POEMS

Μόλις εγγραφείτε στο Neon54, το καζίνο κάνει τα πάντα για να σας κάνει ευτυχισμένους. Neon54 Casino κριτικές: Διαβάστε την αξιολόγηση μας! - Greek Online Casinos. Online φαρμακείο Farmakeio Trikala με τις καλύτερες τιμές στην Ελλάδα. cialis viagra Ο προστάτης και χορηγός μας Casinoin είναι το καλύτερο online καζίνο στην Ελλάδα που υποστηρίζει τον πολιτισμό. https://therapy-in-greece.com/ Betshop

POEMS

POEMS

  • 1962

    The Chain

    I turn the heavy chain

    into a swallow

    I turn the dark prison

    into open sky.

    Together we cut

    the heavy chain

    I and you and you and you.

    We cut it together

     

    Break the chain with bars!

    Make the chain again with waves!

    Break the chain with bars!

    Make the chain with clouds!

    Break the chain with shame!

    Make the chain with lilacs!

    Break the chain with the hook!

    Make the chain with the Reveille!

    Break the chain and the prison!

    Make the chain body by body!

     

    I turn the chain that speaks

    into a thunderbolt!

    I turn your luxurious palace

    into a prison!

    I and you and you and you

    make the speaking chain together!

    Freedom is won!

    Freedom is won!

    Kitsos  shouted

    Slaves, rise up!

     

  • 1968

    The Consumer Society

    West, your hearing is blocked,

    West, your vision is obscured.

    The consumer society’s heavy veil

    has covered your hearing, 

    covered your sight, your soul.

     

    Your civilization is smoking ruins,

    your words, mosquitoes that fly

    over the swamps of your industrial production

    carrying fever, lies, hypocrisy.

     

    Five hundred thousand dead Indonesians

    concentration camps in Europe,

    exiles beside the Acropolis.

     

    But you don’t hear,

    you don’t see.

    On a 1969 model, 

    you ride at 200 kilometers per hour

    towards your death.

     

  • 1962

    The Dream

    Mother, you had two sons,

    two trees, two rivers,

    two Venetian castles,

    two mint bushes, two joys.

     

    One went to the East

    the other to the West

    and you alone between them

    speak, you ask the sun:

     

    Sun, who sees the mountains

    who sees the rivers too,

    wherever you see our troubles

    and mothers who are poor,

     

    If you see Pavlos call me,

    if you see Andreas, tell me.

    I raised them with a sadness

    I bore them with a sob.

     

    But they leave mountains behind 

    and cross the deep rivers.

    Each one seeks the other

    to fight him to the death.

     

    And there on the highest peak

    up on the highest ridge,

    they lie beside each other

    dreaming the same dream.

     

    Both run to their mother

    lying on her deathbed;

    together they reach out

    their hands to close her eyes

     

    and they plunge their knives deep

    down into the earth

    and water gushes out

    to drink, to quench one’s thirst.

     

  • 1947

    The House with the Scorpions


    (Diary of Exile)

    A

    Everyone must have found themselves at similar moments. There are reams of warm appeals. Green, yellow, mauve they rise from every plant. The sea blows angry or calm, wraps them and sends them high up to our patient house. I must speak to you about this house. Its expression reflects the wrinkles of the tortured mountains. It has something of the long-drawn-out lament about it.

    B

    One could immediately make out the wall of trees that wrap it around with care and affection. Between them is the distance of people of equal strength, the distance between two similar rays that are directed from the depths of the ocean towards two isolated gulls.

    C

    Five steps from the roots of the trees you touch the whitewashed stones that support the patience and dreams of our house. Its smile is always assured. Its knowledge is sharpened by the scorpions and by the north wind that often skirts it in fear on December nights when it squints at the boundless sea, its eyes fiery and provocative.

    D

    After a restrained, calm dream, he woke, confronting the sea, bloodied to the roots of the earth. He was disturbed by the thousands of delicate and fleeting smells chasing each other together with the butterflies and bees over the Sun’s pure white sheet. It was time to hurl his first thought towards the firmament which pinned it to the earth with condescension and irony.  Maybe he didn’t know that our boat was already crossing the Aegean and that even before our mothers were born, our coming up here had been decided on.


    E

    We had trouble understanding its assured smile as well as its strange habit of summoning the stray clouds that move about, groping in the thickets and on the slopes of the mountain. And so we had trouble discerning our own eyes, we had trouble getting used to this sudden and violent transformation between the light and the hoarfrost, to the waves and the drawn-out voice that launched itself every so often in the direction of the western Aegean. This is how we lose our personality as we become one with the strange dreams which, although they have anchored themselves in sealed centuries, reach out towards the distant points that mock the circles and the returns.






    F

    In any case there is something which, although it doesn’t attract you, binds you tightly. You think you are continuously extending forwards while your footprints become tangled in the roots of the bushes that surround you with deathly joy. 
    The beautiful season will come for you too!

    G

    Now I must speak to you about its joys and its anger. The calm story-telling in the shade of the arbutus trees. Its completely mysterious love for the south-eastern spring. The nostalgia of its whitewashed walls that were once used for looking out across the Aegean at the pirates, as they would turn their heads uneasily to greet it with respect and fear. Above all, though, its main concern over the ages was that endless and pointless struggle going on inside it between what existed and what came.

    H

    At this hour, the horizon disappears under the pressure of the sky and the rising of the sea. There is a feeling of understanding that spreads through the air. Love and hate combat one another in the little clouds that travel towards the sun. In a little while the light will be shared equally, as the sun obliterates the shadows and the scruples that led it towards its painful and famous fall. Its last ray is directed towards the familiar road to our house. We accept it calmly, without shouting. We’ll speak to it all night. We’ll dream together.

    I

    There is a necessity that opens up a long, uneasy path between the clouds.  Along this path the thoughts of our house will pass, its silent concerns about every thing that believes in life. Everyone is surprised by the depth of its gaze. It tears deep into the slaves of South Africa, as it does into the imprisoned animals of the zoological gardens of Europe. From there, arm in arm, the wounded dreams of the world are returning with their dirty, open sores. At any moment you can see the endless convoy that makes the scorpions curl up in terror.

    J 

    You see how I keep being drawn away from this silver reflection that gives me the illusion I am the brother of the scorpions, child of the walls and intentions of our house. I promised to tell you about its joys and rages.

    K

    Today the morning came silently. The light escalates on the calm sea forming a bright staircase that extends from the lines of the horizon. Perhaps I could place beside it two thoughts that have the courage to look each other momentarily in the eye? But this calm permits me to hear the strange tumult going on inside me...However much I want to escape, I am a child of its purpose, the brother of its scorpions. What exists and what is coming cannot abide within me. So how do you want me to deny my generation, to permit the hands that tremble with hatred to shake one another, eyes that are lost in insatiable passion to look at each other, cries that are mangled by terror to embrace one another? ENEMIES WITH ENEMIES?

    L

    In the evening we sit and watch the sea. We sing softly...Often we fall silent, looking down. It saddens us, this continuous observation. We want very much to stay for a moment alone with the scorpions and the walls our only company.



    Vrakades, Ikaria, 1947.

  • 1984

    The Journey

    A single stride Petralona - Thission,

    two strides Syngrou - Kaisariani

    deep in my mind the archive

    Sunday is always cloudy.

     

    Don’t  look at me with brimming eyes

    I have them stamped on my heart, 

    our lost dreams.

     

    Early in the morning I’ll go for a walk

    I’ll take a distant road

    I’ll say goodbye to my friends

    I’ll stop to rest before dusk falls.

     

    On my long journey

    when I am alone with Death

    I’ll smoke my last cigarette.....

     

  • 1984

    The Refrigerator

    Don’t ask, my heart

    don’t beat

    bitterness, fairytales

    are all over for us

     

    On your telephone

    all the numbers

    have been omitted

    a dead life.

     

    If you have eyes that see

    and if you have breasts that suffer

    how can you bear it, won’t you tell me,

    such a life without weeping?

     

    Those who loved

    lie dead,

    those who knelt down

    are leaders.

     

    Open the refrigerator

    and go inside

    so you’ll stay fresh

    so you’ll be preserved.

     

  • 1963

    The Rider in the Sky

    The rider in the sky

    appeared on the crest

    holding the dawn in one hand

    and in the other, my life.

     

    The brave man, the brave man

    he’ll come this evening at nine

    help him, Christ and the Virgin!

     

    The rider on the mountain

    appeared in the narrow streets

    holding thunderbolts in one hand

    and in the other, sighs.

     

    The rider of the sky

    brings the dawn with him,

    he brings the hand that scatters

    and the other hand that reaps.

     

  • 1968

    The Slaughterhouse

    At noon they beat someone in the office
    I count the blows, I measure the blood

    I am the fattened beast, they’ve shut me in the slaughterhouse
    today you, tomorrow, me.

    They beat Andreas on the terrace
    I count the blows, I measure the pain.
    We’ll meet again behind the wall;
    tap-tap, you, tap-tap, me

    which means, in this dumb language,
    I’m holding on, I’m holding on well.

    In our hearts the feast begins:
    tap-tap you, tap-tap, me.

    Our slaughterhouse smelled of thyme
    and our cell, red sky.

  • 1980

    The Song of the Earth

    You never heard

    the song of the earth

    nor will you hear it again.

    You killed all the birds

    the forests

    the water

    the shining water

    the river.

    Gone...

    You killed the earth

    the sun

    your heart.

    Never again will you see

    the color of the sky

    never again will you hear

    the sound of the colors.

    Like a gunshot you are heading for chaos.

    For the last time let the song

    of the Earth be heard in the silence.

    Before I am finally wrapped in chaos

    I’ll say “Good-bye!” to life.

     

    Second Symphony, 1980

     

  • 1967

    The Sun and Time

    On the 21st of August I was captured at Haidari. On the fourth floor at Bouboulinas Street prison, cell number 4, I waited for torture and death. On the fourth of September they brought me paper and pencil. Then I wrote 32 poems. I had spent the previous nights sleepless with my back pressed to the wall waiting from moment to moment for them to take me for torture or execution. My whole existence was marked by the expectation of certain death. As time flowed patiently by and I suffered, I saw clearly in my head the image of the final moment. The morning sky was a deep blue. The air was transparent, crystal clear. What would I call out at this final moment? This thought tormented me…

    This torment was followed by an inexplicable euphoria. I was happy! In the end death isn’t so terrible. Perhaps it’s beautiful, I say to the guard…

    I’m not a poet, but when the verses began to hammer at my brain I felt how words could be dressed in blood. How they could liberate me. I am an artist. I defeat time and death…

    I am Time.

    This is why ‘The Sun and Time’ became the cycle of Life and Death. In the end they became a victorious cycle. A bitter victory, because the spirit of the poet suffers for all people. Even those who hate him and torture him,
    Xreow, B 



    i

    Greetings Acropolis
    Tourkolimano, Voukourestiou Street!
    The polestar aims its light 
    at the still point of the world.

    Athens the First
    buried deep in the ages
    the spear-fishers see you
    from behind their masks.
    Galleys, private cars, secret brothels
    the “Security” center of the world.
    The polestar revolves steadily,
    the cookhouse chimney
    aims its smoke
    at the still point of the firmament.
    The Pleiades, Aphrodite, 
    Dina, Soula, Evi, Irine. 
    Five million years of light.
    A constant line traverses
    five billion galaxies
    five meters
    only five meters
    from my cell.


    ii

    Time dissolves
    in the moment.
    The merest trifle becomes
    the greatest of tyrants;
    it torments flowering wounds
    full of smiles and promises
    and something else; it’s that other
    we live each moment
    thinking that we live another.
    But the other doesn’t exist.
    We are ourselves, our Fate
    who looks sidelong at us,
    the Sphinx who forgot the riddle.
    We have nothing more to solve:
    there’s no riddle,
    no escape from the circle,
    the fiery circle
    of Sun and Death.
     
    iii

    Sun, I will look you in the eye
    till my vision dries up
    fills with craters of dust
    and becomes a moon without space
    without motion, rhythm
    a falling star extinguished eons ago
    condemned to listen to the cries of men
    to breathe the stench of dead flowers,
    Man is dead! Long live Man!


    iv 

    In the dry soil of my heart
    a cactus has grown.
    It’s been more than twenty centuries
    since I dreamed of jasmine
    my hair smelled of jasmine
    my voice had taken something
    of its delicate perfume
    my clothes smelled of jasmine
    my life had taken something
    of its delicate perfume.
    But the cactus is not bad;
    it simply doesn’t know it and is afraid.
    Sadly I look at the cactus;
    where did all those centuries go?
    I will live as many again
    listening to the roots
    as they grow steadily
    in the dry soil of my heart.

    v
                                                                
    Between the sun and me
    there is nothing
    but the difference of time.
    I rise and set
    I exist and cease to be
    they see me
    though I cannot see myself.

     
    vi

    When time stands still
    my cell fills with months
    months, days, hours, moments
    tenths of a second
    tenths of a second
    tenths of a second
    a step before chaos
    there is chaos
    a step before chaos
    I exist a little before, a little after
    I exist in chaos
    I don’t exist.


     
    vii

    The cells breathe
    the cells that are high up
    the cells that are down low
    the rain unites us
    the sun was ashamed to appear, Nikos.
    Yorgos, we’re holding on by a flower



    viii

    The Sun bites me
    it has no teeth
    false
    false promises on the wall
    white color on white
    with shadows
    without shadows
    only I remain motionless
    immovable in the light and white
    untransferable I remain high
    above the mosaic that is suspended
    my thought spins towards the Earth
    the parachute didn’t open
    the Earth goes on,  galloping towards my thought
    the Sun is constricted
    it reveals the void
    three voids collide
    my Thought, the Earth and the Sun.


    ix

    Under the earth it propagates 
    the Law,  of the Law,  oh Law!
    when it wears a helmet it smokes
    filtered cigarettes
    when it wears pajamas
    when it wears silk pajamas
    it doesn’t smoke, it doesn’t smoke
    the villages, the forests, the paddyfields burn 
    the mothers don’t smoke
    the soldiers smoke before they go to sleep
    they sleep heavily, for two centuries
    I smoke before I die
    I always smoke before I die
    strong Lamia tobacco,  fragrant Xanthi
    a sweet smell just before the end
    the end has a sweet smell
    fragrant Xanthi, strong Lamia. 


    x

    I am the teeth of the sun
    I am what bites me
    I am what wants
    what doesn’t want  is me
    when you remember me I am
    when you forget me I am
    when I exist I am myself
    when I don’t exist I am you
    but you are me.


    xi

    The Aegean has risen and is looking at me
    “Is that you?” it asks me.
    “Yes,” I answer, “It is me and someone else too.
    Don’t you recognize him?”
    “No,” he says.
    “You don’t recognize him but this someone is you.”

    The Aegean lay down,
    the sun coughed.
    I remained alone
    completely alone.



    xii

    Not completely alone
    I don’t want you
    I want you so much
    that’s why I don’t want  you
    the plane trees, the cold streams
    myrtle, myrtle, myrtle
    a symbol, an idea, a faith
    I want you so much
    dandelion covered in earth
    myrtle myrtle myrtle
    that’s why I want you
    because without you
    I cannot be alone
    cannot be
    completely alone.


     
    xiii

    Shoot time
    kill time
    time beyond the law
    I want to set my dead body up
    in Aiolos Street
    to sell time at a discount
    in Monastiraki
    it’s fresh
    we hunted it yesterday
    we killed it yesterday
    yesterday, yesterday, yesterday
    from yesterday to today
    which means that we didn’t do good work.


     
    xiv

    You will not go
    beyond this circle
    you will stay inside it.
    You, the Sun and Time
    your orbit is regulated by winding
    at night you wind it up
    by day you unwind it
    curtsey, smile, cry, curse
    everything regulated
    by the manufacturer.



    xv

    Whoever you are
    ocean, mountain, woman, bull
    if you are human
    tree, song, toll, death
    if you are human 
    if you are human
    release the handbrake gently
    start the descent in second gear
    it will cost you less
    bus, truck, Citroen DKW
    Margarita, Myrtle, Rose-water, Theodorakis
    whoever you are
    it will cost you less
    old memory
    old as today
    as tomorrow
    as tomorrow
    as never
    if you are human
    whoever you are.

     
    xvi.

    Sun the First, Athens the First
    Mikis the millionth
    a hundred thousand follow
    and another hundred
    and another hundred thousand innocents
    and so on and so forth
    until the end of the world.


     
    xvii

    Never never never
    will I be able to unfurl all the flags
    green, red, yellow, blue, mauve, azure.
    Never never never
    will I be able to smell all the perfumes
    green, red, yellow, blue, mauve, azure.
    Never never never
    will I be able to touch all the hearts
    sail all the seas.
    Never never never 
    will I know the one
    and only flag
    you
    Tania.

     
    xviii

    When I lay down on the sand
    the bathers jumped into the sea
    when I dived into the sea
    the bathers got out of the water.
    when I drowned
    the bathers went home
    and when I rose from the dead
    it was already too late
    the bathers had got into their cars. 


     
    xix.

    You are my image
    your hand is my hand
    when I squeeze it, it is squeezed
    when I raise it, it is raised
    only these bars are mine
    and what is reflected is yours
    (the sense of private ownership should be stressed)
    mine yours
    the prison bars
    but ours
    the eyes
    the lips
    the hands.


    xx.

    In the paradise gardens of my skull
    a yellow sun travels on the wings of time.
    Birds with wooden wings follow
    angels lead the way on jets
    a grand procession
    above the banana trees, eucalyptus and pines
    that cover the left side of my brain;
    on the right, nymphs and heavenly whores.
    Hidden beneath the jasmine
    red lizards listen to the waterfalls
    that disappear into the sewers of my spinal chord
    where the Earth begins
    and the Universe ends.
    Suddenly the grand procession stands still
    six in the afternoon
    exactly six o’clock
    the procession Time, the Sun stops -
    only the birds fly on
    beating their wooden wings
    and even the jets lament like angels.


    xxi.

    I have a private labyrinth
    a private twelve horsepower Minotaur.
    I seek a second-hand Theseus at a good price
    I will exchange a Japanese radio
    for Ariadne if possible a widow
    under forty, 
    income above five figures,
    time limit 
    a tenth of a second
    in a tenth of a second
    I will be dead.


     
    xxii.

    Elytis Gatsos the great Seferis 
    Tsarouchis Minotis Hadzidakis
    Vera Dora Jeni, 
    cinema theater music
    and so many others
    the poets the poets
    and so many others
    and you and you and you
    the friend the enemy the foe the rival
    I slept peacefully
    the bill has been paid
    the friend who is paying
    has money.



    xxiii.

    Celestial streams
    underground torrents
    descend babbling
    Street of Dreams, Omonia
    Silva
    S-i-l-v-a
    Haidari, Philothei
    their waters blond
    two blond mattresses
    two green mattresses
    in the middle
    am I, a red locust
    wings harmonicas
    sounds of water
    lizards moons
    dive, sink, drown
    bars
    bars
    bars
    Silva.


     
    xxiv.


    When you shout
    I sleep
    when you are in pain
    I yawn
    when you toss and turn
    I scratch myself
    September
    date, the sixteenth
    of Creation
    Dionysos!



    xxv.

    On the fourth floor
    your Mama sleeps
    Elena
    her dreams, heavenly music
    her dreams
    Pepino di Capri
    beyond the sea
    don’t wake her.


     
    xxvi.

    The sun’s dentures threaten me
    the bars of Time protect me
    Yiannis Jason Vyron
    Takis Alekos
    hoist the lemons and oranges
    high on the masts
    raise
    the sandals in the sand
    voices Nivea cream
    racetrack solitaire Nescafé
    they hold precious flags made of cheap material.



    xxvii

    September sixth
    eleven o’clock in the morning
    now the birds
    are bathing in the river
    the North winds are creaking in the firs
    the Turk wounded you at Bizani.

    Now you sit and watch me
    you drink coffee
    you drip poison
    love love
    the Sun scratches
    the grape
    eleven o’clock in the morning.



    xxviii.

    Suleiman the Magnificent
    Constantine Palaeologos
    stop shouting
    smuggler thief pimp
    vocal chords
    Andreas Ilias Anthi
    animal larynx human larynx
    St. Sophia barbarian hordes the liquid fire
    the Old Man of Morea a worm
    I stumble at every step
    on the left beasts from Borneo
    on the right flames of Nagasaki
    ahead chimneys of Buchenwald
    behind Makryiannis’ cell
    above below above below
    east west
    hordes of saints hordes of demons
    hordes of saints hordes of generals
    I am dandelion sown in a crater
    good-bye Sun good-bye Sun good-bye Sun
    good-bye Light
    good night.



    xxix.

    East of Sirius
    the blond rains pass by
    they hold yellow umbrellas
    they wear green sunglasses
    mini-skirts
    the blond rains of September
    they skirt Mars
    next Wednesday
    they enter the orbit of Earth
    Hanoi, Washington, Moscow
    the Sinai desert
    Athens, Tositsa Street
    west of Chios
    east of Corinth
    inside outside
    a deeply carved pine
    miniskirts
    green sunglasses
    they hold yellow umbrellas
    the early blond rains
    east of Sirius
    west of my cell,
    of September.



     
    xxx.


    When the rocks of Meteora dance the syrtaki
    I recognize you my country
    when Achelous stays out all night at the taverns
    when the White Mountains swim the crawl
    when the Aegean plays the lottery
    when the Roumeliots build their tsamikos
    when the Cretan Sea rapes Milos
    and when I write crude verses
    then I recognize you
    I recognize you my country. 



     
    xxxi


    The nine Muses are staying near me
    a corridor separates us
    two doors four guards
    Dora Maria Takis
    Anna Tonia Rousos
    perhaps they know better
    particulars numbers addresses
    techniques schools museums
    the nine Muses stay close to the Museums
    Music stays close to the Museums
    Music Muses Museums
    at any rate
    mentalities techniques are tested
    rain dust sun laugh
    a vast conservatory
    pianos solfège singing
    the nine Muses wash themselves
    comb their hair lie down
    they knock so that someone will open the door
    Pindar Aeschylus Mozart Chopin
    the guards accompany them one at a time to the toilet.



     
    xxxii.

    Violet city
    send me your hand to caress my hair
    send me your voice to put my dreams to sleep
    show me your face
    so I can see my own stature
    my nobility
    my noble mistress
    from Oedipus to Androutsos
    no-one has loved you
    as I do


  • 1962

    The Tango of Efialtis

    Who doesn’t know Efialtis?

    Efialtis was the first traitor!

    Then treachery was still a sin!

    Gods and men punished the traitor severely.

    Who doesn’t know Efialtis?

    Later treachery became a profession!

    The traitors would go to work,

    like the shop-keepers to their stores.

    They sold their merchandise

    and took their wages every month.

    They married amongst each other

    so as not to betray the lineage of the race!

    And yet the whole world remembered

    for so many years the story of Efialtis.

    To the point where treachery became a virtue!

    It became a duty

    an honorable citation was decreed;

    “In testimony to the great treachery

    of the modest traitor, the fatherland

    expresses its gratitude.”

    Who remembers Efialtis any more?

     

  • 1984

    The Tenant

    Sworn soldiers entered Kalavryta 

    You know what awaits you, all black and iniquitous.

     

    The soldiers of our times never take oaths

    they’re all civilians with chauffeurs’ faces.

     

    Generals and Pharisees entered my lodgings

    I know what awaits me, I write on my paper.

     

    I write my income and I subtract my rent

    and at the bottom I even sign my conviction.

     

  • 1984

    The Traitor

    I hunted the streets of Athens

     --I was a beardless youth then.

    I had a pistol and a fine,

    fearful optimism.

     

    The leaders send me to find

    a traitor who hung out in Gouva.

    I find the house and knock on his door

    and his mother welcomes me with a smile.

     

    --Sit down, son, and rest yourself,

    my son will be here any time now;

    don’t judge us by our poverty

    our hearts are still good.

     

    I look at her, how to tell her

    that I’ve come to kill her traitor son;

    on the steaming blood of her child

    I’ve come to build a new Greece!

     

  • 1977

    The Trap

    Your hands were filled with songs

    your feet touched the green water

    your dreams strolled in the streets

    your thought dictated the rhythm of the day.

     

    The din of cars and neon signs

    hid the echo in the poor quarters;

    night howled in the muddy streets

    two friends exchanged the sacred oath.

     

    Who would have told you, the one in the cap

    his burning eye, unkempt beard,

    yellow spittle, blurry speech

    that slid in the gut like burning iron?

     

    You believed him and without another thought

    entered the narrow street with no exit

    who would have told you, the one in the cap?

    He set you a sweet trap and now it’s too late.

     

    Essen, 1977

     

  • 1946

    The way the earth smelled after a small spring shower.

    To Myrto

     

    I remember you said one word

    and I picked some grass

    with its roots full of earth

    to rub on my heart and make it smell good.

     

    I told you that when I was a boy

    I liked to bury myself in the soil

    and speak to the long worms

    about the secrets of the earth.

    Each one brings me a memory

    and its voice is lost in the noise

    made by all the different kinds of roots

    as they burrow deeper and deeper into the earth.

    How frightened we were when a seed burst open

    and a new plant sprang out...

     

    *     *     *

     

    No, I didn’t like looking at the stars,

    they seemed so far away and foreign.

    I liked the sun better

    especially in summer when its rays

    danced on my skin

    singing a strange song

    whose words are buried now

    deep in my memory.

     

    Then, for the first time 

    I thought about merging the songs

    I’d been listening to all day

    into a single song

    that we’d all sing together.

     

    This thought wasn’t completely my own.

    I heard it said by a small golden-green leaf

    which sprang out that moment

    from the green branch of our conversation.

     

    The next day I woke at dawn

    went down to the fields and rolled

    in the dewdrops.

    My whole body shivered

    and there wasn’t the tiniest cell of my skin

    that wasn’t singing

    a little song.

     

    Then I told my secret to the grass.

    The small leaves nearby

    bent their heads to listen in secret,

    hundreds of worms came down below, happy

    to tell our secret to the whole world

    Every drop of earth was joyful

    that day…

     

    Then I told them we’d lie down quietly

    and wait for the sun to come out...

    And in fact we were suddenly

    so quiet

    that we could hear

    the distant song of Dawn

    that is like coral

    shed by the delicate tears of birds...

    How beautiful that song was.

    I wonder if we’ll be able to sing

    as beautifully as that?

     

     

       *    *     *

     

     

    No, I don’t like the song of the earth any more.

    The roots tear the earth discordantly

    and the sun’s rays shout, fierce and furious. 

    Now I like the song of the Dawn. 

    When I hear it I think

    I am in a forest with corals scattered

    by the delicate tears of the birds

    in the peaceful glow of morning.

     

    The little plants, the leaves and the worms

    stretch out their hands to me like a sob

    and call me, pleading:

    “Stay, the sun will soon come out

    and we can sing together.”

    But can I stay far

    from the song of Dawn?

     

    For the first time I climbed the wall

    of our garden and I felt

    like a plant pulled from its soil.

    Then I found myself in strange streets.

    But the rosy glow shimmered

    before my eyes and I was happy

    that in a little while my skin would be bathed again

    in that wonderful song.

     

    *    *    *

     

    As you see, I’m no longer a child 

    and yet I still haven’t managed

    to reach that lovely song.

    I almost regret

    that I left half my heart

    buried in the earth.

    I worry whether my dearest friends

    will accept me again

    and whether my heart will recognize me

    now that it, too, may have become

    a little piece of grass

    perhaps a small bush

    with a few red blossoms dotted

    by delicate dewdrops.

    I would love to go back to the earth.

    How many songs will we really sing again…?

    And now the new summer is coming

    we’ll wait for the sun

    to tell it our secret

    and make our old dream

    come true.

     

     

    Athens, 1946.

     

  • 1945

    The Words of Love

    The words of love like the spring leaves

    a sun came and kissed us on the lips.

     

    Five young lads and a girl dancing

    their hearts on their lips.

     

    Like branches blossoming with grace

    five loves mingle and kiss the grass.

     

     

  • 1968

    Time to See

    They told you a pack of lies

    they tell you lies again today

    and tomorrow they’ll tell you lies again.

     

    Your enemies tell you lies

    But even your friends hide the truth from you.

     

    Liars promise you false glory

    but your friends lull you to sleep with false truths.

     

    Where are you going with false dreams?

    It’s time to stop,

    time to sing,

    time to weep and suffer,

    time to see

     

  • 1969

    To the Unknown Poet

    Righas Pheraios, I call on you, you!

    From Australia to Canada

    and from Germany to Tashkent

    in prisons, in the mountains and islands

    the Greeks are scattered.

     

    Dionysios Solomos, I call on you, you!

    Jailed and jailors

    beaten and beaters

    commanded and commanders

    terrorizers and terrorized

    occupiers and occupied

    divided in two, the Greeks.

     

    Andreas Kalvos, I call on you, you!

    Brilliant, the sun marvels,

    the mountains and the firs

    the shores and the nightingales marvel.

    Cradle of beauty and measure, my homeland

    is now a place of death.

     

    Kostas Palamas, I call on you, you!

    Never was so much light turned to darkness,

    so much bravery to fear,

    strength to weakness,

    so many heroes turned to marble busts.

    Birthplace of Digenis and Diakos , my fatherland

    now a land of slavery.

     

    Nikos Kazantzakis, I cry out to you!

    But if mortals who still speak

    Androutsos’ tongue forget

    then memory lives behind iron bars and sentry posts

    memory lives in the stones

    it nests in the yellow leaves

    that cover your body, Greece.

     

    Angelos Sikelianos, I call on you, you!

    You are the soul of my homeland

    polymorphic river

    blind with blood

    deaf with moans

    incapacitated by hatred

    and the great love

    that jointly rules your soul.

     

    The soul of my country is two handcuffs

    squeezed into two rivers

    two mountains bound with ropes

    on the terrace bench. 

    The Argive plain swollen from whipping

    and Olympus hanging from the mast of the aircraft carrier

    hands tied behind its back

    until it confesses.

    The soul of my homeland is this very seed

    that spread roots on the rock.

    You are mother, wife, daughter

    looking out over the sea and the mountains

    and secretly dyeing, with your blood

    the red eggs of the Resurrection

    fertilized by the times and by men.

     

    If only the Easter of the Greeks

    would come to my unhappy land!

     

    Unknown poet, I call on you, you!

     

     

    Arcadia VI     

  • 1984

    Vision

    High in their hands they hold
    black cloths and lament;
    the black mothers of the world
    they light candles

    To light up Tartarus
    to wake the fair archangel

    To make a blue light
    a universal song
    to flood the world
    and guide us.

    In the crystals of the abyss
    before the gates of Paradise.

  • 1968

    We Are Two

    We are two, we are two, the clock strikes eight

    turn off the lights, the guard knocks, tonight they’ll come again.

     

    one in front, the others behind

    then silence and the same old story.

     

    They strike twice, they strike three times, a thousand and thirteen;

    you are in pain and so am I,  but which of us suffers more

    only time will tell.

     

    We are two, we are three, we are a thousand and thirteen

    we ride on into time

    in time, with the rain the blood clots on the wound

    and pain becomes a nail.

     

    Avenger, savior,

    we are two, we are three, we are a thousand and thirteen.

     

  • 1951

    Whatever You Say

    Did you think perhaps that it was only to please myself
    that I acted the oaf and the grouch?
    That I sit here at night for no hidden reason
    in the freezing cold
    counting the stars like lice… What do you say?
    Didn’t it occur to you that there must be some secret reason
    for all this strangeness, for so much blackness?
    Don’t tell me, to please you, that it was by chance they began
    licking and licking the dried blood
    of Federico Garcia Lorca like mangy dogs.

    And then you tell me to sit and do something all alone
    beside the rivers and the barges.
    Federico Garcia Lorca, Federico Garcia Lorca.
    Look how we’re weighing hearts again
    and putting blood again in little bottles.
    Here, the tombs of the businessmen
    the mausoleums with their gold letters--
    the masses scattered, buried in gardens
    under the carrots and the leeks.
    Federico Garcia Lorca, Federico Garcia Lorca.

    Scalpel in the heart of night, a heart as large as a dove
    -- whatever you say
    but I murmur your name, little brother
    --my forgotten little brother
    sweet ethereal smile, my tall slim poplar
    --whatever you say.

  • 1968

    When You Knock Twice

    When you knock twice
    then three times and again two
    Alexander,  my friend,
    I’ll come to open the door for you
    I’ll have hot food for you
    I’ll have clean clothes for you
    a corner to hide you.

    When you knock twice
    then three times and again two
    Alexander, my friend,
    I’ll see your face;
    in your eyes you hide two fires
    in your breast a thousand hearts
    measure your pain.

    When you knock twice
    then three times, and again two
    Alexander, my friend,
    I think of your escape
    I see you in your narrow cell
    leading off the dance
    over your death.

  • 1968

    You Are Greek

    What you were once you will be again

    you must become, you must weep.

     

    So your humiliation can be complete,

    so your conquest reaches the roots of the mountains.

     

    You are Greek, you are Greek,

    you drink betrayal with your milk,

    you drink betrayal with your wine,

    so that your humiliation can be complete.

     

    You must see,

    you must become.

     

    What you were once

    you will be again.

     

  • 1987

    Zero Street

    --Ah, ah, ah, little bird

    what are you looking for in Hermes Street?

    --I have lost Beatrice,

    perhaps she’s looking for a new hat with feathers.

     

     

    --Ah, ah, ah, little bird

    what are you looking for in Zero Street?

    --Tomorrow Beatrice swears her oath

    she’s the first citizen of Makryiannistan.

     

    The brave lad of the sky

    appeared in the lanes

    He holds thunderbolts in one hand

    And sighs in the other

    The brave lad, the brave lad

    He’ll come at nine in the evening

    Christ and the Virgin help him.

     

    --Ah, ah, ah, little bird

    what are you looking for in Why Street?

    --There is no Beatrice

    if there were, you would never have seen me.

     

CREATED BY GRAVITY