A Saffron Gatherer’s Musings

Original Greek Version:

Η χέρα μου βαμμένη βαθυκίτρινη σαν ήλιο.
Χρυσοχέρα με φωνάζουν στην Θήρα και στην Κνωσό.

Τα μαλλιά μου πάντα θα μοσχοβολάνε σαν τη γη.
Θα μαζεύω σαφράν μέχρι την τελική μου πνοή.

Transliteration:

I héra mou vamméni vathykítrini san ílio.
Hrysohéra me fonázoun stin Thíra kai stin Knosó.

Ta malliá mou pánta tha moschovoláne san ti gi.
Tha mazévo safrán méhri tin telikí mou pnoí.

English Translation:

Μy hand, like the sun, is tinted yellow.
Golden-handed they call me in Knosso.

My tresses will always smell like the earth.
I’ll gather saffron ’til, with it, I merge.

Note: This Cretan folk poem is inspired by Minoan saffron gatherer frescoes. I’d imagine something as time-consuming as saffron gathering would make it so a saffron gatherer’s fingers were continually tinted deep yellow. There is a level of precision and dexterity that is necessary due to the dainty and valuable nature of crocus stigmas, so I’d also like to think these gatherers were determined and patient people. Also, “χρυσοχέρα: hrysohéra” (golden-handed) is a common descriptor used amongst Greeks for someone who is good with their hands.