Raiding the Cookie Jar

You gotta hand it to him—
The dude never lost his cool

Wondering how it was this hot
Momma kept popping

Pan after pan in her oven
So that poppa could also

Put his hand in whenever
He moseyed on back.

Tzivaeri (Jewel)

Τζιβαέρι (Traditional Greek song of immigration) Please scroll down for English translation and accompanying video.

Αχ! Η ξενιτειά το χαίρεται
Τζιβαέρι μου
Το μοσχολούλουδο μου
σιγανά και ταπεινά

Αχ! Εγώ ήμουνα που το ‘στειλα
Τζιβαέρι μου
Με θέλημα δικό μου
σιγανά πατώ στη γη

Αχ! Πανάθεμά σε ξενιτειά
Τζιβαέρι μου
Εσέ και το καλό σου
σιγανά και ταπεινά

Αχ! Που πήρες το παιδάκι μου
Τζιβαέρι μου
και το ‘κανες δικό σου
σιγανά πατώ στη γη

English translation

Tzivaeri (Jewel)

Ah! Foreign lands delight in her
My Tzivaeri
My beautiful, sweet-smelling flower
Softly and humbly

Ah! I was the one who sent her there
My Tzivaeri
As I wished it so
Softly do I walk upon on the earth

Ah! Damn you, foreign lands
My Tzivaeri
You and your goodness too
Softly and humbly

Ah! That you took my little child
My Tzivaeri
And made her yours
Softly do I walk upon the earth

(rush translation by Vazambam)



Probably the most popular (and perhaps the most poignant) traditional Greek song dealing with the theme of immigration; in this impromptu video recorded during a rehearsal last summer in Tacoma, Washington, our daughter Efiniki is accompanied by The Makedonians.

Tzivaeri--a surprise, name day gift post for our spirited jewel of a daughter, who celebrates her name(s) twice a year—one on January 20th as Efi=Efthimia and the other on December 6th as Niki=Nicholas—what a winning combination! My thanks to the unknown artist who recorded the video but who unfortunately captured my tzivaeri singing only the last two stanzas. No matter. For someone so far away from a loved one, this video is definitely sweet, poignant music.

Afterword: For those in the vicinity of Tacoma, you can hear The Makedonians and Efiniki this coming Saturday, January 23, here. Check it out and don't forget to shout "Ohpa, manges!"

The Figure of the Poet as Virile Hunter

Should he hit his mark,
The sharp-

Shooting hunter kills
The boar, if not

The bore kills us all.

Bittersweet

Oh pray

Let us wallow like pigs in the mire
Of our sweet madness, unsatiated

In our desire, our eyes feasting on
The sanity of a world gone sour.

Aeolian Mode

O spirit behind the proscenium,
What manner of being first heard
The imperceptible

Rustling of reeds before
The curtain motioned,
Calling the woodwinds back?