Compus de Mihail Psellos (sec. XI).
[Traducere de Andrew White & Przemyslaw Marciniak.]
Drunkenness, Drink and Dance, Jacob, it‘s your festival!
Clapping with your buddies, pleasures, delights,
Boogieing with cymbals, squeezing out those bunches,
Wine-trodden grapes, bellies filled with jugs‘ worth!
Longing for luxuries, Jacob, you spurned
Every single ascetic practice, moderation for starters,
Then sleeping on the ground, heavy training,
Prayer and tears and, father, raising yourself up to God!
He’s beyond miracles, good Jacob of Synkellos monastery;
Like a vat he takes in the grapes and,
His throat like a press, he squeezes out the wine
Like his stomach was the jug, no need for decanting!
Pissing it out you’re thirsty again, Jacob, you insatiable beast,
The flaming fever for drink unquenched,
The unbearable scorching and parched earth,
Drinking like an inferno or a sea, never filling your stomach.