Koreman Poem 3
Yannis Ritsos, "The Crane Dance" (english publication 2008)
Yannis Ritsos was a mid 1900s Greek poet who transformed his personal tragedies into beautiful poems both of political and personal nature. “The Crane Dance” by Ritsos, and translated and also “re-imagined” by David Harsent, begins with the telling of the story of Theseus who, with the help of his lover Ariadne, was able to kill the Minotaur he was to be sacrificed to and escape the Labyrinth. Theseus and the other escapees stop at Delos to dance on the Alter of Horn a unique dance only those in the maze knew how to perform. He and Ariadne married but later Theseus abandons Ariadne in her sleep. Ritsos ends his poem with a final stanza starting, “Well, things change: new passions, new threats, new fears. / New consequences, too”, alluding to Theseus’ change of heart. He finishes his poem by explaining that although people no longer think about the story of Theseus and Ariadne, people still dance the dance the Athenians performed at Delos, possibly as a subconscious performance, heralding back to the days of Theseus’ and Ariadne’s love, that they hope will reunite them with the happiness that the two lovers felt when at first “hope and heart” met and were together able to overcome the minotaur and the labyrinth just as people dance the dance in the present as if subconsciously hoping it will help them escape the dark labyrinth that is their poor lives.
The Crane Dance
By Yannis Ritsos
Translated by David Harsent
The clew playing out through his fingers, a deftness
that would bring him back to her, its softness the softness
of skin, as if drawn from herself directly, the faint
labial smell, guiding him up and out, as some dampness
on the air might lead a stone-blind man to the light.
Asterios dead for sure, his crumpled horn, his muzzle
thick with blood, so at Delos they stopped,
Theseus and the young Athenians, and stepped
up to the "altar of horns" to dance a puzzle-
dance, its moves unreadable except to those who'd walked
the blank meanders of the labyrinth.
And this was midday: a fierce sun, the blaze
By Yannis Ritsos
Translated by David Harsent
The clew playing out through his fingers, a deftness
that would bring him back to her, its softness the softness
of skin, as if drawn from herself directly, the faint
labial smell, guiding him up and out, as some dampness
on the air might lead a stone-blind man to the light.
Asterios dead for sure, his crumpled horn, his muzzle
thick with blood, so at Delos they stopped,
Theseus and the young Athenians, and stepped
up to the "altar of horns" to dance a puzzle-
dance, its moves unreadable except to those who'd walked
the blank meanders of the labyrinth.
And this was midday: a fierce sun, the blaze
of their nakedness, the glitter of repetitions, a dazzle
rising off the sea, the scents of pine and hyacinth. . .
Well, things change: new passions, new threats, new fears.
Well, things change: new passions, new threats, new fears.
New consequences, too. Nowadays, we don't think much
about Theseus, the Minotaur, Ariadne on the beach
at Naxos, staring out at the coming years.
But people still dance that dance: just common folk,
those criss-cross steps that no one had to teach,
about Theseus, the Minotaur, Ariadne on the beach
at Naxos, staring out at the coming years.
But people still dance that dance: just common folk,
those criss-cross steps that no one had to teach,
at weddings and wakes, in bars or parks,
as if hope and heart could meet, as if they might
even now, somehow, dance themselves out of the dark.
even now, somehow, dance themselves out of the dark.
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