Hello and welcome back to Picture Perfect Greek!
Today we have another song, a beautiful old one. You probably already know that the songs I consider beautiful are the older ones; I’m not much of a fan of modern music. This one is by Attik.
Now, Attik is a composer, and his name is a little strange because it’s an artistic name. His real name was Κλέων Τριανταφύλλου (Cléon Triandafillou). He was born in 1885, at the end of the 19th century, and he died in 1944, shortly before the end of the German occupation of Greece in the Second World War.
Primarily in the 1920s and 30s, he created songs that were very famous and are still sung and listened to today. Almost everybody knows them. They are very beautiful, romantic songs about love with great music, great texts, and great stories in them. Today we will see the first of them, and we will have a whole series because there are four or five songs I particularly like. These are all very famous songs that you should also know if you’re interested in Greek music.
Attik was born in Athens, grew up in Egypt where he learned music, and from 1907 to 1930 he lived in Paris. In the 1930s, he created a group of singers and musicians in Greece called the “Μάντρα του Αττίκ” (The Pen/Corral of Attik) who interpreted his songs, and he directed this group and made music with them. There are many singers today who sing his songs because they are so beautiful.
We will start with one of his best-known songs.
The Title: Μαραμένα τα γιούλια κι οι βιόλες
Μαραμένα (Maraména) means something is withered, like a flower or a plant. It is dried up, shriveled, withered from a lack of water or humidity. So, a plant that is dry and brown is μαραμένο.
So we have Μαραμένα τα γιούλια (maraména ta gioúlia). Now, what γιούλια (gioúlia) are is very unclear to me. I’m not sure what the translation is. Everybody seems to know γιούλια from this song, but if you look it up in Google or Wikipedia, you get different information about what botanical species this is supposed to be. It seems to be some kind of violet, but it’s not clear at all what flower this is. As I’m not a botanist, I can’t tell you what γιούλια really translates to. It’s a kind of flower that looks roughly like a violet.
And then we have κι οι βιόλες (ki i vióles), which means “and the violets.” So it cannot be the same kind of flower; it must be something slightly different. But that’s all I can do for you in terms of explaining what γιούλια are. It’s a flower!
Let’s look at the lyrics.
Χθες αργά, με ψυχή φορτωμένη
(Khthes argá, me psychí fortoméni)
Χθες (khthes) means “yesterday.” Αργά (argá) means “late.” So, “late yesterday.”
Με ψυχή (me psychí). Ψυχή (psychí) is the soul, which is where “psychology” and “psychological” come from. It all comes from ψυχή.
“With my soul,” φορτωμένη (fortoméni). Φορτωμένος (fortoménos) means loaded or burdened. It literally means “loaded.” You can have a truck that is loaded with things, and the truck itself is actually called a φορτηγό (fortigó). The φορτίο (fortío) is the load, and so a φορτηγό is a “load car”—a car that carries loads. Here, my soul is loaded in this way with something heavy. You can say “with a heavy soul,” with a burdened soul.
από θλίψη για σέ περισσή
(apó thlípsi gia sé perissí)
Από θλίψη (apó thlípsi), from sadness. Θλίψη (thlípsi) is sadness. Για σέ(να) (gia séna), for you.
Περισσή (perissí). The verb περισσεύω (perissévo) means to be left over, to be superfluous, to be more than necessary or required. So, my sadness is more than usual, more than I can make use of. It is left over because there is so much of it. This is what περισσή means here: my sadness is just too much, more than I can handle. It’s overwhelming. You could say it’s overflowing, it’s left over.
Πήγα μόνος να δω τι απομένει
(Píga mónos na do ti apoméni)
Πήγα μόνος (píga mónos), “I went alone,” να δω (na do), “to see.” Να δω is a form of βλέπω (vlépo), to see. Τι απομένει (ti apoméni), “what is left over.” This comes from από (apó) and μένω (méno). Μένω is “to stay,” so απομένω is to be left over, whatever remains.
Now, an interesting thing here is that we have μόνος (mónos), the masculine form for “alone,” although a woman is singing this. This is a fascinating phenomenon you find in early Greek songs of the 30s and 40s, where women sing songs from a male perspective, pretending that they are men speaking.
I’m not entirely sure why this happens, but it is consistent across many, many songs, and we will hear it again and again. Women singing about love to other women, which obviously in the 30s was not a thing to do, and women using male grammatical forms to describe themselves.
I suspect this is because, for some reason, it seemed improper if women were publicly singing of their emotions about love as women. This must have been some kind of leftover Victorian sentiment, perhaps, where it wouldn’t be proper for a woman to do this. But since women were singing—and there were lots of women singers back then—they just assumed a fictional male persona, like you do in the theater, from which to sing the song, although the voice is obviously female.
It’s perhaps like when you have soldiers performing a play at the front in old times, where women were not present and the play required female roles, so the soldiers would take over and play them. I think also in ancient tragedy and in many traditional societies, it was improper to see women on stage expressing themselves, so they would use male actors to play the female roles. In this case, it’s a kind of inversion of that: you have a real woman, but in a male role, and we are supposed to suspend our disbelief and assume that this is a man singing, so as not to be morally outraged at this display of erotic emotions by a woman.
It’s interesting, and if you keep observing it, you will find it in many other songs. So she sings, “I went alone,” using μόνος. It should be μόνη (móni) if a woman were singing as herself.
απ’ τον κήπο που πότιζες εσύ
(ap’ ton kípo pou pótizes esý)
Απ’ τον κήπο (ap’ ton kípo), “from the garden,” που πότιζες εσύ (pou pótizes esý), “that you used to water.”
This is important: it highlights the distinction between the continuous and the momentary past. We have two main forms of the past in Greek. The verb is ποτίζω (potízo), to water.
Πότιζες (pótizes) is the continuous past (imperfect). This means you used to water the garden over a long time.
Πότισες (pótises) is the momentary past (aorist). If the line were
που πότισες εσύ, it would mean you came once to water the garden, perhaps to help out, but it wasn’t something you did consistently.
The use of πότιζες here implies a long, shared history.
Την πορτούλα ο κισσός είχε κλείσει
(Tin portoúla o kissós íche klísei)
Την πορτούλα (tin portoúla) is “the little door.” The word comes from the Italian porta. The ancient Greek word would be θύρα (thýra), but this is not used anymore in everyday speech. We say πόρτα (pórta), and the -ούλα (-oúla) is a female diminutive suffix. You can find it in girls’ names, like Ειρηνούλα (Irinoula) from Ειρήνη (Irini), to mean “little Irene.” So, πορτούλα is a small, dear door. You can do this with some words, but not all, so be careful when you use it.
Ο κισσός (o kissós) is the ivy, the creeper plant.
Είχε κλείσει (íche klísei) means “had closed.” This is the pluperfect tense. A short grammatical note:
Είχε κλείσει (pluperfect): “had closed” (a completed action in the more distant past).
Έχει κλείσει (present perfect): “has closed” (a more recent past action connected to the present).
The verb is κλείνω (klíno), which you might recognize is related to the English “close.”
μήπως ξένος κανείς διαβεί
(mípos xénos kanís diaví)
The translation often says, “so that no stranger might cross it,” but the Greek is more nuanced. Μήπως (mípos) means “perhaps,” “it might happen.” You can ask someone, “Μήπως έχεις ένα στυλό;“ (Do you perhaps have a pen?).
Ξένος (xénos) is a stranger or foreigner, where we get “xenophobia” from.
Κανείς (kanís) is a strange word. It can mean “no one,” but it is also often used to mean “someone” or “anyone.” For example, you can shout into an empty room, “Είναι κανείς εδώ;“ (Is anybody here?). But if you answer, you might say, “Δεν ήταν κανείς“ (There was nobody).
So here, the line literally means “perhaps some stranger might cross.” The ivy had closed the door out of fear that a stranger might cross it, and the ivy wanted to prevent this. The meaning is “so that no stranger might cross it,” but if you look for the word “no,” it isn’t really there.
You see, the nice thing about this song is how the natural world expresses the sorrow. The plants become agents in this story. The ivy closes the door to protect the garden from intrusions by strangers, because this garden is your garden and nobody else has permission to go in there. It’s a magical place.
και είχε ο χρόνος με αγκάθια στολίσει
(ke íche o chrónos me agkáthia stolísei)
And time, ο χρόνος (o chrónos), had adorned... Χρόνος literally means “time,” but in modern Greek it also means “year” (e.g., Πόσων χρονών είσαι; - How many years old are you?).
Στολίσει (stolísei). The verb στολίζω (stolízo) is to adorn, to decorate, to put on something beautiful. You can στολίζω a Christmas tree or decorate your house for a party.
Με αγκάθια (me agkáthia), “with thorns.” So, time itself had “decorated” the place with thorns.
τη βρυσούλα που μένει πια βουβή
(ti vrysoúla pou ménei pia vouví)
Τη βρυσούλα (ti vrysoúla) is the little water faucet. Again, we see the diminutive ending: βρύση (vrýsi) -> βρυσούλα (vrysoúla).
Που μένει πια (pou ménei pia), “that now remains...” Πια (pia) is a complicated little word. It expresses a change of state between the past and now. From now on, it will be this way, while in the past it was different. For example, “Δεν έχω πια λεφτά“ (I don’t have money anymore) or “Δεν με ενδιαφέρει πια“ (I don’t care anymore).
Βουβή (vouví) means silent, mute, not speaking. So this little water faucet now remains forever silent. Previously it was not, because you were there watering the garden.
The Chorus
Μαραμένα τα γιούλια κι οι βιόλες,
(Maraména ta gioúlia ki i vióles,)
μαραμένα και τα γιασεμιά,
(maraména ke ta giasemiá,)
Withered are the γιούλια and the violets, withered also are the jasmine flowers.
Γιασεμιά (giasemiá) is jasmine. Jasmine is very common in Greece. I remember from the 70s and earlier, when you went through the streets of Athens at night, you always had the smell of jasmine emanating from these big bushes that were everywhere. This is less common today as there isn’t as much space, but in the old, richer parts of Athens with beautiful villas and gardens, you used to have a lot of jasmine. It smelled beautiful and was a striking feature of a walk through the night.
μαραμένες κι οι ελπίδες μου όλες
(maraménes ki i elpídes mou óles)
στης καρδιάς μου τη μαύρη ερημιά.
(stis kardiás mou ti mávri erimiá.)
Withered also are all my hopes. Η ελπίδα (i elpída) is “the hope.”
Στης καρδιάς μου (stis kardiás mou), “in my heart’s,” τη μαύρη ερημιά (ti mávri erimiá), “black desolation.” We’ve seen ερημιά (erimiá) in other songs; it’s a very common word for this state of emotional desolation. Έρημος (érimos) is the desert, so it’s a kind of emotional desert. “Black desolation” is a very good translation.
Στη γωνίτσα που άλλοτε ανθούσε
(Sti gonítsa pou állote anthoúse)
Στη γωνίτσα (sti gonítsa), “in the little corner.” Γωνία (gonía) is “corner,” so γωνίτσα is the small, dear corner. The garden is always described as small and cozy. It’s not a farm; it’s a small garden behind a house, what the Greeks would often call an αυλή (avlí), though an αυλή is typically paved. This is a κήπος (kípos) with plants.
Που άλλοτε (pou állote), “where in other times.” Άλλοτε (állote) means “other times,” “once,” “previously.” There’s another famous song, “Πάμε σαν άλλοτε“ (Let’s go like in old times).
Ανθούσε (anthoúse), “bloomed.” Άνθος (ánthos) is an ancient Greek word for what today would be called λουλούδι (louloúdi), a flower. But άνθος is still used, especially in the verb form. Ανθίζω (anthízo) is the verb “to bloom.” You cannot say *λουλουδίζω. You would say τα λουλούδια ανθίζουν (ta louloúdia anthízoun). Here, the song uses άνθη (ánthi) as a noun in the next line, because it’s from the 1930s. Today, it’s understood but considered old-fashioned. Nobody would say, “Let’s go buy some άνθη at the flower shop.”
μες στ’ άνθη η δική μας χαρά,
(mes st’ ánthi i dikí mas chará,)
Μες στ’ άνθη (mes st’ ánthi), “in between the flowers,” was η δική μας χαρά (i dikí mas chará), “our own joy/happiness.” He remembers how they had their own happiness in this corner that was blooming.
ενώ ο κήπος τριγύρω μου πενθούσε,
(enó o kípos trigýro mou penthoúse,)
μέσα μου ένιωσα τέτοια συμφορά.
(mésa mou éniossa tétia symforá.)
Ενώ (enó), “while” the garden around me πενθούσε (penthoúse), “was mourning.” Πένθος (pénthos) is mourning, the period after a person dies when, traditionally in Greece, women dress in black. The garden is mourning you because you are not there anymore.
Μέσα μου ένιωσα (mésa mou éniossa), “inside me, I felt.” Ένιωσα (éniossa) comes from νιώθω (niótho), to feel. Τέτοια συμφορά (tétia symforá), “such a disaster.”
A συμφορά (symforá) is a personal disaster that hits you. It’s not so much like a natural disaster in English. A personal disaster—you lose your money, you lose your job—this is a συμφορά. When there’s an earthquake and the whole city is destroyed, that is a καταστροφή (katastrofí). This is another interesting word, where “catastrophe” comes from. Κατά (katá) means “down” and στροφή (strofí) is “the turn,” so a catastrophe is literally a “downturn.” Συμφορά is personal.
Ως το βράδυ μονάχος μιλούσα
(Os to vrády monáchos miloúsa)
Ως το βράδυ (os to vrády), “until the evening.” Μονάχος (monáchos), “alone.” This is another form of μόνος. Μιλούσα (miloúsa), “I was talking.”
σαν να σ’ είχα κοντά μου μαζί,
(san na s’ ícha kontá mou mazí,)
Now, this is where I hear something different from what the written lyrics say. All the lyrics I find on the internet say ξανά (ksaná), meaning “again.” I don’t think she’s singing ξανά. Both of the old singers I found sing μαζί (mazí), meaning “together.”
Μαζί is not as grammatically perfect here, which is perhaps why written versions “correct” it to ξανά. But I think they are actually singing μαζί. This is also supported by the rhyme scheme, because this line is supposed to rhyme with the last line of the stanza, which ends in ζει (zei). You cannot make ξανά rhyme with ζει, but you can make μαζί rhyme with ζει. So this is probably why they sing μαζί. Obviously, these lyric sites copy from one another, so when one makes a mistake, they all have it.
Σαν να σ’ είχα (san na s’ ícha), “as if I had you,” κοντά μου (kontá mou), “close to me,” μαζί (mazí), “together.”
κι όταν βράδιασε, εκεί που γυρνούσα,
(ki ótan vrádiase, ekí pou gyrnoúsa,)
είπα: «Να ζει κανείς ή να μη ζει;»
(ípa: “Na zei kanís í na mi zei?”)
Κι όταν βράδιασε (ki ótan vrádiase), “and when it turned to night / when night fell,” εκεί που γυρνούσα (ekí pou gyrnoúsa), “there where I was returning.” Γυρνώ (gyrnó) means to return or to turn.
Είπα (ípa), “I said”: «Να ζει κανείς ή να μη ζει;» (”Should one live or not live?”). This is, of course, a direct reference to Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be?”
The song then repeats the beautiful, heartbreaking chorus.
That’s it! This was the song.
As always, you will find the full text of this explanation, together with an extensive vocabulary list, on my Substack:
https://holidaygreek.substack.com
You can subscribe there, support me if you like these lessons, and find all the written materials. If you want to have all this in writing, go there and get it!
Thank you, and see you next time!
Vocabulary for A2/B1 Learners
Here is a dictionary of the more challenging words and expressions from the lyrics.
ψυχή (η) - soul, spirit
φορτωμένη - (participle of φορτώνω) burdened, loaded. Here it means heavy or weighed down with sadness.
θλίψη (η) - sadness, sorrow, grief
για σε - for you. This is a slightly poetic/older form of για σένα.
περισσή - (adjective) excessive, overwhelming, abundant
απομένω - to remain, to be left over
πότιζες - you used to water (from the verb ποτίζω). The imperfect tense here shows a repeated action in the past.
πορτούλα (η) - little door (diminutive of πόρτα)
κισσός (ο) - ivy
είχε κλείσει - had closed (pluperfect tense of κλείνω)
μήπως - in this context, it means “so that... not” or “in case,” expressing a negative purpose or fear. (e.g., I closed the window in case it rained).
ξένος (ο) - stranger; foreigner
διαβεί - (he/she/it) may cross. This is the subjunctive form of the verb διαβαίνω (to cross, to pass through).
χρόνος (ο) - time
αγκάθι (το) - thorn
στολίζω - to decorate, to adorn
βρυσούλα (η) - little fountain (diminutive of βρύση)
μένω - to stay, to remain
πια - anymore, now (often with a sense of finality)
βουβή - (adjective) mute, silent
μαραμένος, -η, -ο - (participle) withered, faded. From the verb μαραίνομαι (to wither).
γιούλι (το) - wallflower
βιόλα (η) - violet
γιασεμί (το) - jasmine
ελπίδα (η) - hope
ερημιά (η) - desolation, wilderness, solitude
γωνίτσα (η) - little corner (diminutive of γωνία)
άλλοτε - once, formerly, at another time
ανθίζω - to bloom, to blossom
άνθος (το) - flower, blossom
ενώ - while, whereas
τριγύρω - (adverb) all around
πενθώ - to mourn
ένοιωσα - I felt (a common alternative spelling for ένιωσα, from the verb νιώθω)
τέτοια - such a, this kind of
συμφορά (η) - disaster, calamity, great misfortune
ως το βράδυ - until the evening
μονάχος - alone (a more poetic/emphatic synonym for μόνος)
μιλούσα - I was talking (imperfect tense of μιλάω/μιλώ)
σαν να - as if
σ’ είχα - I had you (contraction of σε είχα)
νύχτωσε - it became night, night fell (from the verb νυχτώνει)
γυρνούσα - I was returning (imperfect tense of γυρνάω/γυρνώ)
να ζει κανείς ή να μη ζει; - Should one live or not live? This is a direct reference to Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be?”. The literal translation is “Let one live or not live?”.
The Song Lyrics, Line-by-Line
Χτες αργά με ψυχή φορτωμένη
Yesterday late, with a burdened soul
Από θλίψη για σε περισσή
From overwhelming sadness for you
Πήγα μόνος να δω τι απομένει
I went alone to see what remains
Απ’ τον κήπο που πότιζες εσύ
From the garden that you used to water
Την πορτούλα ο κισσός είχε κλείσει
The ivy had closed the little door
Μήπως ξένος κανείς την διαβεί
So that no stranger might cross it
Κι είχε ο χρόνος μ’ αγκάθια στολίσει
And time had adorned with thorns
Τη βρυσούλα που μένει πια βουβή
The little fountain that now remains silent
Μαραμένα τα γιούλια κι οι βιόλες
Withered are the wallflowers and the violets
Μαραμένα και τα γιασεμιά
Withered too are the jasmines
Μαραμένες κι οι ελπίδες μου όλες
Withered also are all my hopes
Στης καρδιάς μου τη μαύρη ερημιά
In my heart’s black desolation
Στη γωνίτσα που άλλοτ’ ανθούσε
In the little corner where once bloomed
Μέσα στ’ άνθη η δική μας χαρά
Our own joy, amidst the flowers
Ενώ ο κήπος τριγύρω μου πενθούσε
While the garden all around me was mourning
Μέσα μ’ ένοιωσα τέτοια συμφορά
Inside me I felt such a disaster
Ως το βράδυ μονάχος μιλούσα
Until the evening I was talking alone
Σαν να σ’ είχα κοντά μου ξανά
As if I had you near me again
Κι όταν νύχτωσ’ εκεί που γυρνούσα
And when night fell, as I was returning
Είπα: να ζει κανείς ή να μη ζει;
I said: should one live or not live?
Μαραμένα τα γιούλια κι οι βιόλες
Withered are the wallflowers and the violets
Μαραμένα και τα γιασεμιά
Withered too are the jasmines
Μαραμένες κι οι ελπίδες μου όλες
Withered also are all my hopes
Στης καρδιάς μου τη μαύρη ερημιά
In my heart’s black desolation
