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?

The Slings of Outrageous Fortune

The Lawless Years: Urchins on their home turf, armed to the teeth and dressed to kill, First Street, Raymond, Washington, 1949.

From left to right, Billy (Squint-eyed Kid) Zambaras, 6 years old, flaunting his intimidating, fearsome mien in the face of the blinding, winter light; Christos (Ladybird Killer) Zambaras, 11, notorious for disarming birds by flipping them the peace sign with his right hand just before slinging the fatal shot at them with his left; Angie (Turkey-Diddle-I-Them) Buttrick, 13, lanky lobber whose favorite targets were the rear ends of drunk loggers, truckers and longshoremen staggering out of his grandma’s saloon.

As mentioned by Hoyle in his groundbreaking study, The Evolution of Slingshots in the United States and Their Role in Intimidating Stoolpigeons while Keeping a Poker Face, these three infamous Greek-American punks were the forerunners of inner city gangs that later terrorized urban America, as they were the first to successfully employ the now-classic dictum adopted by so many zealous professionals from all walks of life: “Never Get Caught Playing According to the Rules,” or its better-known, more overwhelming, poetical manifestation favored by so many of our back-watching, self-righteous politicians, to wit “Ex-Lax Slanderer":

Sling shit
Sling shat

Sling ass
Whole shot.

NB: These tatterdemalions were also among the first to introduce hodgepodge raiment, which became so popular in the latter half of the previous century--notice the chaotic, albeit exquisite juxtaposition of haberdashery covering Squint-eyed Kid's frame--not to mention the patent rubber galoshes perfect for sloshing through muddy puddles just before heading back home to headquarters.

NBB: Unfortunately, the only gang member still living is The Squint-eyed Kid, who had the good fortune at the tender age of 27 to escape from Life in the Clutches of America. He is now happily married living the Life of Riley in his beloved Hellas and still thinking seriously of writing his poetic Magnum Opus, "I Was a Gunsel Who Killed Mockingbirds for the Thrill of It."

Rimbaud Redux

Taking off

On Verlaine’s cherubim, an angelic gun-
Running rum-soaked poet popping
Double doses of spiked Double Bubble gum.

Kraft's Classic TV Commercial "I've Got Six Seconds to Sing" Remixed Expressly for Poetasters

Try craft’s pottage sleaze,
You’ll love it, jeez, poets love it—
Try craft’s pottage sleaze!