Days of 1896
He was utterly disgraced. One of his erotic inclinations,
literally forbidden and condemned
(nonetheless inbred), was the reason:
Society was quite puritanical.
Bit by bit, he lost what little money he had.
Then he lost his position and his reputation.
He was close to thirty years old without ever having worked
as long as a year at least at a job we know of.
Sometimes he earned his expenses from
Interceding in deals that were considered shameful.
He ended up being the type of person who, if you were seen
with him often, it was possible that you could be seriously discredited.
But this is not the whole story. It wouldn’t be right.
Above all, his beauty needs to be mentioned.
There is another point of view, and if he is seen from that angle
he appears likable; he seems simple and pure
young man of love who, without any thought
placed above his honour and his reputation
the sensual delight of his innocent flesh.
And his reputation? But society,
prudish and stupid, made comparisons.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562856

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763823

Long-listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

https://griffinpoetryprize.com/press/2023-longlist-announcement/

Matter of Lighting
All these took place because each night I followed
my impulse and each time I passed the bridge
I felt my life more foreign to me or I recalled that
I never kissed father while he was alive, despite of all
our poverty, or my cup that dwelt in heavens since
I had always been accommodated in the kitchen
and since one of my legs had rotted in the rain,
the others had to manage my birds, thus I became
an easy target; therefore I now sit in my room where,
with a few cognacs, I finally regain a meaning or I mix
with strange things: sometimes the soup bowl that
steamed in the middle of family supper and other
times this horrible murder you find
when you raise the lamp a little higher.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4051627

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

WINTER LANDSCAPE
The grotesque full moon like a slab of ice,
motionless, standing in the middle of sea,
and a big silent reef, as exposed as my palm
with an old, sad, tragically small cane stick
and a shadow-something, that I don’t know
what I’ve lost, returns, unable to becalm
that lost trio frozen and fully lit
in a silent vigil in the night, in the cold

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763513

Hand
Ah, the feathery touch of a hand
unable to commit to darkness
and the limping sparrow hops
and marvels at his reflection
in the shallow puddle thinking
he is the smartest airflow
just before the falcon’s claws
dive in the fluff of his feathers
ah, the diaphanous laughter of the creek
unable to commit to the ocean
and the lonely trout marvels
at his swiftness searching for a mate
against autumnal rush of water
thinking he is the smartest water lily
just before the man’s hook
sets its claw deep in his mouth

https://draft2digital.com/book/3747032#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771715987

Πέντε μικρά ρωσικά ποιήματα

Loneliness
Sorrow was hanging in the air; the leafless branches
behind the railings and you were alone by the window.
The night passed in front of your door; it left like
a beloved woman, a woman that another man
was holding from the waist.
And the moon, like a calm, turned off light bulb
at the turn of the road above the drug store.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562968

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0851M9LTV

Paris
Oh Paris, it was time when I scattered
my dreams in your dark mornings
and now I leave you taking with me
the sorrowful joy that I love you.
The Mediterranean delicate siren
that flows around our ship
with all its frothy lilies
now takes me away from you
but we shall meet again in the future
when light will come carefully to open
my eyes before the gleaming blue day
that helps me live with your memory
and then its islands will charge
Athens, I know, isn’t far behind
and they’ll stand and fight
my sinful love for you, oh Paris,
and they will wish me to forget
how sweetly I gave you my soul
not longing to meet anyone
when I aimlessly saunter in your streets

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562951

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763459

Gratitude
The sense of gratitude
passing through me slowly
reaches
the forests that root in the wind
days in tomorrow’s train stations
we live in nameless streets
by the riverbanks of every number
the cosmos will forget
all who loved it and
it won’t know the number of stars
each person hides in their heart
forgotten in the old mistakes
all lovers are holy and sinful
Eros is a thirst
for whom will be betrayed
shining moment that suddenly arrives
and vanishes in the whirl of eternity.
And if the road is full of truths
the inexplicable moment is still far away
the dream dives into the void and
writes about chancy destinations
in this version of history
they keep time and light like
a legacy of nothing they inherit
from generation to generation
an untidiness of improvisation
a vigilant attraction.
Outside something like a forged spring
and the forever illusion
of keys that open the wide-open door.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPCRLJC6

Second Hour
I move my brush toward the eastern field
and the cows stop spinning their tails
splashed in light brown although
worm and eagle earn gratification
in the nimble yawn of nostalgia
of life in Chronos’ pendulum
tender sparrow tackles two seeds
in his beak and retreats to his brother
in the bushes one teardrop in an
irksome afternoon when even chewing
a stick of gum embalms you
with such pleasure you couldn’t
think yourself more lucky
as you breathe fresh air rising
off seashore dusk always
recurring as a faithful friend after
a tough day’s work then starts
the game of cynical Death
evangelizing his fearsome enigma
The dark wind blows
as from the future and undresses
a decaying reality concocted by
hands of the few though the rose
traverses past eyes of the girl
who reflects at the redness of her lips
shrugging her shoulders my loneliness
in the path enmity grasps
thin air and ponders the question
while headmaster cinches the noose
around an apostate’s muscled neck
without concern for mercy
carves emblems and insignia
inked with blood crying out: who cares?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763092

Summary
Those who left early with their glance focused on
the same spot: dead horses, bones, flags, tables, stones,
a lonely tree up on the peak and the immovable oath.
Evening liaisons, pseudonyms on cigarette packages,
the discussion left by the cane fields and the old woman
who yelled: passersby, fools, consumed by secret wounds,
nails, teeth, my little moon, the dream and the chair; take
care of the dead, she said, find a way to live their life. Don’t
fall asleep and forget. History is but a continuance. The man
by the front step reads the incomplete catalogue, the one
with the killed shoulder, who died under the trees. Small
animals gathered by the corner. One lonely boy, enchanted
by the imaginative stars. Ah, the beautiful, I’ll shout, the
brave, ah, the thoughtless. And the old woman under the
stairs, with the big cauldron in the night.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763785