1984

A Prison

A prison

--how did they reach us there? -- 

a prison

my life a prison.

 

Without a sentence

-how did they reach us there?-- 

or judge

my life a prison.

 

At Makriyannis

before you could even speak

a British volley brought you to your knees.

You looked at us sadly

I suppose you were thinking

how little the day lasted.

 

 

In the squares,

each one sitting by himself

you stamped our fateful loneliness

with your sad look

who will tell the secret

in our lost life?

 

1981

Acclamations

Acclamations  (1981)

 

 

The Acclamations were inspired by a lively conversation I had with the daughter of a customs official many years ago, during the German occupation.

 

Her name was Kallistheni. She had two brothers: Vlasis and Polydoros. They lived on the opposite block, facing Dyrrachos Street. We met in front of the Gestapo barbed wire, at the Nea Smyrni turn-off.

 

“Why don’t you speak?” I asked her

“What is there to say in all this absence?” she replied. “You’re busy now. You’re mixed up in all sorts of things. You have your regular trips from Athens to Patras.”

“And you are on the road to Calcutta. North-South-East-West,” I say, “have no meaning for us.”

“And music?”

“It was there before before you. It existed with you. And it exists without you. After you. But I am preparing the Acclamations  and what’s going to become of them?

In forty years when they are played I want them to be played for you.

 

But now:

 

I have nothing else to give you

not even to go to jail for you.

My mind is two black wings

to fall and to hover like a hawk

above the barren earth.

And you, I think, do not expect me to give you

anything else.

You took it all. And I think you buried

it deep.

Better that way. Not to see it

      and remember

the great pain I planted

once in those days gone by.

 

Kallistheni would recite a poem to me

and now I think:

 

We used to get drunk on tsipouro 

and rough red wine.

Now they douse us in all sorts of stimulants.

Polydoros died and Vlasis is a minister.

Truly, how could you see me behind

so many tall tales?

How could you hear me through all

the shouting?

 

Perhaps our meeting was an accident.

Just as, for example, two ships meet suddenly on the oceans

and as suddenly disappear again

into the night

of the deep horizon.

I don’t know..........

 

 

*   *   *

 

What’s more, I knew  I would never

be able to erase

the betrayals of others.

 

*    *    *

 

You have a cloud with holes in it

for an ally

a poor useless dry tree

rooted in yourself.

In your soil, without a name.

It cannot uproot itself

without being slaughtered

    by an axe.

 

*    *    *

 

 

Every second I will breathe fire.

If you don’t know how to cry

don’t look for your tears.

 

Sotiris

Somewhere in the blind alley a false door

will be painted.

A door that will open very slowly

after the walls have disappeared.

If they manage to disappear

before the complete asphyxiation.

 

 

*    *    *

 

There in the Circus in Syngrou Avenue

the clown called out:

“Superfluous hours -- superfluous time

paradisical hells

refreshing conflagrations

prudent miracles.” 

 

*    *    *

 

You passed by on the next street

and you knew it all.

The night made a mistake.

It forgot its formal black clothes.

It forgot its false mysteries

and choked on desire.

They found her at dawn

but didn’t recognize her.

Anyway it was all the same.

You were asleep.

 

*    *    *

 

Walking on the hill of Philopappou

Suddenly I think that:

 

When the paper was a tree

then it spoke correctly.

Athens is different.

It is not the Athens we know.

It is some other.

For example, in Athens there are no

cars, supermarkets

worthy fools.

 

There is, let us say, an uphill road

full of warm rain

that finally ends

in a river.

 

I saw you there in 1943, during the Occupation

with its wooden nights

and from then on I search for you in each note.

On Syngrou Street

the churches are hanging

from the peppers.

On the 26th of March the doors

open

for the ACCLAMATIONS to enter.

 

Each Acclamation another girl

each girl another dead boy.

 

What are the ACCLAMATIONS ?

A round disk

just as the nights are round

       on a round earth...

 

We were walking on Euripides Street

and the smell of sardines and kippers 

hit our noses.

 

The Security Police were following us.

You said

“The air is ashamed

The stifling is ashamed

The words are ashamed 

The silence is ashamed...”

 

What could I tell you when I knew that in

thirty-eight days they would execute you

on a chair

with your back to Mt. Hymettus. 

 

You see how much

the void coexists with the void

the hours with the minutes

outside place and time

on the dark ocean.

 

Message in a bottle.

Dishonest game!...

I put it there and I find it...

Only myself I can’t find.

Because its exists nowhere...

Only the Security police know it

and now they are following us.

 

At Patsias’s place, the cellar

in Harileos Trikoupis Street

together with Pavlos

came Petros

and my father

who bought us all cod in garlic sauce.

My mind

was fixed on the park

of Nea Smyrni...

 

And now your house

has become an apartment block

and from the one next door

a baby is crying.

But millions will take comfort

in dirty, guilty embraces.

Petros has been caught.

I’ve been caught too.

 

How can you hear the ACCLAMATIONS

in the prison....

They’ll be searching for me for a lifetime.

They’ll die in a car

accident

of cancer -- of influenza

of unfortunate cowardice

of cowardly misfortune.

They’ll sleep deceived each night.

And I who found you

will not sleep again

I’ll take root in song.

And where will I take all that

song?

If only my friends could hear it

at least, wherever they happen to be

after our snack

at the Patsias’ cellar in 1948.

 

If you wish to know

behind the music

under the music

silence can be heard.

 

And don’t let the fact escape you

that ghosts

make painful jokes

about themselves.

On the surface of the

explosive calm

there is a pin.

 

*    *    *

 

Now Athens is full

of luxurious

aristocratic

distant

pain.

 

With words sticking to the smog.

The streets are full

of superfluous hours

superfluous years

paradisical hells

refreshing conflagrations.

 

Our girls are filled

with fantastic novels

fantastic works of art

neighborhood cinemas

with perfumed loneliness.

 

Our boys play

with obedient miracles

with illegal ravings

at the root of their voices.

 

We don’t play.

They played us.

And from all the playing

we arrived at the zeibekika 

and now at the ballads

and now the symphonic pieces

and we keep on running

to make it on time, because it’s not only

all these who are chasing us:

gestapo -- Security Police - army thugs -

agents of the junta - messiahs - ghosts.

It is you

who laugh and have rotten teeth

but you also have a Saint for an uncle

with a certificate to prove it and his own parish.

 

And everyone reads you

and they all see you

and all speak with your mouth

and see with your eyes

even if you have trachoma.

 

So there are your zeibekika

and your ballads

and bouzoukis and guitars

and flutes

in case somewhere, someday, something happens.

Even though something

will not come out of nothing.

 

*    *    *

 

 

And so you can learn.

Or rather suddenly know.

Know everything.

Know every word.

THE word: unbearable.

THE word: sickness.

THE word: hell and all who still fear

the law of Silence.

THE word: torture

and THE word: sacrilege.

Satanic dance without an end.

Motionless circle.

The iron circle must break.

 

So that words will fly.

Swim. Drown.

So they’ll die.

Until they find you.

Become air.

Become a bubble

and without you being aware of it

they’ll sleep in the palm of your hand.

 

Dissolve and form

another word without any trap

without paper and pencil

without your all-powerful Absence

without the Night that cannot

end

and that will, nevertheless,  end,

overcoming any resistance

without the rivers of tears

without the sacrilegious guilt.

 

One word that will not contain

silence.

So as to learn.

To know it all! Now!

Now that somewhere you are writing

and the pencil gets drunk.

You read and the pages get drunk.

 

You stretch out your hand

and the furniture

secretly shakes.

Without your knowing

that everything is crazy.

You don’t know it.

 

And I am drowning

in all the rivers of the night

Goodnight.

 

1944

Anonymous Phrases

They embraced and danced a languid waltz.

 

Later they paused, squeezed each other tightly

and kissed for the last time.

Strange thoughts oppressed them.

They kissed again, mechanically, so as to extend

who knows what.

But their lips weren’t aware of flesh

and their arms twined in absent-minded embraces.

 

*        *       *

 

Now I take the form of a mouse

and appear before them. I dip my tail

in ink and write on the window pane:

“Destiny calls to life.”

It seems they became aware of me immediately. 

They soon recovered and became distracted again.

 

 

*     *     *

 

I open the door and see the mouse

lounging about. The revolver has been forgotten

on the desk. I look at him and say:

-Did you commit this rash act? 

He runs and puts his head

in the barrel so as to block the bullet.

But I waste no time and move away.

 

Very carefully I collect a little of the blood 

that was there and cover

the anonymous phrases with it.

 

 

Athens, 1944

 

1969

Battle-hymn

Magestic mountains embrace

the rocks, ravines, people, fir trees.

They have seen hordes of Turks and others, conquerors; 

they received the bodies of heroes

and the curses of the brave.

They are still here, the trees that shaded

the sleep of Perdikas 

and the cuckoo that Kolokotronis  never heard

has come to nest in Zatouna.

In vain the guards try to cage my song ;

the ravines carry it on their shoulders

and swiftly lead it to the olive groves.

 

The mountains of Arcadia are so tall

they dominate the sea

and Pan’s pipes drown out the snarls of the barracks.

Boa constrictors, orangutans, monkeys,

they wear togas, carry scepters

archbishops and commanders-in-chief  shout “Forward” 

and birds’ wings rise behind them.

Terrified heroes abandon the marbles

run away from the verses of poets

hide again on the banks of the Lousios,  in the springs of Mainalos

sharing the shadows with the larks.

Mountain guardians of your valor, my Homeland

the battle-song is your dream and the rifle, your song.

 

 

 

Arcadia VI

1970

Because I did not conform...

Beyond the blue sea

the blue sky

a mother is waiting

it’s years, now, since I saw her.

Because I did not conform to regulations.

 

Time comes, time goes

I walk behind the barbed wire.

Black days will pass

before I see you again.

Because I did not conform to regulations.

 

Halicarnassos, Partheni

Oropos, Korydallos 

the fearless young man waits

for the light of freedom,

Because I did not conform to regulations

 

1962

Betrayed Love

Midnights when the hours merge

my betrayed love

midnights when our hearts merge

my betrayed love.

 

Ding, dong, ding, dong, dong,

marks the end of our love.

Two birds, two doves

journey amid the stars.

 

Midnights when the sun is far away

my betrayed love

midnights when our lives are close

my betrayed love.

 

Ding, dong, ding, dong, dong

marks the end of love.

Two birds, two doves

journey amid the stars.

 

Midnights I’ll wait for you

my betrayed love

when the moon disappears in the darkness

my betrayed love.

 

Ding, dong, ding, dong, dong,

marks the end of our life.

Two birds, two doves

journey amid the stars.

 

1961

Brave Lad

The trees weep, 

the bells and your friends weep.

 

Manly at work

manly at home

you spoke and our neighborhood

was full of birds.

You stretched out your hand

and plucked the moon

just as Death plucked you

like a flower one night.

 

The fishing boats weep

the waves and your friends weep.

 

A stalwart at the oars

a fine fellow at a party.

Secretly the girls embroidered

dreams, the sun, the moon

for you, they embroidered their love

and set sails on it.

 

The sailors weep

the clouds and your friends weep

 

Brave lad, your mother wrapped herself in black,

storm and cloud wrapped your friends

the harbor was deserted, the sea abandoned

and the sun stood still and moves no more.

 

1973

Dead Season

i

The great avenue,  the great avenue

full of well-fed people was shining

on the right the buses, on the left, the pedestrians 

the gutters in their turn waiting for spit

and the pee of moribund dogs

the moribund pedestrians buying death

ice-creams pumpkin seeds condoms

right there under the sign

“Shoe Shop”

I stopped suddenly to look

or rather without looking at anything in particular

maybe looking inside myself

and not finding anything

nothing at all

not lights nor shop windows nor sales

not even gutters

I thought about the great mistake

the great mistake is that I thought

the great avenue the great avenue

the bus the dogs

and the moribund.

 

ii.

 

Our age is maimed * it began proud as a peacock

with flags and drums

it breathed to death * it scattered jasmine and honey

it caressed delighted intoxicated

crowds of former slaves * now prisoners

it deceived.

 

 

iii

 

The other person I was, I became again

the moment when I met you

when I believed that I met you

while in reality I was living the dream

of a Cyclops

in love.

 

 

iv

 

You didn’t believe me * and I find that quite natural

because I know that my voice * disappears

on large horizons

in dark rooms  *  and in mirrors

and that saxophone

you strangled

looking over my shoulder * my forgotten life

like some garment  * beside the red boat

of July.

 

 

v

 

The flags the flags who’s holding the flags

who’s holding the flags

the banners the cherubim

the many-colored placards

with the passwords and the keywords

the hot air words?

They move on deep into the crowds

into the crowds who are suffering too

they retreat rejoice shout

explode.

And from the thousands of conflagrations

conflagrations

nuclei

cloudbursts

history is remade

and out comes our familiar fellow

the familiar fellow

Mr Papadopoulos

the one we all know

and nobody expected.

 

So much wisdom so much wisdom we had

that we didn’t see

we didn’t see

--maybe we still don’t see--

our most precious creation

what cost us so dearly

it cost us so dearly

dearly and conclusively.

 

 

 

vi.

 

To learn to wait

and to wait

always learning

and always waiting

to hope

and always hoping

to wait

learning

bitterness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

vii

 

 

But when in the night the darkness recoils

wounded by the flash of distant lighting

in my lost life, lost in crowds and flashes

came a distant light with the power of the end

to signal the beginning of my life that died and lived again

always ready for the great deaths that lead us steadfastly

to the bed where all things end and all begin.

 

 

*    *    *

 

 

And so I suddenly the amazing vision again

the beautiful procession which was nothing other than tongues of fire

a fire that burned and was rekindled from itself

and went on,  proud and meaningful

always against the wind of the stars

that whirled in the primal chaos

and sank into the crucible of the great night

that was my own soul.

 

 

*       *     *

 

How could I remain indifferent to this flaming crash

made up of my elements, elements of dream and anticipation

I was the crucible and the astral wind

I was the crash a little before the crash

and the fire and the march and the absence and the void

so that in the end I was nothing

and yet a glorious nothing

a nothing much more glorious than a thousand deaths united

almighty and splendid

while they stamp with their bloody seals

the blue vulva of life ever ready

to accept the spear of the sun which is my other self.

 

 

*     *     *

 

I saw nothing, I learned nothing, I forgot nothing

from all the nothing I now make my new face

that, too, will be a new nothing but worthy

like the bread they throw to the dogs of the highways

a moment before they smash into the wheels

and they’ll stay on their backs, stretched flat 

after they writhe for a while but that is meaningless

since the bread became blood I became blood

and the wheels and the earth  dry me, and the wind

of the huge trucks that drive steadily on paying no attention

loaded with deception and bodies, the indifferent passers-by

of our dead age.

 

Finally I saw you

it was always you first and last.

You were death precisely in order to erase everything

and so the alpha and beta could be written again

but with a new meaning, unheard of, unknown and threatening

which will finally call into question all that we have seen and not seen

whatever we have learned and above all whatever we have forgotten forever

so much so deeply and so bitterly that our memory has become the only

the memory of our mountains covered in thyme and lentisk

nests of snakes with ashy spots on green scales

that look so much like unwritten words full of dark significance

ready to spell out the meaning of love yet incomprehensible

colorless scentless invisible and moving.

 

 

*    *    *

 

You came and yet you were the same

as you would be if you were not you

exactly as you were then when I met you

and when I didn’t meet you

and I will never meet you

because I know you because I knew you and forgot you forever

so you would stay in my memory forever

shining absence and pain.

And all that became a great wound

big as a red plain

with earth of hard blood-red clay

with scant vegetation tormented by the great west wind

because the wind of the great west

that steadily murders the suns and the innocents

those who, like me, remained with their eyes wide open

bewitched by the azure in the red and in the orange

waiting in vain for the colors to speak

or to sing and be silent forever

creating the Symphony of Silence

with melodies made of silence

rhythms and harmonies from silence and tearful five-stringed instruments.

 

 

*    *   *

 

And then on the plain of my bloody sound

scorched on a thousand bulls

came the plough which has the shape of your absence

and passes and re-passes,  tears me apart and casts me down

to the last extreme of feeling and not feeling

so that everything changes and the vegetation becomes one with the earth

so as to receive the seed of the first tree

the tree that will bear the first fruit

and nourish the first person

and the first knowledge.

They call you glory.

 

And perhaps you will never know what you  always knew

precisely because you knew it before its beginning

and you will know it after its end

and so on forever and forever.

 

 

Buenos Aires, 1973.

 

 

1984

Dionysos’ Defence

Greetings to you my pure white judges

I stand before you.

Out with your nails and fires!

the terrible punishment

must emerge from this assembly.

 

Burn the verses, every magical melody

that carries us to unknown, visionary places.

 

Greetings to the mighty of this world

I stand before you

Out with your nails and spleen!

like the mountains they hold hard metals

and they make holes in them

and wound their heart 

but the heart slips from their nails and sings.

 

antistrophe A'

 

Armies prowl

the summits of Dionysos

to set fires

 

They want to burn the god

with his brides at his side

and the boys at their dancing.

 

antistrophe B'

 

My Dionysos

with your gallant feathers, bold lad

you lead off the procession

my Dionysos, 

look who is following you

Greeks and foreigners.

 

1970

Don’t Forget Oropos

The father in exile, the house bereft,

we live in tyranny, in thick darkness.

And you, tortured people, don’t forget Oropos.

 

The mother cries alone, the trees and birds weep;

in our homeland night is falling, empty embrace.

And you, tortured people, don’t forget Oropos.

 

Penned behind barbed wire, but our hearts sound

Always the same vow, freedom and progress.

And you, tortured people, don’t forget Oropos.

 

 

Oropos, 1969-1970       

1984

Don’t Weep for the Greek Spirit

I’ll speak to you with a different tune

don’t make me too angry please

I’m trying to find the Greek spirit

and this obsession makes me mad.

 

“Weep for the Greek spirit now

so you’ll get used to saying it.”

 

In my uncertainty I look for an answer

they avoid me, take me for a fool

the Greek spirit is married

she’s happy and pregnant.

 

“Weep for the Greek spirit now

so you’ll get used to saying it.”

 

These words are paranoid;

since she’s pregnant she must be fine

with Karoudas for a best man 

“Out with the Suda bases!” 

 

“Weep for the Greek spirit now

so you’ll get used to saying it.”

 

1948

Elegy

For Agamemnon Danis

 

A hundred raised hands wave

and disappear in the dusk

and you, lost comrade,

greet and hearten them, as you sit

on the knee of the sun.

 

(Silence sinking with loosened hair --

above the deep sigh of the earth;

beneath the olives a cry

of lament that’s been forgotten).

 

From far-off Chios, in Petropoulis

and from Asia at Ay Ilia

we felt the sky bend

and kiss our wound

and you, lost comrade, 

were a thousand birds

flying South!

 

And girls came from Daphne

and from Steli, bitter mothers;

from Arethousa and Vrakades, folk in black,

and from Armenisti came old fishermen

with hearts salted by sea and tears

and they sat all round us

and a shrill lament began.

And you were the sigh of the people

the wing-beat of a vulture

that pounces!

 

1943

Everything Will End

1973

Fickle Bird

You came in my dream

fickle bird;

in the darkness,

East.

 

I held out my hand to you

I can’t you told me

I want to fly

to another sky.

 

The years passed

you left too

darkness all around me

and soft rain.

 

You don’t value

my love

eagerly you fly 

to the high balconies.

 

You thrust a knife

into my heart

but my love

always seeks you.

 

Look into my eyes

kiss me sweet

and let your heart

sing to me.

 

They called you East

and angels nurtured you.

 

1973

Fires, Fires

Fires fires deep in the heart

you suffer you suffer my darling son

Fires fires because you know how to speak

you suffer you suffer my brave boy.

 

They took you on a journey,

the boat sank;

they took you on the oceans

and the sea dried up.

 

You were sun, you were day

you were sweet dawn

now fear has shaded them

and white has turned black.

 

The birds ask me

what to see and what to say;

only you, my son, know

the pain of my heart.

 

1963

Five Soldiers

Five soldiers set out

to paint the mountain, they set out

to paint the mountain, they stopped

to paint the mountain, they slept.

 

Five soldiers slept,

the mountain eats them, they remembered

the mountain drinks them, they dreamed

the mountain spits on them, they were done for.

 

Five soldiers were done for,

the mountain blooms, they dreamed

the mountain snows, they slept

the mountain sighed, they loved one another

 

Mother…Mother…Mother…

Five mothers…Mothers…dear Mothers

 

1946

Five Soldiers

(War Diary  )

 

How did I find myself suddenly so distant?

(I could never understand

how much the moment when you sit

between two fires can be annihilated).

 

I had to defend myself so as to live.

It had slipped so mysteriously from my body

and scattered around me

so that I was inseparably tied

to reality and to my companions.

 

We went on together

bound tight by necessity

with hearts changed

from breast to breast.

 

We weren’t permitted to speak

to ourselves.

We turned our eyes almost as one:

on the far horizon

a thousand birds were lost in disarray.

 

We had already covered

 a great distance on foot.

At that point where we found ourselves

we could make out

a red signpost.

We wondered if it could mark

the border that separates

the past from the future.

At that point we tightened the straps of our helmets

at the cheek, trying to breathe 

with the frigid air

some thought that might hold up

in this sad landscape.

 

The roofs of the houses

echo the sounds

of our footsteps in fear.

We see our tired shadows

mirrored in the cloudy eyes of the sky

as we move carefully ahead

holding each other by the hand

across the line that etches

the brow of war.

Behind the dark apartment building

waits the hairy hand

of Polyphemus.

We are five companions

holding each other by the hand,

our hearts leached

in the snow of night

and the painted fields

of spring.

 

Soon it began to grow light.

At first my eyes watered

then I got used to it and I could make out

my mother’s hand

as it came to moisten my eyelashes.

 

Sunk in the mud

I hold my rifle tight in my hand.

For a moment I felt my head 

detach itself from my body

and go to another body

and then to another and another.

The landscape was full of headless bodies

and only my head moved around

from body to body.

What had happened, then,

to the heads of my companions?

 

 

Someone pulled the screen of rain across

and I felt as if I were alone

so I tried to take advantage

of this moment to look at myself.

 

(The clouds are not far above the earth.

They have moved down.

I believe that by morning

there won’t be anything left.

They’ll begin with the tall apartment buildings

and the smokestacks of Piraeus.

The walls will buckle and break bit by bit.

Then it will be the turn of the houses.

Finally they’ll demolish the slums

and the wooden hovels at Dourgouti).

 

Then, on the opposite corner

five men appeared.

They were five men of ancient Athens

in heavy winter tunics.

 

It was high time because the earth

had become liquid and stormy.

We crawled towards them

and we all saw

our City

tossing about,

rudderless and drunken.

 

Slowly, completely unexpectedly

beside these men

we discovered we were human

and we had a heart in our breast.

The German helmets

pulled low on the forehead

no longer prevented us from seeing our eyes.

My Beloved

greeted me at the entrance to the park

with her blue scarf.

 

 

But it was futile.

A noise began to rise

from one side of the city to the other.

All five of us immediately dived

into the stormy sea.

As we swam

we felt our hearts bending

for the first time like a cypress.

We reached the avenue and could see

the endless row of those who’d been hanged

 

 

My Mother and my Beloved

My Mother and my Beloved

My Mother and my Beloved

A thousand times.

My Mother and my Beloved.

And the shells passing overhead 

from the boats at Phaleron

formed a multicolored

festive arbor. 

 

The five companions were anxious when we were late

but they held on strongly to our position.

In the momentary flashes of the rifles

one could make out

the thin red thread that linked our hearts.

The sky and the clouds

descended towards the city.

Around us the sea swelled

and the waves

burned the eyes in our faces.

From the hill of Ardittos

a loudspeaker could be heard cutting out:

“Athens never dies. It is victorious.”

But the dawn seemed as if it would never come.

As they descended, the sky

and the clouds rested on some high buildings

and the smokestacks of Piraeus.

And the sea rose up from below and caught us.

 

Suddenly in the storm a light appeared

and your voice echoed loudly

before the wave could snatch it.

It was strong enough to bear us up

for quite some time on the surface.

 

But it was already too late.

Now, just as our hearts

opened their doors wide

to the love of the earth

the vast sea suddenly dried up

and the waves became black birds.

Your voice was useless now

that we found ourselves lying stretched out

among the ruins

with the others passing by and trampling on us.

 

We struggled with the waves and on the sea

day and night

but we didn’t learn any more

than what a crumb of earth knows.

Ask the smallest leaf on the tree in our courtyard

that plays lightly in the wind

and it will tell you why

we five beardless soldiers of December

straddled the border of death

with so much love.

 

1982

Gloria

Link arms

join hands

mountains and valleys, take up the song,

cities and harbors, enter the dance.

 

Today we’ll wed the Sun,

to his one-and-only bride, the lilac.

 

Our Easter lilac, our girl,

our fields, seas, mountains,

mothers, daughters, slain brothers, fathers,

a tree with one root, one source, one spring.

 

Today we’ll wed  the Sun,

to his one-and-only bride, the lilac.

 

Longest  day – Defender – Defender! 

 

1984

Good Mountains

My good purple mountains, cloud-dressed 

Why do you look at me solemnly, heavy and depressed?

 

Now I take the path of life alone

However you search you’ll never find how pain hurts.

 

And you, solitary children, don’t look at the world,

just walk alone in your hidden arcade. 

 

1976

He Was Alone

He was alone in the crowd

he was alone in the cell;

Late, you sang for him, too late

too late, too late.

 

He doesn’t hear your voice

your love is dead to him

your words are dead, your sobs;

late the memory, late your kiss

too late, too late.

 

He was calm and handsome

he was alone, an orphan,

he was righteous and boundless

like the sky.

 

Now you call his name,

you swear a fierce oath on his blood

and wait for the hour of death;

he is leaving us now like the rain

like the rain, like the rain.

 

1968

High in the Snows of Russia

1969

I Had Three Lives

I had three lives;

the wind took one

the rain the other

and my third life

shut in behind two eyelids

was drowned in tears.

 

I was left alone

without a life, without lives

the wind took one

the rain the other

 

I was left alone

I and the Dragon

in the great cave.

 

I hold a scimitar

I hold a sword

I’ll drown you

I’ll kill you

I’ll wipe you out

I’ll toss you

over my life.

 

Because I have three lives

one to suffer with, one to wish with

and the third to win with.

 

1946

I Love You, There’s No Way Around It

A

 

I have black soil, pale soil

blood-red suns,  white suns

hearts with roots,  roots with wings

cities with tombs, tombs with life.

I hold hate in one hand

love in the other.

 

I am not some mythical creature.

I live in pale blue islands

and scarlet passions.

You know me... You sense me

more than you know me.

  

 

B

 

You know me.

You sense me more than you know me.

Oh, you will tell me

it’s been a long time since we buried Bethlehem

and the anemones on their tombs chatted

to the pale girls of Sion.

I have no demands. I have no demands at all.

Only that you let me see

the sunset in your eyes.

 

 

Athens, 1946

 

1973

In the East

In the East, in the East

in the East, it sings so sweetly

Ah! The little nightingale

sings so sweetly.

 

And it tells me, it tells me

with bitter sorrow

it tells me, it tells me

a secret.

 

In the East, in the East

a dark boy

cannot cry

he just keeps singing.

 

In the East, in the East

in the East, the son of Theodoris

opens my door

and it is Sunday.

 

In the East, in the East

in the East say a prayer,

the swallow has come to the courtyard.

 

1962

In the Orchards

In the orchards with their flowering gardens

like the old times, we’ll raise the dance

and invite Death 

to drink and sing with us.

 

Take the clarinet and oboe

and I’ll come with my little baglama ..

Ah, and I’ll come too...

You took me in the fire of battle, Death,

let’s go to the orchards and dance.

 

In the orchards, with their flowering gardens

if I beat you, Death,  at the wine drinking

if I beat you at the dancing and singing

then grant me a night of life.

 

Take heart, sweet mother

I am the lad who returned for one glance from you.

Ah, for one glance...!

When I left for the Front, mother

you didn’t come to see me.

You were working for strangers and I took the train alone

the one that carried me out of life....

 

1973

In the Tavern

In the tavern you sit now without speaking

the longing falls drop by drop in your heart

you remember when you flew on broad wings

now everyone kicks your heart about.

 

Take your soul out again to stroll through the neighborhoods

let your life be filled with sweet voices and lilacs.

 

You were handsome as you passed through the neighborhoods

at the windows a thousand hearts quietly melted

in your heart you carried all hearts

in your dreams the nightingales built their nests.

 

1968

I’m European

I’m European, I have two ears,

one to hear with, the other to listen.

 

 

If a Czech, a Russian, or a Pole sighs

mankind suffers, the sky falls.

 

If a Black,  a Greek, an Indian suffers

it doesn’t bother me! Let God worry about it.

 

 

(High up there on Hymettos, there’s a secret).

 

 

I’m European, I have two ears

one only hears, from the East.

 

Fascism knocks again on my door

but I’m completely deaf to such sounds

 

 

I have one big ear, the other’s very small

and so I calmly reap joy, civilization.

 

1962

Lament

1946

Little Narcissi

My chest expanded

to hold the small jasmine 

you sowed tonight with your thin fingers

on my heart.

I didn’t see you at all --

I couldn’t make you out

in such darkness.

But I felt your eyes

running over my entire skin

and I could even sense

the little narcissi fallen over

on their blue-green water.

 

 

Athens, 1946.

 

1946

Love Song

All my thoughts are a flowering almond branch

  hanging at your window.

My voice speaks to you with a thousand colors and a thousand

secret shades, but you remain deep

in the dream of your life, brightened

by a blissful flame.

(See the moons that melt in tears

see the tears that flame like stars

see the stars that resemble the countless hopes

of those hearts whose denial of life

has revealed their destiny!)

And don’t wake up! You’d find nothing more here

than you already know

since even pain that marks the thoughtful brow

of life with a star has denied himself

and even he, tonight, has turned 

to joy!

 

 

Athens, 1946

 

1973

Mountains, I Bid You Farewell

Mountains, mountains, I bid you farewell

I’m going far away

on a great journey

without departure, without return.

Mountains, mountains, I bid you farewell

I’m going far away.

 

I didn’t balk, I didn’t bend

and I disdained life.

 

Only one heart I hurt

only one heart

just one will feel

the hard pain of parting

only one heart I hurt

only one heart.

 

I didn’t balk, I didn’t bend

and I disdained life.

 

1962

My April

My fair April

and perfumed May

heart, how can you bear up

amidst so much love

and so much beauty.

 

The neighborhood is full

of songs and kisses

my girl is called Lenio

but I keep it a secret.

 

My pale star

my moonbeam

my heart hangs

from your delicate brow

like a bird from

a limed twig.

 

My flower, my sweet flower

and perfumed rose

I’ll come to your mother

to ask for her blessing

and for the mate I love.

 

1969

My Name is Kostas Stergiou

My name is Kostas Stergiou

descendant of the Vizigoths

the Ostragoths, the Mavrogoths.

I live in caves,

I trim clubs,

I drink water out of skulls.

My profession is death

but for the time being I’m serving

the big dragon who has sent me

to Arcadia.

Over my skin

I wear a uniform,

I have two gold stars on my shoulders,

I hide my club carefully

under my cloak.

 

My name is Kostas Stergiou,

descendant of the Marmelukes,

Mavrolukes and Sosolukes;

I’m a cross between

Neanderthal and wolf

but for the time being I ride in a jeep

terrorizing women and children.

I’m a specialist in searching --

I search for children’s souls

and distill fear.

I impose the law

the law of the big Dragon

who has sent me, for the time being, 

to Arcadia.

 

 

Arcadia X   

1968

My Son is Nine Years Old

My son is nine years old,

nine winters nine summers

we put thunder in his gaze

he holds the seas in his two hands.

 

He raises his hands high

his back pressed to the wall

they measure the sound of his breath

and poke about in his small heart.

 

As if we were living in a Jewish ghetto

with monstrous German guards all around.

Zatouna1968: we are living my third exile.  

  

 

Arcadia I

1947

Night Song

And while you were still in the Light,

Night stayed awake beside you...

And the wild winds raged above you

when the still torn melody of Calm

lulled you to sleep, ever so sweetly...

 

1978

Now that the Flowers are Dying

Now that the flowers are dying

now that the birds are quiet,

the songs stay on my lips,

forgotten love of my heart.

 

Our ways parted one day 

burdened with heavy clouds

our life anguish and blight

now in the frozen roads.

 

We wait for the miracle now

behind the dim window-pane;

our pride has become a lament 

a stifled cry of pain.

 

Our ways parted forever

don’t wait on the corner tonight

spring is only for others

our life is anguish and blight.

 

 

 

Included in Journey in the Night, 1978

 

1943

Odysseus

I return! I return! I return!

My pores opened on my voyage through the sea

that came and took root in my heart.

And my heart passed through my body

and spread wide, sowing in the ocean’s heart

the sweet melody of return.

 

I return! I return! I return!

Behind every flower, every island

and every lovely thing

the divine vision extends towards me

the one, inimitable, unchanging Ithaca.

You could say that all nature was made only to hide

its beauty like the thin clouds

that cover the sun at sunset

making its beauty more intense.

 

Around me, in me, everywhere, the sea,

laughing and beloved,

mirrors the sun, the stars and the passing gulls.

Every wave that passes

brings me closer to you.

Every single thing is sweet, so sweet,

even the most unbearable pain

when it brings me closer to you, oh my country.

 

 

Athens, 1943.

 

1968

Oh Ancient Mountains

Oh ancient mountains,

mountains of Arcadia,

proud mountains,

intractable mountains,

honorable mountains.

 

Honor became dear,

honor became scarce,

honor is dead.

 

A child suffers, my child

and fettered, I look at the fir trees;

 

I have no other hope except the trees.

 

 

Arcadia I

1984

On the Tenth of December

They’re sending the boy off in the bitter cold

his hands are crossed on his chest

he has no name, no family

he’d offered his youth to the spring.

 

On the tenth of December, a fantastic procession

of dead boys and girls

pass happily by in spring

and spring covers their hopeful bodies

joined in brotherhood with flowers

 

As I look at the pale boy

he begins, in my mind, a different journey

for all of us who lived through those days

and whose beliefs have remained buried.

 

1962

One Evening

One evening

they bound you to the cross.

They drove nails into you,

they drove nails into my entrails;

they bound your eyes,

they bound my soul.

 

One evening

they tore me in two.

They robbed me of my sight

they took my touch away

they left me only my hearing

so I could hear you, my son.

 

One evening

like the golden eagle

he soared over the seas

he soared over the fields

he made the mountains bloom 

and all people rejoice.

 

1962

Pavlos and Nikolio

They’re taking Pavlos and Nikolio

on a voyage

in a boat without rigging,

on a ship without shrouds.

Fire burned the rigging

a storm took the shrouds

and the journey of death

has no return.

 

Together the mothers

of Pavlos and Nikolio go out;

they ask the earth to tell them

and it drips blood.

 

Those are not groans

that come out of the earth,

only a spring that invites you

to drink and quench your thirst. 

 

1976

Red Rose

Each morning we’d set out

for work

we’d laugh on the bus

we were two young men.

Red rose

red evening.

 

We set off one morning

together for the war

all of us sang together

we all fought together.

You were killed in May

your blood was mauve

it painted the sky black

the season red.

 

Everything was killed with you:

dreams, ideals -

we all became ghosts

we live conventional lives.

Our flags have become

goods for sale

our dreams commodities

of consumption.

 

1946

Schubert’s “Unfinished”

Three capsized moons

in a handful of water.

A broken boat  full

of larks and violets

I passed you and you were

yesterday’s rain.

I’ll come and find you holding

a taut string in your hand.

My name is Phaidon.

I have nothing more

beyond my raveled sleeve.

 

I no longer suffer the voice of the birds.

 

 

Athens, 1946.

 

1947

Seas Surround Us.

Seas surround us

waves close us in

on the wild rocks

they guard our youth.

 

They sent our people

the best young men

to weigh them down

with heavy bonds.

 

We’ll stand up

to the  guards’ spite

steel in our hearts

fire in our soul.

 

Mother, don’t sigh,

mother, don’t lament,

the thrones are falling

and the earth trembles.

 

Dawn is breaking

on the mountain,

the enemy cowers

freedom has come.

 

Strike them brothers

strike hard.

When Markos  strikes

the earth shakes, the dry land.     

 

1943

Small Fantasy

1949

South Wind

1987

Stop Laughing, Beatrice

You forget me, your eyes closed

lips sealed

and I lose my way in the streets

stop laughing, Beatrice.

 

You laugh at me, your tears, water

your laugh empty

as the air.

stop laughing, Beatrice.

 

You hurt me, shadow in shadow

you scatter like smoke

and disappear in the streets.

 

Rain, one Sunday

when you bound me forever

in your golden hair.

stop laughing, Beatrice.

 

1945

Tell Me, Branches

Tell me, branches,

speak trees

and clear streams, 

tell me, before he died 

did the partisan who fell

wounded in the battle

speak his mother’s name

a mother who waits, wasting away

who endures, suffering?

 

 

Five Sailors, 1945

 

1973

Ten Brave Lads

Ten brave lads from Athens took a boat to sea

they headed for sunny parts, boat at sea.

 

They set out at dawn, boat at sea

they sailed the calm waters.

 

Black eyes, black brows, and on their lips, boat at sea

and on the lips, flowers, boat at sea.

 

Thunder surrounds them now and a sword, boat at sea

and a sword mows them down, boat at sea.

 

All ten used to sing and laugh, boat at sea

they were ten fine lads, boat at sea.

 

But now the tanks surround them and a cannon, boat at sea

and a cannon mows them down, boat at sea.

 

1984

The Bear

A chain tied around my neck

I’m a bear; I dance a gypsy dance.

 

In the stadiums they train me

to greet the angry crowds.

Together with monkeys

they make me bow to the fierce crowds.

 

Silent angels enter my cell

the end has come, the beginning is still to come.