Doubt

And in secrecy I celebrated my nuptials

as per tradition, a rooster always called

the dawn and I, the anointed,

was meant to mound the Kore

before the branches of trees

connected to form the cross

symbol of my catharsis eternal

toughened and invincible who I had become

years that I had spent in my mind’s purgatory

was it in my previous lifetime or in my dream?

And truly, I was meant for the sacrifice

and I searched for purity to the point

of relentlessness and I longed for

the beautiful to the point of regression

traumas of my youth turned out

to be a lifetime effort to my apotheosis

resulting in my wisdom

like the esoteric anchorite’s

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Χρυσόθεμις//Chrysothemis

Μέσα σε μια μεγάλη κάμαρα ακατοίκητη, κρεμόταν από χρόνια,
ένας παλιός καθρέφτης με χρυσή κορνίζα. Στην κάμαρα εκείνη
δεν έμπαινε κανείς. Πετούσαν ανάκατα εκεί μέσα
ό,τι άχρηστο και παλιωμένο — λάμπες, πολυθρόνες, κηροπήγια, τραπεζάκια,
πορτρέτα πατρογονικά κι άλλα καθαιρεμένων στρατηγών, ποιητών, φιλοσόφων,
ανθοδοχεία κρυστάλλινα με παράξενα σχήματα, τρίποδες, μπρούντζινα μαγκάλια,
μεγάλες προσωπίδες, γύψινες, μετάλλινες, κι άλλες μικρές από μαύρο βελούδο,
ταριχευμένα κεφάλια ελαφιών κι άγριων ζώων, ταριχευμένα
πολύχρωμα πουλιά, γαλάζια και χρυσά, με γαμψά ράμφη —τ’ όνομά τους δεν το ’ξερα—
κρεμάστρες, πανοπλίες, κονσόλες και βαριά παραπετάσματα
σε πορφυρό συνήθως ή βαθυπράσινο χρώμα. Ήταν εκεί το καταφύγιό μου.

The old mirror with the gold frame hanged, for years, in

a big unoccupied room into which no one ever went. They

used to throw everything useless and old in there: lamps,

armchairs, candlesticks, small tables, family portraits,

and other portraits of retired generals, poets, philosophers,

crystal vases with strange shapes, tripods, bronze heaters,

big clay, or metal masks, and other small masks made

of black velvet, stuffed deer heads and other wild animals,

colorful birds, light-blue, golden with talons and beaks,

I don’t remember their names, hangers, armories, consoles

and heavy partitions in purple or dark green color. There

was my refuge.

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Roaming

As if blind we roamed the land for endless days and long nights

we seek a sign for our meaningful penitence. We commenced

the new Exodus under the loneliness of the lit sky, absent

ancient lights, for years we followed blind men or the half

blind, those others who thought they knew it all. The blistering

heat ravaged our limbs and pasted upon our cracked lips its

fatigued emotional touch as our leader’s staff bent with sadness

upon seeing our desperation. We opened a new page, battle

of man against animal-man, women against goddesses,

virginity sacrificed in the first night of lust, we wrote short

pages and meaningful stigmata in our history, exclamation

points at the sight of the bird’s flight, full stop at the watering

hole where our bodies shed their salt and our cracked lips

regained their elasticity.

And this was our second month of pregnancy and this litany

was our second miracle.

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POEM BY KATERINA ANGHELAKI ROOKE

STAGING

I feel like the stage director of my agony

leading actor in the one-act play of stress

but who’s the playwright?

Who wrote this play

with such wrongly written acts

and who’s hiding behind the curtain

who won’t see Him when he comes down?

Yet the imaginary playwright

had imagined everything

even the moment

when the lights of the soul dim

and the stage empties

now resembling a blank page

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LONG LISTED FOR THE 2023 GRIFFIN POETRY AWARDS

2023 Longlist Announcement

Precaution

     Until finally one morning you wake up and surprised

you discover you are someone else, “strange”, you think

“how can that be” but in a while you panic, you dress quickly

and run to the police station, “they want to replace me” you say,

they look at you indifferently, “at least can I have a new ID card?”

you beg,

     and later as you walk in the street and light rain starts, you

think that that’s the reason why the Lord’s birds have wings:

to cover their heads under them when they go to sleep at night.

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Morning Fog

Vaguely without any purpose blindly

without any pressure of blindness or feeling

of disengagement The immense view –

roofs and roofs TV antennas spectrums

of time and of the clouds on shut windows

the rusted drainpipes the kiosk owner

selling aspirins paper and envelopes matches

cigarettes clothespins he’s completely framed by

the hanging newspapers like a picture of

a bankrupt king when he is busy

with house chores when he hangs

a worn-out shirt he washed himself

while in the kitchen next to the small stove

he has left his big gold ring

with its beautiful stone with which he used to seal

so many foreign decrees without reading them

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Goal

And when I finally met my duty

even the poem needed to hide

behind the white page

to vanish between my three fingers

from afar to gaze at the world

and understand its deathlessness

while I stood before my future

a mask on my face and I wondered

why Lucifer mocked me, an adulterer

that I was, numismatic value 

of the flesh, cheap and tarry, made of

straw; my tools for advancement

fed carnivorous beasts

with displayed moustaches

smooth arms heavy and strong

that carried fresh water pitchers

to the hovel wherein I slept lightly

like an evening vesper

whoosh of lapping waves, faint

little black between the virgin’s legs

exquisite mystery that I loved

to the point of no return

and this the duty of my earthly life

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IN DESPAIR

He lost him forever.   And now he seeks

his lips in the lips of every   new lover

in the union with every new lover  

he tries to fool himself

into believing this is the same

young man he gives himself to.

He lost him forever,   as if he never existed.

Because he wanted—he said—to save himself

from the stigmatized,   the unhealthy sensual pleasure;

from the stigmatized,   sensual pleasure of shame.

There was still time—    he said— to save himself.

He lost him forever,   as if he never existed.

In his imagination,   in his delusions

in the lips of other young men   he seeks his lips;

he yearns to feel   that passion again.

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