Manos Hadjidakis and the "Waltz of the Lost Dreams"

The following text is about a music piece I really love. The original text was written in Greek, by the Greek blogger Yannis H. I just loved Yannis H.'s comment and I felt like translating in English, in order to share it with foreigners, who do not know about this music piece or about Manos Hadjidakis. My English is far from being perfect. For this reason, I strongly suggest that you should look for the original Greek text, in case you speak Greek.

Just one thing I would want to mention: I omitted the last paragraph of Yanni H’s post, I have added one sentence at the end of this post, and I didn’t paraphrase Elytis (which is what Yannis H did in his original post.) You see, I didn’t feel like paraphrasing Elytis…

Manos Hadjidakis and the "Waltz of the Lost Dreams"

Some people call him “Manos” – I can’t do that. If I am to approach him, I need the distance created by the use of his surname. He is not “my man”, even though he speaks to my heart. He is someone who has ascended to am other higher level, in order to include me. Hence, this guy cannot be called “Manos”. His name is “Hadjidakis”. Or perhaps, “Mr. Hadjidakis” – this would be even better. The more we keep our distance from those who express the deepest feelings of our hearts, the more we keep our distance from the geniuses of art, the more we understand our own calibre. And this way, we do not fall into the pit of considering all people as belonging to the same level.

I would like to speak about a music piece, which impressed since the very first moment I heard it long ago. And I am going to begin, by expressing my oldest question: Why “The Waltz of the Lost Dreams?” A mere carousel it is... An exceptional one, of course – tender to the point that it hurts you, arrestingly beautiful. But it is an endless musical phrase – and by saying “endless” I mean without an end, without a conclusion. It remains open. And that’s why it repeats itself again and again, as if it wants to complete itself. And this way it becomes endless with the other sense if this word: it becomes incessant.

The same phrase over and over again? But this would be boring, wouldn’t it? And here comes the other virtue of the musician’s art: the orchestration. The melody rises, flairs, rockets and then it falls again, landing on its feet, on the soft sound of the piano’s keys. (It is amazing: if you listen carefully, you will see that while the orchestra plays crescendo, the guitar is playing the same accords it was playing a while ago, accompanying the piano.) In tales (and carousels are such tales) there is no room for accuracy and logic. And if the “magician” wants the weak guitar to be heard together with the vigil orchestra, nobody will forbid him to do that; and to none will this sound peculiar.

And the piano (those magical fingers!): it is heard at the beginning of the piece, and then again it is heard when the melody “lands”, when the music piece is being dissolved to the components by which it was created. And in both cases, it sounds as if it was an other instrument. And what an instrument! It sounds like a barrel-organ!

Hadjidakis starts talking about “lost dreams” by taking us from a symbol which is very familiar to us and represents “what has been lost”: a barrel-organ. It has some extra features, but it is always the same monotonous and open melody, which is dominating throughout the whole music piece. A melody which never ends – there is always something that you owe to it; or it is the melody that owes to you…

But which are the elements, which brings to our minds the "Lost Dreams" and the unfulfilled wishes, together with the feeling of sorrow which comes with them? Is it just the barrel-organ, bearing the patina of “what is old and has been lost”, combined with this open, repetitive and endless melody? It seems that there is something more: it is the combination of the orchestration together with the emotion, which gives you this feeling. When the orchestra plays crescendo, the sorrow of the "unfulfilled wishes” becomes more intense, more imposing – it becomes almost epic. And when everything calms down again, it looks as if you are not thinking about it any more; although it is smouldering afflictively in your heart, just like the soft keys of the piano.

The 'carousel' fits well with this kind of music – actually it is not a kind of music at all, it is rather a musical accompaniment. All carousels, which are turning around within a miniature landscape, they have a small, repetitive music.

And, literally, a carousel’s journey is an impasse one: it consists of never-ending circles, which lead you to nowhere. You never “arrive” to a specific destination – there is just a moment, in which the music is lost just like that. (Yes, it does not “end”, it does not “close”. It is just lost.)

Which kid would ever say that a ride on the carousel was perfect? Which kid would ever say that his journey had a conclusion, that he has reached to the point he wanted? Which kid would ever say that he wouldn’t want one round more?

It is this puerility and this feeling of sorrow for our "unfulfilled wishes" that permeates this work – a feeling which is totally alien to our square everyday life. In this music piece, each round is given in a way which implies that it has no end; each turn encloses its own import – perhaps its own fantasy. And each fantasy lives till the end of the turn that encloses it. In fact, all these turns are desperately similar to each other. Is it perhaps the same monotonous sorrow of a lost dream? Or is it a sequence of lost dreams, all of which are leaving us the same bitter taste? It is in your hand to choose the explanation you prefer.

While we are listening to this music piece, the sound of the music takes us to a “personal carousel of our own”. We are turning round and round, and each round is different from each other; yet, also similar to each other. It is just the way things used to be in the past…

But we are also experiencing all these things through a waltz, which is an adult’s dance… For we are not kids any more – we are adults. We have tasted the “forbidden fruit”, we have left from the Heaven. We are adults, regardless of whether we are charmed by the sound of the music, regardless of whether we feel like kids just because of the emotions and the memories of the past. And indeed: this is the “Waltz of the Lost Dreams”. And it is for some people, who are still young, although they have grown up.

And by remembering the Puerile Paradise, do you taste actually this paradise for one more time? Or you just taste the Adulthood’s Hell? And what is the thing that prevails? The Dream? Or the loss of the Dream? The answer to this question is not an easy one – perhaps there is no answer at all.

Odysseas Elytis said: “From ‘what really is’ to ‘what might be’, you are crossing a bridge which takes you from Hell to Heaven. And what a bizarre thing: this Heaven is made with the same material, with which Hell is made as well. It is just the way these materials are laid out, which makes all the difference.”

Who knows? Perhaps growing older is merely the passing of this bridge to the opposite direction…

(This article was written for the version of the "Waltz of the Lost Dreams" which is found in the LP "30 Nocturnes". However, the original music piece was composed for the needs of the movie "Lost Dreams". There is also a third version, about which I cannot give any further information, since I do not know anything about it. Finally, in the aforementioned movie there is an other version of this music piece, bearing the title “A barrel-organ in the alley”. In that version the organ is distant at the beginning, it comes closer to you and then it stops by your side. It sounds as if there was a barrel-organ player, who has come to you, in order to ask for a dime.)


You can listen to it online...


The version of the LP "30 Nocturnes"


The original version


The third version


A barrel-organ in the alley

The first-born of the Earth

A couple of days ago, it happened for me to come upon a short story, which I liked a lot. It's title is "The first-born of the earth" and it was written by Stratis Mirivilis. I liked it that much, that I decided to translate it from Greek to English - although I know that my English is far from being good - just because I wanted to share it with other people.
The Holy Bible was the "source of inspiration" for this story. However, Stratis Mirivilis does not merely reproduce what is written in the Bible. This would have been pointless, after all. On the contrary, starting from Adam and Eve's Fall, he writes and "alternative version" of this story. An alternative version, which (as my nephew commented when he read it) is not only about love and hope, but also about wisdom and freedom; it is about the freedom of choice, about the freedom of being who you are. And it is about the joy of discovering the existence, and about discovering the unknown.

The first-born of the Earth

The days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months since Sabaoth got exasperated and expelled from the Garden of Eden the couple of the first humans ever created. New worlds He would create, old worlds He would destroy, for His infinite mind and His flaming heart wanted to be filled with the joy of creation. He wanted to forget both of these damned ones – He even pretended that He wasn’t thinking of them, that He didn’t care where they were and how they were doing. But His mind would always return to them. He was a father after all.
The heart of the Almerciful was heavy because of these two kids, although He wouldn’t let anyone notice that – even His angels.
One day He even left in the middle of a concert, which was being given in honour of Him. The sweetest-singing Cherubim of the skies had come first thing in the morning, with their harps and guitars, in order to praise Him, offering Him the Great Doxology. On the earth down below, the birds held their singing; the seas kept their waves and their hum; the rivers seized their waters; all of them were given to the sweet melody of the hymn. But despite this, He left in the middle of the concert and He went to the Garden of Eden, drawn by His secret woe.
It had been since then that He hadn’t walked under the tall leafage, among the strong trunks, which had been embraced by the ivies. He was walking, and His heart was heavy. He was walking in the autumnal nature, which had turned the leaves of the chestnut trees reddish, and had set golden fires on the candles of the elm trees. His sandals were making a fresh sough on the fallen leaves, which smelled heavily, giving off the wild scent of the humid forest. All the trees noticed Him, and began rustling happily. They were shaking their branches over His holy head, glorifying Him. The whole garden was filled with the whispering voices of the trees.
Archangel Michael was following Him, provost marshal and leader of the heavenly hosts. He was walking behind Him, keeping the appropriate distance, ready to receive any order from the Lord.
Sabaoth stopped before a trunk. It was an enormous walnut tree, whose leaves were scenting marvellously. On the soft bark, He read a large inscription, inscribed with a sharp flint stone: “Day 20 from the Creation of the World. Praised be thy name, Lord”. The letters had been grooved deeply; the tree’s juice had congealed in the grooves, giving to the letters a black colour; and everyone could read them very easily on the white trunk of the tree. At some points, the juices had run out from the grooves, and they had stood still like petrified tears. Sabaoth, lost in His thoughts, looked at these letters, and a little sigh lifted His silver beard from His chest. He reached His almighty hand out and He caressed the graven bark.
Then, He turned to the archangel, and, pretending He was indifferent, He said:
- What a beautiful tree, Michael! Strong and happy…
He replied obediently:
- For great and marvellous Thy works, Lord; in wisdom hast Thou made them all.
Sabaoth shrugged and He moved on. On an other trunk His eye caught an other inscription. This one was a more recent one. There were two letters, enfolding lovingly each other: “A.E.”
He couldn’t take it any more. He stopped abruptly, He turned to the archangel, and He said all of the sudden:
- Just tell me, Michael. Wasn’t that a great ungratefulness? Huh? Wasn’t it a great ungratefulness? How could they do this to Me? How could they treat Me like that? And it was all her fault, wasn’t it?
- Yes, Almerciful
At that moment, a fine lion appeared. It passed its enormous head among the trunks, it looked at them surprised, and it wagged the cascade of its golden mane magnificently. Sabaoth reached out His hand in order to fondle the lion. But the beast crinkled its muzzle viciously, it showed its teeth, and its eyes blazed with malevolence, like two pieces of burning coal. The archangel struck it with his flaming glaive. The lion roared dreadfully, and with a long leap it disappeared in the forest. Its angry cry made the leaves shiver, and it left behind it a murmur of fear among the leafage. It was as if the cold tempest’s breath had passed among the trees, and had stricken them.
- What is this supposed to mean? Sabaoth asked full of surprise. You had to strike it, Michael! In the past, it would come to Me, crawling around My feet, calm and good… It used to lick My hands…
- Yes, but everything has changed since then, Almighty. Since the day she left from here, everything started changing…
- I thought so.
- Yes. I guess that even if it was only her who had left from here, hunted by Your curse, it would be still enough for Eden to become what it has already become…
- How so? Tell me what has happened in here.
- Well… Together with her, gentleness, tenderness and charm left as well. You may have not noticed this, Almighty, because Your Majesty hasn’t stepped in here again since that dreadful day. But everything has been marred since that day. The animals are fighting each other. Blood is being spilled on and on. Murder and Death are living in here. And Fear as well, which had been something unknown till that day. The little deer gets into a funk by the eagle’s shadow and the beautiful tiger dips its face into the gashed flesh of the antelope. The flowers! They have become vicious, Lord. Even the rose, the flower of the sky. It has covered itself with hard nails and teeth, which pierce the flesh, cutting it, in order to drink blood.
Sabaoth wagged His holy head with sadness.
- You are right. She… In her childish beauty, she had been the charm and the calmness and the whole mirthfulness of My heart… She left and My Garden has become a wild place…
They started walking again, lost in their deep thoughts, and the silence was following their steps. Eventually, they got to the gate. It was the point, from where the archangel had sent them away that dreadful day. It had become weedy, covered with briars. They stopped. A serpent was heard, scared, slithering away in the wet grass.
- Those poor things, He whispered. Those poor things…
All the sorrow of the insulted love was shaking in His anger.
From the broad opening of the gate, His gaze spread all over the wide earth. It was a dry landscape, full of loose stones and thorns. The winter would freeze it, the summer would burn it. The curse of the Lord had passed over the ground and it had burned it like storm of fire. The thunders had slashed it with bottomless gorges. From the riven body of the earth burning sulphur was giving off fumes.
Far behind the wild mountains, there was a river, roaring furiously. The voice of its anger could reach the Garden of Eden. The vultures were squawking over the barren wasteland.
- Why is it roaring so terribly? Sabaoth asked. They must be hearing this…
They will be shivering in fright…
- It has been roaring like that since the day of your wrath.
- But I am not angry any more, Michael…
He continued listening to the water, which was falling onto the ground with a great noise. He raised his sad eyes and He looked again at the hostile wilderness. The landscape was filling His heart with sorrow.
He asked, and there was a little hesitation in His voice:
- Tell me… Has either of them been seen around since that day?
- In the first days, yes. The gate guards have reported me many times that they used to come back. They used be around here all the time. They used to come both of them together. Especially in the dusk, when the night was about to fall and the shadows were getting longer. They would come in here scared and tired; they would fall on their knees and they would reach out their hands imploringly towards the Garden; and they would be crying till the night would cover them. But later, they would appear less and less often, until one day they stopped coming. In the end I withdrew the gate guards, since they were of no use any more. And the gate got weedy, and it got closed by thorns and cacti.
- Ungrateful children. I created them in the sweetest hour of My love, and they have empoisoned My heart in return.
- …
- Tell Me, Michael.
- At your command, Lord.
- Tell Me, what if I bring them back?
- You are the fountain of mercy and love, Lord.
- You know, there has been some time that this idea is spinning on my mind. I have been thinking about forgiving them; erasing their sin; forgetting everything. I have been thinking what it would be like to see them in here again innocent and happy, chasing each other like little deers; to hear them singing their weird songs loudly, together with the birds; to see them adorning my altars with garlands made of roses…
The Almerciful smiled affectionately, imagining the return of the damned ones…
- Send to fetch them to Me, Michael.
The archangel whistled in his golden whistle and innumerable hasty wings rushed down from the heavens at once; the sun was shining on them, just the way it shines on a peacock’s plumage. It was a host of Seraphim. They stood over the archangel’s head, flapping their golden-green and blue wings. He gave them the order, and they rushed to the four corners of the earth, like a tornado of joy and colours. They rushed through the gate and they disappeared in the horizon with the speed of a lightning.
There didn’t pass much time, and – behold! – they came back, making the leaves undulating with their wings' thrusts. They laid Adam and Eve down, before Sabaoth, and then they winged again and they disappeared in the blue sky, like a bevy of exotic swallows.
Adam and Eve didn’t move. They remained in there, on their knees, with their heads bent to the ground. They were still scared because of their strange journey, and they wouldn’t dare to raise their eyes towards the Almerciful. They were wearing pelts of wild beasts, and Eve was clasping to her breast a pack wrapped in bear pelt.
Sabaoth was looking at them and His heart was filled with love.
- Look at them!, He said. Do you see them, Michael? They were about to start resembling the bears…
- We kneel before You and we are grateful to You, Father”, both of them said with a weak voice, full of emotions. They touched with their fingertips the edge of Lord’s tunic, and they kissed it with love.
- You spoiled kids, He murmured, and He caressed their heads.
He removed affectionately from Eve’s golden hair two dry chestnut leaves, and He said again:
- You silly… Ungrateful kids…
- At Your command, Father!, Adam said.
- ‘At Your command, Father!’ In other words, you want to know My will and My intentions, don’t you? Well, here you are… I have pitied you and I have called you back. The earth has completed a full round around the sun since the day of the sin. And all this time, My heart in My chest hasn’t stopped being embittered even for a single moment; for all the time I have been thinking of you, living with the burden of My curse; being burned by the sun and pierced by the cold wind, whereas your skin is as tender and sensitive as the magnolia's flower; being hunted by Death and Disease, not having any help at all; being attacked by the beasts whereas you are less armed even than the bees; being hungry and yet having to soften the frozen soil, so that earth would pity you and let you get a handful of wheat. You have embittered me greatly, for greatly I have loved you. And you will never be able to fully understand this. But I have made up My mind. I will lift the sin from you. I will give you Eden back.
He raised His hand in a blessing gesture, and He said:
- Let it be so!
And the miracle happened. The trees, which had dropped their leaves, were filled with new leafage and bloomed at once. Bindweeds wrapped themselves around the trees, landed with innumerable rosy bells. The air was filled with a joyful hum and golden pollen. The rose trees dropped their thorns and they were filled with flowers, and the birds, thousands of nightingales and cuckoos and skylarks, they found the endless spring of Eden and they started singing again. It was something marvellous. From every corner would come fragrant smells, noises, voices, and whistles of joy.
Sabaoth smiled. His eyes rejoiced at seeing this new spring. Only Adam and Eve were holding each other tightly, not raising their eyes from the ground.
Sabaoth stated ceremoniously:
- May this day – the day of forgiveness, the day of the come-back – be blessed. And let this day be considered as one of the Seven Days of Creation, for today I have created forgiveness. I am lifting the sin from you. I will make you again pure and innocent like birds. I will make you saints like my angels. I will make you again innocent, just the way you were before biting the Apple of the Sin and finding out that you had been naked.
But then something most unexpected happened.
Adam put his hand around Eve's weak shoulders, which were shaking because of her sobs, as if he was trying to protect her. He raised his head towards God and on his sunburned cheeks tears were running.
- Oh, Father! he said. You, who are so kind and compassionate to us, pity us! Don’t do that to us!
- But haven’t you got yet what I am telling you, God said, being puzzled. It seems that happiness has driven you out of your minds and you cannot understand. I am giving you Eden back, you silly kids. I will take you in again.
- No! Not that! Have mercy on us, Father! the two humans groaned in despair. If there is still any pity for us left in Your heart, let us go back, Almerciful. Don’t lift the sin from us, which has become the asset and wealth of our lives. Leave the knowledge of Good and Evil to us, which has become our bitter wisdom. Leave us our nakedness, which has delivered our bodies from their loneliness. Pardon us, Lord, for we have turned Your curse to a new Heaven. We have found our new Eden in love and creative work. Within the devious words of the Snake there was a new verity. The sin of our knowledge has risen us closer to you much more than the innocence of our ignorance, Lord. In our sorrowful struggle, we have used the Tree of the Sin, in order to get the sweetest fruit. Don’t take Love back from us, Lord; we are imploring You! For it is Love which fills the barren lands with nightingales, it shines like the sun in the cold days of the winter, it makes our hard bread tasting sweet, it turns to heroism our inability and to source of joy our weakness…
Sabaoth was looking the archangel, full of puzzlement.
- Yes, Lord, Eve said; and her voice spread tenderly among the leaves. Leave us Love and the New Eden we have planted through it…
- And what about Death, you foolish kids? You are disregarding Death, which is following your steps like a snake, since the day you left the Garden!
- With Love, we have defeated Death as well, Lord!, Adam said.
- What!, Sabaoth said. You have defeated Death!
Eve raised in her hands the little pack she had been holding tightly onto her bosom till that moment. The small rosy body of a little baby budged in the bear pelt. All the angels of the lost Heaven were smiling trough his face, and all the lost skies were shining in his blue eyes.
Eve reached out the baby towards Sabaoth; she raised her tearful eyes towards Him and she begged Him:
- Bless it, Father!
It was the first-born of the earth.

(from "The Blue Book" by Stratis Mirivilis, translated by Akestor)