Ὁδηγητής τῶν ἑφτά βοδιῶν
πού λειβαδεύουν στό βιλαέτι τῆς ἔγνοιας σου
ἀθροίζεις τόν ἕωλο αἰῶνα.
Ἔχτισες τά σύνορα τοῦ ἀγῶνα σου
μέ τέσσερες σταγόνες παγωμένου ἱδρῶτα
σέ σχῆμα λάβαρου σταυροφόρων.
πλοηγέ τοῦ γέλιου τῶν παιδιῶν
καί ἀλφαβητάρι τῶν γερόντων. Continues »
Aliki Beach in autumn hues,
just sandy footprints left by you
mystically adored, a dream
in colours rare and supreme.
On Sunday wintertime set in.
Your hands held cloudy skies within.
We are with you present in mind,
our mortal selves, though, left behind. Continues »
Here books and bookshops
have a distinct fragrance
like incense rising
to a venerable pious congregation.
Here people and palaces
have an ancient architecture
Roman and Romanesque at once
not led astray by flights of abstraction
only trusting in the everyday and concrete
joyfully signing in the underground
at peak hour
or biting their lips to not let in
the winter Continues »
The snow that falls outside!
like the ice-vendor of death
bloodshot from fever Continues »
A little out from Athens there is
the Hotel “HOPE”. Each night
in this Hotel, at midnight,
two ghosts cry. This bad luck
drives the hotel manager to despair,
for as you might appreciate
these goings-on drive customers away Continues »
Everyone is asleep
and I lie awake
I thread silver moons
through a golden string
and I wait for dawn
for the birth
of a new god Continues »
The café where I drink my coffee
only I exist
and so the café is completely empty Continues »
red colored hope painted
by the sun’s endless caress
two soup bowls empty
two wine glasses empty
and the cicadas’ song
a summer conflagration Continues »
When rain struck the window with one of its fingers
the window opened inward. Deep inside
an unknown person, a sound – your voice?
Your voice distrusted your ear. The next day
the sun went down the fields, like a descent of farmers
with scythes and pitchforks. You too went out to the street Continues »
Sometimes past midnight the rhythmic hooves of horses
are heard from down the road of a delayed carriage as if
from a mourning matinee of some rundown neighborhood
with its plaster fallen off the ceiling, with the peeling walls
with a huge discolored red curtain drawn
that has shrunk from so many washings and in the gap
it leaves under it
you could see the bare feet of the stage manager or the
who perhaps rolls up a paper forest to turn off the lights. Continues »
of crystalline ice
with tree branch
that it won’t break
that it won’t lose it
in its endless love
it shrouds it
with the wings of death Continues »
He sat on the stool by the front yard, his hands so clumsy, they had
already overtaken us “someday they will demolish the house”, he says
to me, and they’ll discover it”
and every so often at the far end of the room someone wrapped around
him a bed-sheet, it was the time he escaped, until the bed-sheet fell
empty on the floor and we had a friend forever, Continues »
Sometimes, that special hour, I think of narrating all the details:
how, for example, this incurable disease started on the opposite wall
or about that woman in the park, whose body was nailed on the bench,
and I say this without exaggeration, the nails protruded from her cloths
like small buttons, while her purse with her identity card floated down... Continues »
Poetry, EKSTASIS EDITIONS Ubermensch, by Manolis Aligizakis is the most difficult and most philosophical poetry book I have come across. And rightfully so since it is identified with Nietzsche’s “Ubermensch” so much in the plot as much in the concepts. The poet “toys” with the various conventions as he firstly relates Ubermensch to true dimension given to him by the German philosopher and secondly to the misinterpretation given to the concept by the German ‘national-socialists’ with the horrible results that followed and affected the whole world. Before we describe Manolis Algizakis’ Ubermensch, let us quickly look at what Nietzsche anticipated from his treatise. In simple words Nietzsche posited man opposite his abilities and responsibilities which should he had used wisely, he could overcome every obstacle. With the right use of his logic and his instinct as his primal levers man can live in a free and just society where everyone [...] Continues »
Suddenly on an autumn day he left, on the table he left a letter
“don’t send me away” it read and spoke of a deep inhabitable
emotion; in the house all the lights were turned on that I wouldn’t
understand, that perhaps, he had never come, while next to the letter
he had left the mystery of his death, already covered by cobwebs... Continues »
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine?
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine,
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom;
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; Continues »
Then the other one came, he carried an old ravished valise,
in which he hid all the ghosts of his life, that they never needed
chase after him,
we were in the same stuffy room and the large animal sawn
on the carpet was already biting our knees,
“mother”, I asked at some-time, “where can we find some water for
my horse?”, “but I don’t see any horse”, “you too, mother!”, Continues »
The foreigner chatted with the woman in a low tone, of course,
the woman was dead and he stared at his destiny, that useless outline
the dead leave on the chair,
birds struck the ceiling and fell into the dirty sink where all
the stories ended, embalmed old men sat behind the window glass
the stoa was dark, the stores wet where they sold tripods for caskets
and wreaths for glory we had once dreamed off, Continues »
Night fell and in the old house only the shadows remained, “aunt
Eudokia”, I said to her, “be serious, you are dead now”
but she retained the same awkward smile, like back then when she hid
something which I wasn’t allowed to know as yet
the foreigner narrated stories of signs and wonders, ancient old
murders, he also talked about a fly on the child’s glass and that he burnt Continues »
Ideal and beloved voices
of the dead or those who
for us are lost like the dead.
At times they talk in our dreams;
at times our minds hear them when in thought. Continues »
The orchard with its fountains in the rain
you will see only from behind the fogged up glass
of the lower window. Your room
will be lit by the fireplace flames
and sometimes, the distant lightning will reveal
the wrinkles on your face, my old Friend. Continues »
We didn’t know them
deep inside it was hope that said
we had met them in early childhood.
Perhaps we had seen them twice and then they went to the ships
cargoes of coal, cargoes of crops and our friends
vanished beyond the ocean forever.
Daybreak finds us beside the tired lamp Continues »
With each tick of the clock a yellow leaf falls.
You had a straw hat with lilac flowers.
Now in there, chickens lay eggs
and a snail climbs on the leg of the chair. Continues »
With the first cold spells, the trees leave stooping in the wind.
In the evening, the sky becomes a large closed glass door.
In there, many have gathered talking in low tones and smoking,
because we see, behind the steamed glass Continues »
The horses died on the mountain
the trees died in whitewash
you didn’t die. Continues »
Years of sky. Τhe street and the sundown.
Τhe white houses are serene
like the memory that doesn’t feel sorry for you anymore.
Two poplars vanished in the dusk
two poplars. Continues »
Hour of Song
Next to the wine jugs
next to the fruit baskets
we forgot to sing.
On the evening of our separation Continues »
In my dream last night you did appear
uttering “ Keami Maha Tahandra” in my ear.
To what end is this exotic phrase?
Are you chiding me, or is it praise? Continues »
They left, they left – he said. They stayed – he said in a while. They stayed.
Gullible days, wasted. And there were a few trees.
The roofs leaned their shoulders more impressively. George,
on top of the ladder, was fixing the plaster festoon
of the neoclassical house. Further down in the harbor
the longshoremen were creating a havoc. They carried
large wooden boxes tied with ropes. Two dogs
walked edge to edge in the street. Continues »
If it wasn’t for
the finch’s song
he wouldn’t know
spring had arrived.
With blurry eyes
he looked through
the open window deep
into the irises of March...
The rupture in the voice propels the course of the blood clot and at the summit there gapes the joy of the coming of another long-headed woman. Her petals folded and the necklace she bent over to grab provokes and protects her copulation far from the corncobs and velvet of the seashore. Continues »
Prostrate and with sugar on her lips she lay down on the luminous wreath of love. It was not long before the summons was heard. Initially two birds took her, followed by the wires of the compassionate conspiracy, and finally she was taken away by five roosters which looked like horses that were literate, and they touched her private parts. Continues »
The purpose of our life is not servility. There exist infinitely better things than even that statuesque presence of the bygone epic. The purpose of our life is love. Continues »
in the cloyed atmosphere
of the casino’s underbelly,
things are not as they seem.
I sat at a slot machine
trying to synchronize my mind
to the machine’s rhythm,
brain balancing precariously
between mild intoxication
and growing inebriation. Continues »
Bitter thorn The young lady I encountered in my drawer appeared and then vanished. In her place a wisp of smoke carries the phosphorus of her frieze. Emigrants exploit the expanses she left behind but the child of our memories brings the tentacles which resemble the six different delights of the young lady who was basically a mother to her child and my mother. Sometimes I live inside the drawer. But every time when some event is not given any name other than that of a cloak underneath which the foundations of a tragic curtain are being undermined I take her last handkerchief and I beg my toad to destroy all wailing which could possibly exist _____in the chairs and on the curtains. Poems by Andreas Embeirikos Translated by N.N. Trakakis The poems translated here are by the renowned modern Greek writer Andreas Embeirikos (1901-1975), and they appear here in [...] Continues »
Better even than the soil we give to the friends of water lilies, the getaway signal was spurned. Lying down she feeds her donkeys and the lean ravens without abiding in the injustice of fierce appeasement. That’s why she will still bloom, that’s why she will cry out, that’s why the supine and spineless men and all the secret ravines will be demolished and she will remain a lustrous and likeable crucible thriving in the colours of matter. Continues »
Years like wings. What does the motionless raven remember?
What do the dead remember near the roots of trees?
Your hands had the color of the falling apple.
And this voice that always returns in a low tone.
Those who travel focus on the sail and the stars
hear the wind and beyond the wind the other sea
like a closed conch near them, they hear nothing
else, they don’t search among the shadows Continues »
When with the weight of the wind which sweeps away the brooms between the mothers’ legs the shooting star trumpeted the last commandments of the god-men, the phoneme proudly stood up and with the suppleness of complete automatic subtlety carried felicity away towards the waters of an enormous tide. Continues »
…the second mistral took off. The motions of the slender hairbrush against my self were successfully negotiated. A tropical warmth, but one transformed before martyrs who had been set on fire, was definitively registered in the proceedings of the giant warriors, instead of the worthless honour of an esteemed odalisque. On her legs anklets glowed, on her face tears, on her breast three droplets. Continues »
The night passed its mouth stuffed by speechless water. At
daybreak the sun shone wet on the coiled cables.
Faces – shadows, masts – shadows, voyages –
perhaps saw them, perhaps not – our hunger was never satisfied. Continues »
It is a bright face, silent, all alone
like the entire loneliness, like complete victory
over loneliness. This face
looks at you between two columns of still water Continues »
The four windows hang rhyming quatrains
made of sky and sea inside the rooms
A lonely daisy is a small wristwatch
on the arm of summer showing
twelve at noon. Thus you feel
your hair entangled in the hands of the sun Continues »
It is a clock-drop
we give one another.
If you can give
and accept it,
Though it become an ocean,
you will never lose bearing,
you will never drown. Continues »
With bleeding feet
and copper breath,
I find myself
at the end of the world.
And then, I hear
I see the shaft of just one
straw of sun…
the pine… Continues »
Κωνσταντίνος Καβάφης και Ερωτισμός/ Constantine Cavafy and Eroticism Sensuous, erotic, exact Cavafy does not so much tell a story as create an atmosphere, sweeping the reader away on a blue Aegean sea of longing. The endurance of his work is in his approach, embodying both the immediacy of the Hellenic past and the direct moment of an imagined erotic encounter. Translated by Manolis Aligizakis English translation by Manolis Aligizakis www.libroslibertad.ca www.ekstasiseditions.com Continues »
Κωνσταντίνος Καβάφης και Ερωτισμός/ Constantine Cavafy and Eroticism Sensuous, erotic, exact Cavafy does not so much tell a story as create an atmosphere, sweeping the reader away on a blue Aegean sea of longing. The endurance of his work is in his approach, embodying both the immediacy of the Hellenic past and the direct moment of an imagined erotic encounter. Translated by Manolis Aligizakis Continues »
Constantine Cavafy and Eroticism Translated from the Greek by Manolis Aligizakis Continues »
The gist of my story was a black reclining chair—though
where is the house now, where is the fruit bowl with the old
invitations, the napkins that concealed our laughter—only
the lamp is lit in the empty room, like someone who talks
to himself ignorant of the danger or like a woman you never Continues »
When, finally, after all the begging, the woman lied down and
lifted her dress, I chose to pick all the coins that fell—and all this
for a Peisistratos, as was the name of the café where I drank
my brandy and then the patrons laughed as I fell asleep on the chair Continues »
MANUAL FOR EUTHANASIA 1979 ΕΓΧΕΙΡΙΔΙΟ ΕΥΘΑΝΑΣΙΑΣ ~So many stars and I starve to death. ~ Τόσα άστρα κι εγώ νά λιμοκτονώ Τάσος Λειβαδίτης Manolis Aligizakis Continues »
The room was in the suburbs, with a few pieces of furniture,
like a Gospel quotation—so everything finished quickly and
Joanna cried and run back to the station, on the other hand it was
a secret that I’d forget as I tried to mention it, then I opened the violin
case—and only, at sometimes, when I grieved I put on my tie Continues »
MANUAL FOR EUTHANASIA 1979 ΕΓΧΕΙΡΙΔΙΟ ΕΥΘΑΝΑΣΙΑΣ
~So many stars
and I starve to death.
~ Τόσα άστρα
κι εγώ νά λιμοκτονώ
Manolis Aligizakis - Or perhaps to be more accurate it all started by
this clock, a stupid, baldheaded clock, it wasn’t my fault—
every afternoon I simply sat quietly on the sofa and ate my
aunties is young age, but one by one, Continues »
Today I shall write a poem:
crafted to mesmerize the readers’ minds
devoted to Terpsichore’s dance
meant to guide people forever
designed to awe the on-lookers Continues »
Here, in the untidiness of the room,
between the dusty books
and the old people’s portraits,
between the yes and the no of so many shadows,
one band of motionless light
here, in this position
where you undressed one night. Continues »
In this place the light is beyond hope. This heartless month
doesn’t allow us not to be two. You are not enough.
The monotonous clank, the streetcars turning the corner
the marble-masons cutting stones in high noon.
Above the fence-wall you could see the conventional funerary stele
marble flowers marble ribbons
the bust of a banker
the face of a child shadowed by the wing of an angel. Continues »
Κείνες τις μέρες νοιώθαμε πως είμαστε στον δεύτερο
μήνα εγκυμοσύνης κι ο πόνος είχε σταθερή διάσταση
σαν υποτείνουσα μεταξύ σκέψης και συναισθήματος
σαν ένα χαμόγελο με πείσμα κι είμασταν πια
μεγάλοι για να μάθουμε παιγνίδια καινούργια γι αυτό
εμείναμε πιστοί στου ανέμου το πανάρχαιο μαστίγωμα
πάντα μακριά απ’ τα όνειρά μας, αλήθεια, μια ασήμαντη
εξέλιξη. Continues »
N.N. Trakakis The sky and its thousand stars stare back in sadness as do I in the pre-dawn hours resigning the world without sleep that better it might be regained with dreams only that cannot stand under the southern lights that cannot shake off the northern nostalgia of people, buildings _____monuments, landscapes forever granting more than can be received. N.N. Trakakis “Clearings” – 2011, Melbourne Continues »
The earthquake struck Armenia quickly
And spread its devastation swiftly;
From its innards the earth rumbled
Then its outer surface crumbled
And everything standing on it tumbled.
Shocked and stunned, the Armenians ran,
Fearful and tearful and shattered,
As the ground sputtered and shuddered-
The horror and terror in their voices
Echoing nature's destructive noises. Continues »
He stood by the fireplace and after He shifted the logs
He said: ‘nothing you can do for the wilted anemone
at least try to push your empty cart uphill perhaps one day
it may find its way back to the desolate house with you
or without’ and I bent down to pick my defeated ego,
it had all started because of our devout narcissism, Continues »
Wide morning in Rome that widens the consonant l
amid the vendors yelling, the tires of buses
and the statues’ silence.
Ocher shadowed in the eastern facades
of stores and buildings. Doors and doors uphold
the semicircles of shadows at one time. Strange –
he said – Continues »
da Vinci Raphael Michelangelo, – how they incised
the greatest skies in the human face, in the human body
toenails and fingernails, leaves and stars, nipples, dreams, lips, –
to red and the light blue the tangible and the inconceivable. Perhaps from
touching of these two fingers the world was reborn. The space
between these two fingers still measures accurately
the earth’s pull and duration. Continues »
Swirling emotions, once a sea
of distinct black and white
flow together into a gray,
One teardrop at a time Continues »
Ναι, το ξέραμε πως ο προδότης πάντα κρυβόταν μέσα
στον ίσκιο του μισογκρεμισμένου τοίχου, στου πιστολιού
σκανδάλη το δάχτυλό του έτοιμο δικαιοσύνη ν’ αποδώσει
όπως την περιγράφανε αρχέγονα βιβλία, άλογη λογική
που μέλλονταν να αποτύχει κι εμείς πιο κοντά ζούσαμε
στην ανωνυμία και στους αρχαίους όρκους κάποτε... Continues »
Olympic Torch, the flame of Greece,
Of Hope, of Creativity,
Do light the path that leads to Peace
To Love, and to Eternity.
You watched the great Olympians
With grace and sinewy eloquence
Defeat their fellow citizens;
Crowned heads did mark their excellence. Continues »
Remember when the cardinal sings,
On a branch with its crimson wings -
It merrily chirps its happy tune,
All day long when Lilies bloom.
Remember that the sun, so high
Brings peace and love within its light.
It shines its steady glow of love,
Even though clouds do form above. Continues »
Then, what they searched for, what was I guilty of, I, who’s
only crime was that I grew up always chased, where could
one find time, for this I stayed gullible and
I always hugged the cold railing of the bridge. Continues »
There is a door in the night that only the blind see,
darkness makes the animals hear better,
and him, staggered, not from being drunk Continues »
Όντως ήταν αληθινό και το δεχτήκαμε. Πέθανε
ο Θεός μας. Τον θάψαμε χθές το απόγευμα χωρίς
τραγούδια ή παιάνες, δίχως κλαυθμούς και μοιρολόγια
κι ανάλαφροι ενιώσαμε τίποτα πιο πολύ δεν μας
γαργάλαγε παρά το ύφος της μουντής μέρας ενώ ο φόβος,
θάλεγα, βαθειά μες την καρδιά μας είχε καταχωνιαστεί. Continues »
And the episodes continued with minor variations, the epidemic advanced,
confused messages, we didn’t know who they had left out,
the saints in fear took refuge in the calendars, scarecrows no longer took off their hats
when the trains passed by,
large membranes appeared under the women’s arms, Continues »
He would sit out in the fields and draw birds
on the soil. But the birds yearned for the sky. Then,
all around them, he drew the infinite sorrow. Continues »
Wings stirred under the furniture and at the end of the hall
the dark mirror made the children often sick, because they
didn’t want to grow up, Continues »
Είπες εδώ καί χρόνια:
“Κατά βάθος είμαι ζήτημα φωτός”.
Καί τώρα ακόμη σάν ακουμπάς
στίς φαρδιές ωμοπλάτες τού ύπνου
ακόμη κι όταν σέ ποντίζουν
Some years ago you said
‘Basically I am a matter of light.’
And still today when you lean
on the wide shoulders of sleep
even when they anchor you
Flowers of the rock before the green sea
with veins that reminded me of other loves
gleaming in the slow drizzle
flowers of the rock, faces Continues »
Soft island hills
lapping on sea froth
cicadas fire up
their endless arias
come close to me, I beg you,
before me stand
like Hermes naked, Continues »
May we catch our breath for now
may we escape of dreams to distant shores,
let shaded laughs among our cries
and all our thoughts we let them find
what it is that they may seek
appearing oh so desperately meek? Continues »
in strategic pose
sculpted from birth
Lady, lady please
a drachma for a sandwich,Good Easter.
on carpeted display
destitute path convey.
God bless you lady
a drachma for her milk,Good Easter. Continues »
It was the sixth day of creation; mother was dressed in black,
she wore her good hat with the veil, “God shouldn’t had done this
to us” she said, at the far end pale workers put together the big
stage of the circus,
“come back home, it’s late”, “which home?” I asked and hugged
the lamp-post of the street,
my young cousin was almost dead, I pushed her behind the closet, Continues »
Do you remember the nights? To make you laugh I’d walk
over the glass of the night lamp.
“How was it possible?” You asked.
But it was so simple:
since you loved me
Θυμάσαι τίς νύχτες; Γιά νά σέ κάνω νά γελάσεις περπατούσα πάνω
στο γυαλί τής λάμπας.
“Πώς γίνεται;” ρωτούσες. Μά ήταν τόσο απλό
αφού μ’ αγαπούσες. Continues »
Who is talking about marbles?
These are not marbles any more.
These are the flesh and blood
Of our forefathers, who fought
For centuries to preserve.
I stand on waves
of earth - χωμα
nurtured by blood-
of my ancestors Continues »
I try the warmth of poppies,
Like a substitute sun
They light the corners of my sight.
I fill and overflow with gathering.
From my fingers
The urchin trusts his darkness
And takes a single flower. Continues »
to look at water
when I open (up) my heart
- is to fill it
with the stillness Continues »
Brother, you stole my secret and went.
Noon and midnight quit the sky.
Nothing's secure nor
quite obscure, without.
One, two, and a third gone orb of light.
Within the night, zenith and nadir converge. Continues »
Black water, black sky
And I sat river watching.
From the perimeter cold
They charted all heat of my waiting
And punished me. Continues »
I say, therefore, I’ll come someday
to hide, like before, aloft
and let them knock,
let all that loved me knock,
let all those that I loved knock,
all those that I loved so dearly
and I will not open, Continues »
Our homeland is closed in, all mountains
that day and night have the low sky as their roof.
We have no rivers, no water wells, no springs
only a few cisterns, even them empty, that echo
and that we worship.
A stagnant hollow sound, same as our loneliness
same as our love, same as our bodies.
Burly grizzled man with foreign designation seeks compensation
Suffered work place accident troubling hurt recalls healthy youth in village of birth
Life unfolds within the claws of legal and medical dispute his character in disrepute
Three members sit aloof listen peruse submissions scribble question direct interrupt deliberate
Why can’t they anglicise their names? A senior member berates
Time to do something for Australians too! Another sceptic asserts
If I were king for a day I’d grant to all!
The cynical majority considers him a shirker unlike the dissenter who affirms the injured worker Continues »
1 the songs my mother sang me
are the songs I heard at birth:
my mother’s lament for her still-born child –
the one before me
are the songs I heard in my sleep at ten:
her grief for her mother
left behind never seen again Continues »
king of death, curly hair and eyes
as black as salty olives,
you abduct me at dawn
when I am dreaming of carousels
and strawberry ice cream,
filch me away to the serrated tip
of Πελοποννησο − Continues »
in this room
faded lime green paint is chipped
remind me of the origins of my name
ikons blessed at the village church
and a makeshift καντηλι
behind a hand-embroidered curtain
keep vigil over me Continues »
The flowering pelagos and the mountains in the waning
the great rock near the cactus pear trees and the asphodels
the water pitcher that wouldn’t go dry at the end of the day
and the vacant bed near the cypresses and your
golden, the stars of the Swan and that star,
Aldebaran Continues »
Circumstances squeezing me organise a feast of terror in my soul made me passing out free skeleton paraded in fields of fury and hastiness as a litany shadows of human errors hanged in magazine stalls announced from papersellers or trumpets of triumph of everyday life Continues »
Today into my hands
and not for the first time
I held a handful of soil...
Trying again to count
all of its grains Continues »
I wish I had died in an important world war, at least
but I was shot in action at an insignificant skirmish
of a small and insignificant country,
as I doubt they will ever erect a monument
to our war dead,
and even if accomplished, it cannot be compared, of course,
with similar monuments of the larger states,
with similar monuments of the larger wars, Continues »
And yet we have to consider how to proceed.
To feel is not enough, nor to think, nor to move
nor to risk your body in the ancient embrasure,
when the boiling oil and molten lead groove the walls.
And yet we have to consider to what direction we go ahead
not the way our pain desires it and our hungry children
and the chasm of our comrades’ call from the opposite shore
not even the darkened light whispers it in the improvised hospital, Continues »
Fur encumbered women swing designer label bags
hold sprigs of silver wattle push into Caffé on Condotti
walls lined with burgundy damask wallpaper
settle at marble topped tables seated under ornate gilded mirrors and
framed memorabilia – Goethe Stendhal Milosz Liszt Keats Shelley Byron
heavy curtains cocoon grey suited man who fondles his young blonde lover
the resident artist Baccellieri sits alongside the espresso machine winks at the couple
he wears silver glasses shabby hat and a thick woolen coat draped with a long red scarf Continues »
swathed in stone gargantuan imposing blindfolded
she beckoned me through the University portals
into the quadrangle surrounded by the expansive portico and
erudite grey stone buildings
busts of male scholars her heirs
scientists doctors philosophers
serpent at her feet symbol of medicine Continues »
Perspiring bodies with frail wings
Submerged on the mountainous planes of Achaia
Levitate towards the starry sky
Co-drinking nectar with the Olympian family.
Yearning to transcend the earthly plane
Horizons untouched by human despair
Epiphanies of deities at Eleusis: Continues »
Stillness prevailed. You could hear the sound of bird wing. A Sea Eagle sweeping A Dolphin leaping. Sea – a great swatch of interference colour, Opalescent, blue and then orange in my peripheral vision. The door open. Kris and Ray give welcome As though I was the Prodigal Son. Such is their style in all they do. Pass the intimateArtGallery Into the communal gathering space. Fireplace, leather lounge, books on cookery dominate free standing shelves. Chalkboard menu Demonstrates the passion, flare and personality of the cook. Ray Nourishes the soul. On the bench, Mulberry, Frangipani tart, Gold foil hued biscuits. A pan of fish on the stove, Dutch potatoes being smashed. Vivaldi music gently permeates the air. I sit and drink my tea. The D’Entrecateux Channel now forms relief patterns. My miniscule notebook/sketchbook is being scribbled in. Like Flaubert, I observe intently, Oh! [...] Continues »
My palette of synthetic pigment. Pure paint. I am going to paint ‘Nature!’ I suffer from absurdities of theory. Empedocles, Democritus, Plato and Aristotle. Their eyes could not even see the true nature of things. Apelles said, “Four colours only.” And here I daub a cornucopia of excitement from many a tube. Is it possible to capture, ensnare, light distorted? Blue and Green have been removed. Turns to the travesty of sunset observed. Continues »
Enchantment and total connectedness made the stones speak.|
My soul and body, my breath,
My relationship with the water gives me knowledge.
Effortless, I conjure up ancient history.
My imagination is rife.
The Nuenone People.
Their spirits give a brooding frisson to my present time.
Sixty thousand year old burnt remains of shells lie in a sandwich of ochre and mud. Continues »
I found an old newspaper
filled with heroes and widows
thousands of orphans
from bygone days
today’s war or yesteryear’s
wars always talk of the brave
generals and their wonders Continues »
The wind had a memory,
It told me of things that had never been said,
Storms of history, ancient runes, broken, dismembered,
Then thrown into my face in spume. ‘Saat.’
The sickle edged moon etched,
Acid formed in the backdrop of my world. Continues »
At Diasporic Literature Spot, being a literary website, from time to time we receive books from established as well as aspiring writers. I would say that in most cases these books can be a hassle to read and an even bigger problem to write about. However there are those certain books, by certain emerging or inspiring and aspiring writers that we feel privileged to receive, to hold in our hand and to read deepest thoughts in creamy or white colour pages. These specific books are the reason why Diasporic Literature is in existence Continues »
This is not Cassandra’s crying ‘Troy is being subjugated’,
nor is it Tiresias howling ‘alas, what an ugly destiny for Theba.’
Δεν είναι η γυμνή κραυγή της Κασσάνδρας, εάλω η Τροία,
ούτε του Τειρεσία ο σπαραγμός, αλί η τύχη των Θηβών.
At this age
The wind would always blow me southward
pushing me down a childhood avenue
and pointing to an obscure horizon,
that winds through a busy city
but I follow.
At this age
like an old lady cherished
who betrayed me
I stumble in thoughts endless
while people traverse in so much rush
and I wonder. Continues »
«Αλίμονό μου! 'Ολη η ζωή μου πήγε χαμένη»,
έκραξε με δέος κυριευμένος o Ροντέν
σαν πρωτόειδε τον Απόλλωνα στην Ολυμπία
“Alas! My whole life was in vain”
Rodin overawed cried out
when he first saw Apollo at Olympia. Continues »
Suddenly a sunrise
perhaps it was a new day
full of vigor and stamina and
all comrades woke staring
at each other, counting bodies
that moved instead of the
motionless, let them be cursed
and let them keep away from us
but when the sergeant came in Continues »
Άλλα ζήταγες, Αθηνά, με τον Ηρακλή σαν μας έσωζες
απ' τις Στυμφαλίδες 'Ορνιθες. Ούτε τιμές, ούτε εκατόμβες.
Σε βλέπω αθόρυβα να αφαιρείς την πανοπλία, χαμαί
να ακουμπάς την ασπίδα, το δόρυ σαν τούφα χιονιού,
When you, with Hercules, saved us from Stymfalides Birds,
the reward you wished was neither honours, nor hecatombs.
I see you, Athena, getting rid of your panoply,
laying down shield and spear to fall as snow bunches;
I carved her name above the entry to the cave,
my chisel picked from the rock-strewn shore,
then beckoned to the girl to see the… inscribed lore!
She dived and was carried on the rise of a wave.
The word “KATI” should bear an echo of her name,
casting a swell to a foamy crest in a rainbow band,
to its final rest on a sea-soaked strip of land,
as the wind whispered ”KATI- KATI”, all the same. Continues »
We looked all around the citadel for the whole morning
starting from the shaded side there where the sea
green and without reflection, breast of the slaughtered
welcomed us like time without any chasm in it.
The veins of the rock descended from high up
twisted vines, naked, multi-branched turning alive
at the touch of water, as the eye following them
struggled to escape the tedious rocking
of sea growing slowly-slowly weaker. Continues »
I've had to learn a new language
to write you this
and you've had to learn a further language still
to read it.
There are those, I've heard, who can read
the weather patterns Continues »
countless rays wandering around in the shadows
escaping briefly into the grace of a sun
with so much hope.
Wishes splattered upon volcanic rocks
and trapped inside tiny holes and fissures,
for the waiting...
Waiting not in vain
but someone to break the hardened rock
someone looking for the missing man,
someone loving to an ardent woman... Continues »
Hurled upon rocks is the fair amulet
And my hopes lie
Hurled upon rocks
In the city there are new ones to be bought
Deep in the seas, it's openly sung
the waste of young blood
Far in deep seas Continues »
The secrets of the sea are forgotten on the shore
the darkness of the depths is forgotten on the surf
suddenly the memory corals shine purple…
Oh do not stir it…carefully listen to its soft
momentum…you touched the tree with the apples
the arm stretched out, the thread points the way and leads you…
Oh dark shivering in the root and on the leaves
were it just you that would bring the forgotten dawn! Continues »
Manolis Aligizakis, Vancouver All night long, sleepless you thought of how to tell the novice embalmer to grant him his final wish to present him with a faint smile and an imperceptible yet discernible erection for the pleasure of the women who would lean and kiss his forehead and for the amusement of all the other women whose most concealed contours he had expertly explored Manolis Aligizakis, Vancouver Continues »
Perched on hearth’s edge we sip mountain tea in silent companionship as flames sculpt the olive tree stump slowly reduced to charcoal like her black dress & scarf tied over her grey hair & pallid face mother in law Maria lived through poverty hunger wars miscarriages birthed six live infants laboured on the land harvesting grapes olives corn gathering wild vegetables cooking baking spinning weaving cleaning
Eau de Cologne a luxury Should widows wear perfume? she’d asked after I bathed her minimal primary education reliance on the spoken word unlike my pen that rekindles village experiences - the procession of goats that paused & stared at the stranger reading in the square disheveled farmers who asked Why do you write? Continues »
charred tomb parked outside police station
blackened mudguard shattered tinted windscreen
hang over cliff’s edge opposite soccer stadium wall
farewell seascape of his youth
parents died without seeing their émigré son again
he served rich diners in New York saw the twin towers fall
dreamed of retirement reunited with siblings
and friends in village of his birth Continues »
Years pass prise open tomb of migration
Amulet brown roughshod stitched leather
Nestles in palm of aspiration
Flaminia buffeted across seas Piraeus to Fremantle stormy weather
Amulet brown roughshod stitched leather
Loving maternal hands prepared it in sorrow
Flaminia buffeted across seas Piraeus to Fremantle stormy weather
Her son leaves for the antipodes tomorrow Continues »
I held my youth like a knife
sharpened by the sun,
by the smooth sirocco
and I cut myself in two Continues »
Someone had a lot of dead people
He dug the ground he buried them himself
Stone by stone earth on earth
he built a hill
On top of the hill
he built his cabin facing the sun Continues »
Κάποιος είχε πολλούς πεθαμένους.
Έσκαβε το χώμα, τούς έθαβε μόνος του.
Πέτρα τήν πέτρα, χώμα τό χώμα
έφτιαξε ένα λόφο.
Πάνου στό λόφο
έφτιαξε τήν προσηλιακή καλύβα του. Continues »
Acrobatics on a stretched rope you know the world through graves old paintings are reproducing the blood of miserable prayers and ordeals οf jumps and deliverances The question is if immortality can release us from the bonds of necessity… The poetry of our bodies is the most perfect impetuously perfect multi-standard step… Whoever doesn’t adhere to this poetry is buried alive by regimes of disaster in white posthumous circles with stones erected in the soul dying in an unequal battle. Continues »
All night long, sleepless
you promised not to cry
to drive to downtown
to the family lawyer
and tie up loose ends Continues »
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He stood silent next to her.
She cried for the somber hour
like the question in her tongue Continues »