Ποιειν Και Πραττειν - create and do

The Olive Tree by Penelope Dountoulaki

 

 Olivetree in Spetses August 2015                                              @hatto fischer

 

(English and German versions below)

 

Η ΕΛΙΑ

 

Πάνω απ' την αυλή του σπιτιού μου 

στέκεται η ελιά.

Αιώνες συντήκονται 

να περιπλέξουν τον πλατύ κορμό.

Χαρακιές που σκάλισε ο πόνος

έλικες που σμιλεύτηκαν σε καιρό ειρήνης

αρμολογούν μονάκριβη Τέχνη

που αντηχεί το σφυγμό αιώνιας ζωής.

Kαθαγιασμένη και σιωπηλή

στέκει καταμεσίς στα όνειρά μου

φρουρεί τα βήματά μου στον ποταμό

με καλεί κοντά της σε ώρα κινδύνου

βρίσκεται πάντοτε εκεί για μένα

θεόρατη, ανοιχτή αγκαλιά. 

 

ΠΗΝΕΛΟΠΗ ΝΤΟΥΝΤΟΥΛΑΚΗ

 

 

THE OLIVE TREE

 

The olive tree

stands above my yard.

Ages fuse

to perplex the wide trunk.

Crafted by pain fissures

sculptured in peace curves

make a precious piece of Art

echoing the pulse of eternal life..

Sacred and silent

stands in the middle of my dreams

guards my steps to the river

calls me back in danger

always there

like a huge hug.

 

Note: Penelope Dountoulaki wrote the original version first in English



DER OLIVEN BAUM

 

Der Olivenbaum

steht auf meinem Grundstück.

Alter bring zusammen

um den weiten Stamm zu verwirren.

Geschaffen bei Fissuren aus Schmerzen

geformt in Friedenskurven

um eine wertvolles Kunstwerk zu schaffen

da Wiedergebend den Puls des ewigen Lebens

heilig un still

steht er inmitten meiner Träume

beschützt meine Schritte hin zum Fluss

ruft mich zurück wenn Gefahr droht

immer da

gleich einer großen Umarmung.

 

Translated into German: Hatto Fischer

 

Statement by Penelope Dountoulaki:

The summer of Greece and the echo of all poetic words will keep all well and shall contribute to a complete cure, no doubt, especially of those suffering from cancer. Poetry is, by itself, a most healing process, as you know.

I have been for a few days out of work, giving permission to myself for some kind of rest. Things are happening all over the world, the hope for peace must stay alive.

The poem about the Olive Tree has been written recently. It is a short hymn to the most prominent tree of this land (the original version I wrote in English; hopefully my English is not dreadful).

Many times in the past I had been provoked to draw olive trees (especially the trunk parts) which has also been done by several different artists, all with from a single point of view of individuality that makes each artistic expression most distinct. It is true that painting demands more time (and space). At the same time, poetry asks for much less and sometimes can be much more expressive.

Finally I have written, during the last few years, a few poems about the olive tree. Perhaps sometime I could collect them in one entity.

It is impressive that, especially referring to these trees, somebody can easily realise that they seem to have their own face. And they transfer some kind of calmness and peace, especially when you spend some time with them. This applies not only to the very ancient olive trees, like the one in Vouves and others in several places of Crete, but also to trees of the last centuries/y.

In Crete, even during recent years, the olive tree continued to be considered as sacred. People in some villages called the very ancient olive trees "raised trees" (something like "lifted up trees" or "trees on display", I am not sure which would be the proper word in English). They used to put an oil candle in the cave of their trunks, often together with a religious icon. Faithful women would lit this candle before night and everybody had the feeling of godly protection and bless.

Nobody could harm these "raised" olive trees, which were found particularly at or near crossroads. Unfortunately, during the last years and out of technical reasons (widening of roads etc.) most of them have become extinct.

Trees have been suffering with people, in several ways. But they have also shared serenity and peace with them. To come to the philosophical point (tree-anima), is it not strange that they have been a synonym of life, all over the world and in different cultures? If they are long-living and become dominant in any landscape, they are considered to be sacred- much more if they provide some kind of food. Beyond this, a tree that has lived for some centuries or much more, is, in some way, symbol of wisdom. It has lived so many happy and hard moments of history, indeed!

Talking about these trees, baobab is a good example for people in Africa, Asia, Australia.  Antoin Exupery draws it in "The Little Prince". In any case, it is fascinating to see such a tree coming out from a seed and know that, after some decades of years, it will wellcome and feed people and that, after decades of centuries, it will continue to do so.

18 August 2015

 

Betreff: THE CIRCLE OF LIFE AND PEACE-THOUGHTS AND MEMORIES
Datum: 07.02.2016 20:57
Von: ΠΗΝΕΛΟΠΗ ΝΤΟΥΝΤΟΥΛΑΚΗ
An: Hatto Fischer

 

Dear Hatto, 
Just a few words and some scattered thoughts around the olive tree. 
 

I cannot trace my first meeting with olive tree. Obviously, it would be during my first years of life, since my parents used to visit quite often the places where from their families had rooted. 

By the time the building works for my father's small clinic here, in the city of Chania, had finished (around 1954, I can guess) he had also planted an olive tree in the corner, in front of the clinic. At the same time he had also planted a wine tree in the yard. Obviously, these two plantings represented, for him, two strong connections with his earlier life in the village. You see, many students coming from the country to the city, to study at high school or at the university, had to survive mostly with olives, olive oil and dried bread. I remember my father's narration about a friend of him, coming from the same village, who also became a doctor. That man , who later lived in U.S.A., was an excellent scientist and a most kind person. When leaving his room in Athens, he also left behind an impressive pile of olive cores, from the olives he had consumed during the years he had been studying in Athens ( and I can also guess that he collected these olive cores all these years in remembrance of his struggle with all hard situations until he succeeded to make his dreams come true). Now, as it regards wine tree, wine is one of the three components (together with olives and bread) that always used to have the most honorary position on the wellcome table in every home and family. This is something that used to be so from the Minoan ages.    
I can recall a nice story of a relative of us, who came from the village to be nursed in my father's clinic after some serious problems with his stomach and an episode of gastrointestinal bleeding. We, the kids, used to be very fond of that old man, who was our guard and companionship, when we would go to the village. He was a really good person, very mild and patient and always with a smile ready to appear on his face. 
After several days of strict diet and treatment that patient was now very healthy and had to go back home. When leaving, he went to my father's office and said: "Thank you so much for all the days I enjoyed the nice grapes!". My father was shocked when he realised that our friend, supposed to be on a strict diet, was going up to the terrace, where the wine tree had climped, and consumed very pleasantly the grapes that were hanging from the tree. But our friend was very happy -and had survived from the grape overconsumption.  
Coming back to memories around the olive tree, it is certain that as a child I had learned that the most precious kind of food, olive oil, is produced from the olives that people used to collect each year early in the winter. For kids but also for adults olive oil had been a favorite dressing to accompany a slice of bread baked on the wood stove. The taste of fresh, recently extracted olive oil had always been superb.
The olive tree that my father had planted in front of the clinic soon grew up and started giving its fruits, which were black, long-shaped olives, very tasty when conserved in vinegar. A neighbor and friend of us used to come and collect these olives, which he liked to consume. Later on, as he was getting pretty older, a nice man and his wife, who were visiting me as patients, asked the permission to collect the olives - and they did so for a few years until they, also, became quite old. During all these years I was happy to know that somebody eats the fruits of that tree.
Now the olive tree has become even higher. It is not easy for the olives to be collected. Besides, I have the sense that nowadays nobody really cares to do it, since the huge problems that have been put on people's shoulders do not leave the least possibility of even thinking to spend time for such things- this, under these conditions, would sound quite naive (kindly speaking).
The Garden Service of the Municipality of Chania comes each year to prune the olive tree. Fruits fall on the pavement and, in some cases, they may put in danger somebody's safety, if he/she steps on them,because the pavement becomes slippery. At some time I had thought to ask the Service to uproot the tree and plant something else instead. But then I realised that our neighbor, who was collecting the olives some years ago, had been really very upset with such an idea. So, when somebody talked about this, he said:"Nobody can harm this tree. It is the only one olive tree standing in the city center. Nobody can touch it. It is something like a Monument!"    
Then I suddenly realised that I have similar and even stronger feelings about this tree, which , in some way, has become member of our family. I see it standing patiently in the middle of seasons, heat and storms, in the middle of a furrious, confused, sad, desperate, (and very rarely happy) crowd. I have a lot of sympathy for the tree that has grown up with me, the tree that has seen my father's funeral, my sister's marriage, coming of children in our family. I appreciate the wisdom of the tree that has lived protests, disappoinments or celebrations after elections, the tree that has silently participated to dialogues and disagreements heard from the coffee shop on the other side of the road, the tree on which pigeons and other birds stand to rest.
 
Of course the most appropriate place for an olive tree to grow is the  country, where it can stand very happily among other olive trees and breathe a really reviving air.
From my childhood I can recall a wedding celebration that took place in my grandparents' olive grove, which was extending in continuance to his house,in the mountainary village called Lakhi. The groom was a neighbor, living next to my grandparent's house. People invited (all people of the village and those who had come from nearby villages and from the city) had been settled under the olive trees. They took their seats on wooden banks put on stones and the long tables in front of them also consisted of wooden banks put on stones. Electricity had not yet come to the village, so I remember a couple of strong petrol lamps ("Lux") hanging from a string. Women in the yard of another neighbor's house were boiling meat to prepare the wedding rice ("pilaf"). Some men, who were groom's relatives, friends and neighbors, were standing in the same yard, each one holding next one's shoulder and with a glass of wine on the other hand, singing with their strong voices the very "rhizitika" songs, which means songs created, sung and heard on the roots of the White Mountains.The wellcome rhaki and sweets for the occasion ( "koufeta" made by almonds in a thick sugary layer and "xerotigana" made with flour and water and then fried and dressed into syrup made with honey) had been offered. The artists of Cretan music with their instruments (violin, lyra, lagouto) had taken their places in the centre of the plateu in the olive grove (chairs had been anticipated for them) and were trying the chordes.
We, the children, were standing under the trees and watching with much interest all things happening, while our parents were sitting around the tables. I remember myself astonished,ecstatic, totally charmed in such a rare scenery. The night had fallen. (The wedding mystery had taken place in the afternoon, in the yard of the bride's house as at that time it used to happen. After it the bride rode a horse and together with the groom, the priest and all people following -and with the flag on top of this litany- took the way to the place where the groom's house was, for the celebration. Groom's mother wellcomed the bride holding a small plate with honey and nuts for the new couple. Then the couple  sat in two chairs in the middle of the house and all relatives, friends, neighbors would pass to congratulate and offer the wedding presents. This all would take enough time, so we come to the point that night had fallen).  
When the new couple came to the olive grove and after the traditional plate (pilaf) had been served, folk cretan music started to sound. The notes were flying in the air. The artists were exceptionally gifted, so their music and song were coloured with real passion. At some moment, groom and bride stood up to dance the first dance. Close relatives joined them in the circle. 
The groom was a tall young man with dark hair and a sharp blue glaze. He could be a cypress, but in this case he was an eagle. The bride was proportionally tall and slim, with brown hair and serious face. She was the dove.  
The eagle and the dove were dancing and, under the light of petrol lamps, their shadows seemed to have goddish dimensions.Their dance looked more like flying, as they were more time in the air than on the ground.
Never before had I seen such a wedding celebration -and never again I saw it, later on. Everybody was really in the mood, in a way festive but also serious. Men's epic songs were to be heard till dawn.
 
In the run of years I had several times the chance to visit olive groves in the country, especially by the end of January, when wild flowers were appearing abudantly. I got familiarised with the different species and names. And, as years continue to pass, I learned to distinguish the edible species of wild vegetation. Among the branches of an olive tree I could,somewhen, see a nest. Birds were coming and getting away each year, leaving their nests behind.
Some of the trees were really huge, with their trunks demanding a lot of people with extended hands, if their perimetry was to be measured. Other had a strings of notches on their surface, other had deep fissures and gyruses. Some had a kind of window on their trunk, which was hollow inside. Other had a kind of elongated opening, just like a house entrance. There had been several stories coming close to legend, about fighters of freedom who, in cases of danger, had hidden their children into such hollow olive trunks, for safety reasons.   
 
When being quite older I visited Kontomari village, where the very first massive execution of innocent people had taken 
place just after the end of the Battle of Crete. In fact, there had been several massive executions in different villages on that day, but this one was the first, in terms of time, as it took place half an hour or one hour before the others. I had seen the photos from German Archives, which had been published first by Vassilis Mathiopoulos in "TACHYDROMOS" magazine.I had been thinking for quite some time, looking at the faces of village people, of the men who had been selected for execution and of the executers.The 25 men had been forced to stand in an olive grove and there they had been shot to death. At these horrible moments, one of them had tried to touch an olive tree trunk-as if he were, while dying, seeking for some way to escape death -or some place to die in peace. Although it sounds unbelievable, in the middle of shooting a bold young man started running like a deer. Although wounded, he succeeded to escape. He lived until he became old. 
Unfortunately, that olive grove had been destroyed later on, trees had been uprooted and such a place of Memory had been lost. Today very close to it stands the Monument, with a few cypresses around.  
During last decades I had chosen to stay closer to the country, whenever I had the chance, and do some of the works that have to do with olives. I have learned to prune the younger trees, to pick up the olives, to conserve then in salt or in water flavoured with lemon. I always admire the trunks of older olive trees, each one is a special sculpture. I know some of them are 400, 500 years old or much older, as the Monumentary Olive Trees or "Raised Olive Trees". I know that, if they had the possibility to speak, they would have to say so much, as they have been here during peaceful years with moments filled with bliss and jubilation and also during the years of wars, battles and fights for liberty.
 
I do not know if my son will keep an eye on the olive trees I have planted for him. Meaning of things may change from one generation to another. What is certain is that these olive trees will have to see a lot in the vast future. They will become old and tall, with wide trunks and perplex cortex. They will be Raised Olive Trees up to the  day when, for some reason, somebody invade their serenity and uproot them.
 
Best regards,
Penelope

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