubile skittery,
Domesticated stony silence is all we hear.
*The “poet” referred to is Dionysios Solomos, and the phrase cited is from his prose work, The Woman of Zakynthos, Chap.I.
—George Seferis, Mythistorema #2*
The wild fig tree that has put down roots
Deep in its depths and taken over
The well’s mouth tells us no more
Wishing here—the ropes have broken
And the grooves on its lip serve
To remind us those lines of maidens
Who pulled up pail after pail of water
Year after year have long since departed,
And where once there was nubile skittery,
Domesticated stony silence is all we hear.
*The “poet” referred to is Dionysios Solomos, and the phrase cited is from his prose work, The Woman of Zakynthos, Chap.I.
