από το μακρινό παρελθόν
χτυπάει ακόμα αδύναμα στ’ αυτιά μου.
Η έρημη εκκλησιά
όπου το μισοτελειωμένο κερί
αγνό και μυρωδάτο Continue reading “Ο θόλος της ελπίδας”
A church bell
from the distand past
keeps sounding powerlessly
in my ears
The lonely church where the half-burnt candle
pure and fragnant
still stands by St Mamas’ icon Continue reading “The dome of hope”
Translation into English by Irini Papas
The old lady had never learned anything else in her life except to drop blessings from her lips, as if the blessings sustained her.
Her eyelash colour faded, her face was a mass of wrinkles.
“Daughter, give me the votive candle so I may light it, and may you reign like a queen one day”.
On Sundays, in the courtyard under the vine, they’d turn on the radio.
“Daughter, bring the radio, and may you pick up soil and have it turned to gold in your hands”.
Continue reading “Euphemisms of an old lady”
deep redness of the sunset:
Is it the sunset or is it blood?
A question posed by the sun, or a slaughter? Continue reading “Oia, Santorini”
Not a deep feeling did we declare,
nor did we live a great love affair.
Wrong or right,
we only shared a night. Continue reading “Two times Twenty”
It’s no longer there…
a “We’ve Moved” sign placed up high…
some things can’t be moved immediately or afterwards
such as the pages, folded at the edges, to be read less
than to be recollected,
such as the queue in front of the cash register
such as the backbones of saints
I search for the bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street…
terribly ill by its absence
after all, this is where the hours passed
their hours with me, and the hours search insistently
for that which can’t be moved or migrated,
which oppresses and suspends generations… Continue reading “The Bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street”
When you’re out on your way to Mt Olympus,
let the road trip be a long one
full of wonder, full of autumn colors
full of yellow-green trees and mountain plains.
Continue reading “St. Panteleimon of Old”
My friend Rena called yesterday,
She said,” It’s summer and I’m going away.”
I asked, “Do you think that’s right.
We won’t see each other for a fortnight?”
She responded, “I’m going to Skopelos.”
I queried, “Do you think that’s ophelos?
There, there are thousands of trees
But no breeze. Continue reading “Holidays”
Spring sometimes visits us in Melbourne,
and pansies cannot tell the difference,
so it seems;
fountain waters flow unabated
of rocky spills. Continue reading “Melbourne winter”
Shadows in their solace
can have a room
a sofa, or nothing!
Can have water
a piece of bread
They are blasted
by “friendly bombs”! Continue reading “Godly Justice”