(Excerpt)

and from the narrow

shores of Bosporus

green cities and fountains

made of sprouts rose;

blossoms looked like fairies

flowing, descending

in cisterns: jewels, rain full

of red precious stones.

And the sun reflected onto

the Bithynian mountains

to the Vlaherne and

Magnavre palaces

which unobstructedly rose

and gleamed up high

and from the Golden Gates

to the Heptapyrgion

up to the end of stranded

emerald islands

legions of palaces

and armies of monasteries

as if the spells of witches

were cast upon them and

they spread over the domes

and mansions and you shone

oh my soul over all the motionless

crosses and the cypresses.

On A Ray Of Winter Light

7

The flame is healed by flame

not in the dripping of moments but in a flash, at once;

like the desire that merged with another desire

and they both stayed fixated

or like

the rhythm of music that stays

there at the center, like a statue

motionless.

This breath is not a passing of life

it’s ruled by a thunderbolt.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/ezvgyr https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J

Ο
Δωδεκάλογος του Γύφτου του Κωστή Παλαμά σε μετάφραση μου για πρώτη φορά
στη Β. Αμερική. Το πιο δύσκολο έργο που έχω μεταφράσει ποτέ. Παρ’ όλα
αυτά το αποτέλεσμα είναι υπέροχο όσο και το πρωτότυπο. /// The Twelve
Narratives of the Gypsy, by Kostis Palamas, in my translation for the
first time in N. America; the most difficult translation I’ve ever done.
Yet the end result stands as gracefully and as beautifully as its
original.

Blythe Baird, Φεμινισμός τσέπης

Long Listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

2023 Longlist Announcement

Adulthood

Insignificant things that just as fast as we notice them

we forget them:

the fragrance of a wet garden, the glance of a passerby,

the cracking voice of a woman behind a window.

We forget all of them; however we’ll remember them

someday and shall feel that we left, there in the middle

of the street, our good luck or a beloved dead person.

But what can I do now? At least let me admit

how old I am.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/ke4yv6 https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

Painting by Simone Wilhelms

Warmth

Memory freezes between my fingers,

my eyes unwinking stare,

while the birds migrate to warmer places

in despair.

The victory of winds it is,

not of the heart,

that my cheeks will not blush

from the warmth of memory.

My words follow the birds:

They rest where poetry is.

ΖΕΣΤΑΣΙΑ

Παγώνει η μνήμη ανάμεσα στα δάχτυλα

αθέλητα τα μάτια μου κοιτούν

απελπισμένα πουλιά που μεταναστεύουν

στα θερμά κλίματα.

Νίκη του ανέμου

κι όχι της καρδιάς

τα μάγουλα μου που δεν κοκκινίζουν

απ’ τη θαλπωρή της μνήμης.

Τα πουλιά ακολουθούν οι λέξεις μου

Όλα τα υπόλοιπα την ποίηση.

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Armenuhi Sisyan, Armenia

Translation Armenuhi Sisyan – Stanley Barkan

Feasts

I partake in Luculean feasts

and dance with Maenads to

orgiastic Pan capers, I leave

celibacy to the celibate

and talk of God only within

myself though other souls

cannot stand such intensity

I let my body indulge in

fruits of debauchery and

like a new era Nero I burn

rules and townships but

when fingers are pointed

my way and the last breath

approaches I won’t forget to

ask for His forgiveness in case

the holy book has substance

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/ryryjp https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S

Οι τελευταίες ώρες του Πλάτωνα γίνονται πρώτη φορά γνωστές χάρη σε πρωτοποριακή αποκρυπτογράφηση παπύρου

Λι Μπάι, Ποιήματα

Robert Duncan, Childhood’s Retreat / Παιδικό καταφύγιο