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Στην Πόλη ήμουν κι έμαθα
I was in the City and heard my fairest was to wed,
that she had exchanged vows with another.
Mounting my horse, I set off home.
And half way there, at the dragon’s well,
I came upon a weeping maid clad all in black.
“A good day to you, maid”.
“Welcome, stranger, upon your way”.
“What ails you, maid, why weep and sigh you so?”
[“Dear stranger, I vowed I would not breathe a word of this,
but since you’ve asked, to you I’ll tell the tale.
My ring has fallen to the bottom of the well:
stranger, please, dive down and fetch it for me”.
He undressed, disarmed and dived into the well.
But swimming round then round again,
he could not find the ring;
just hair from a young girl’s head and a young man’s arm.
The maid turned into a dragon, leapt into the well,
and heard the stranger’s pleas:
“Dragon, let me be, let me be upon my way;
for it’s twelve years since I saw my home”.
And they grappled and wrestled at the bottom of the well.
The stranger grabbed him here,
and the blood flowed like a ribbon;
the dragon grabbed him there, and cut him into pieces.]
Translated by Michael Eleftheriou
Στην Πόλη ήμουν κι έμαθα παντρεύουνταν καλούδα μ’,
παντρεύουνταν, αρρεβωνιάζουνταν κι άλλον καλό πως παίρνει.
Παίρνω κ’ ιγώ τ’ αγλήγουρνο1 στουν τόπου μου να πάνω.
Δεν πάου κοντά, δεν πάου μακρά, στου δράκου το πηγάδι
βρίσκου κοράσιον απού ’κλαιγι στα μαύρα φουριμένου.
«Καλημέρα σι, κόρη μου».
«Καλώς τον ξένον που ’ρθι».
«Τι έχεις, κόρη μου, ν-απού κλαις, [βαριά π’ αναστινάζεις;
«Είπα, ξένε μ’, να μην του ειπώ, να μην του μαρτυρήσου·
μα τώρα που με ρώτησες θα σι του μαρτυρήσου.
Το δαχτυλίδι μ’ έπεσε στουν πάτου του πηγάδι·
παρακαλώ σε, ξένε μου, να σέβεις να του βγάλεις».
Ξεντύθ’κε, ξαρματώθηκε, μες στο πηγάδι σιβαίνει.
Τρογύρου τρογύρου το ’φιρνι, το δαχτυλίδι δε βρίσκει·
βρίσκει από της κόρ’ς μαλλιά κι απ’ αντρειωμένου χέρι.
Η κόρη δράκος έγινε, μες στο πηγάδι σιβαίνει·
κι ι ξένους τουν παρακαλεί, κάθιτι κι τουν λέει.
«Άφ’σε με, δράκε μ’, άφ’σε με, στουν τόπου μου να πάω·
δώδεκα χρόνια έκαμα, στουν τόπου μου δεν πήγα».
Κι πιάστηκαν κι πάλευαν στουν πάτου του πηγάδι·
’πό κει ’π’ πιάνει ι ξένους, του γιόμα2 σα γαϊτάνι,
’πό κει ’π’ πιάνει ι δράκους, μοίρες3 κομμάτια τ’ν έβγαλε.]
1αγλήγουρνο: άλογο
2γιόμα: αίμα
3μοίρες: κομμάτια
This song, like The Glass Well, turns legends of demonic beings —who assume the form of alluring women in order to waylay and slaughter strong young men— into poetry.
Wrought from the stuff of dreams and the subconscious, which is infinitely more capacious than the world of thought, these songs express emotions and perceptions that govern human relationships and everyday life in a patriarchal society. Their symbolic characters reflect the inhabitants of the real world but also embody the invisible, eternal truths of the soul — fantasies rooted in a transcendental reality. They articulate a mythic vision in which two realms —the tangible world of experience and the supernatural world of dark powers— intersect and coexist in and around the well.
In this world, women —tightly bound to nature and the supernatural Unknown from which we emerge and to which we return— are viewed with suspicion, believed to be secretly allied with otherworldly forces. Guilty and uncontrollable by nature, they are seen as a threat to the normality of the community. Their power lies in seduction. Men —civilized, logical, brave, and useful— are constantly at risk of being led astray by deceitful women with ambiguous identities. The beautiful woman who entices a young man to descend into the depths of the earth —into the well, which has always symbolized the female body and its dark mysteries—, reveals herself to be a bloodthirsty succubus. This Freudian song indirectly teaches that any woman may be an infernal demon in disguise, much like the Earth itself: a force that both gives life in its shadowy depths and consumes the bodies of men.
Miranda Terzopoulou (2008)
Based on Domna Samiou’s 1976 field recording of the song in Paliouri, Didymoteicho, Evros.
Singers
Informant (source of the song)
