George Seferis – Collected Poems

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…shrinking, yet unable to vanish completely. I don’t know what I have to say or what I have to do. Sometimes this obstacle appears to me as though a tear drop flopped on a music composition that will keep it silent until it dissolves. And I have the unbearable feeling that all the rest of my life won’t be sufficient to dissolve this tear drop in my soul. And a thought haunts me that if I were to be burned alive this obstinate moment would be the last to surrender.
Who would help us? Once, when I was still a seaman, one July noon, I found myself alone on an island, crippled in the sun. A soothing breeze brought to my mind tender thoughts, it was then when a young woman with a diaphanous dress revealing her body lines slender and willing like a gazelle’s and a somber man who stared in her eyes from a yard away, came and sat not far from where I was. They spoke a language I couldn’t understand. She called him Jim. But their words had no weight and their glances, mingled and motionless, left their eyes blind. I always think of them, because they were the only people I saw that didn’t have the grasping or haunted look that I noticed on everybody else. That look that makes them resemble either a pack of wolves or a flock of sheep. I met them again the same day in one of those island chapels that one finds as he goes by and loses them as he walks out. They still kept the same distance from each other, then they came together and kissed. The woman turned into a cloudy image that disappeared as she was of small stature. I asked myself whether they knew that they escaped from the world’s nets…
It is time for me to go. I know of a pine tree that leans near the sea. At noon, it bestows a shade upon a tired body and at night, as the wind passes through its needles it starts a strange song, like souls that have abolished death at the moment when they start becoming lips and skin. Once I spent a night under such a tree. At dawn I was as fresh as if they’d just cut me off the quarry.
Ah, if one could live like this, irrelevant.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

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…despite the heavy atmosphere
and, as everything changes, here is the fog
the ship enters the fog area
impossible to see ahead of us
curtains of fog in layers
and the first raindrops
start falling
and a sudden, wild wind starts
to ruin the sails
the boats the masts
it destroys everything on the ship
it groans around us like a beast
and the wooden ship rocks
how far the images of our homeland —
under us, the abyss opens
and darkness thickens in the horizon
as if it was possible
it thickens
darkness falls
dawn comes
curtains of rain replace the partitions of fog
the bright sun is hidden
and only the cursed wind
ravages the palm trees in the faraway islands
our ship delays
it delays a lot
when are we to arrive
to the foreign land?
The Atlantic, I repeat surrounds us
it’s a huge ocean
we are timid it is fearsome…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744799#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734

Marginal

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Lesson
The sound of a shell in the mouth
of the beautiful woman prepares us
for the ultimate lesson and teaches us
how to die with dignity when
her naked body remains unnoticed
though it stands erect, provocative,
tempestuous before our eyes so
we can learn how to depart with
our heads up during that first snowfall
covering our footsteps at dawn,
in the secluded room, and the lone chirp
of a hungry bird tells us one
day we won’t ever be hungry
memory runs to the light sleep
under the grapevine, middle of July
when cicadas continued
their perpetual revolution of
species unaccustomed to obeying
rules or laws when we sleep in peace
dreaming of Helena’s naked body
under the light bed sheet during
that first autumnal rain and the fresh
smell of earth, soil desperately
seeking understanding when we must
learn how to die with dignity and
this, our ultimate lesson in humanness

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

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

Kariotakis – Polydouri, The Tragic Love Story

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All My Belongins
All my belongings have remained
as if I died long ago
dust to dust the place is full
and I inscribe crosses with my fingers
all my things recall
the hour we spent together
when my books lost themselves
the clock has stopped at that hour
the happy hour, enchanting
was the sundown
I’ve been dead so long
the window has always been closed.
No persons nor the sun ever enter
my deserted house echoes
that hour again, the only hour
that lasts from morning to the eve
and I don’t know what this place is
nor who inscribes the crosses
and all my things remained the same
as if I died long ago

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562951

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

Fury of the Wind

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excerpt

“Quite right, my dear, and if you don’t mind me saying so, I wish
you would take that responsibility a little more seriously and keep
the things we hear in confidence to yourself.” Robert Carson folded
his hands, placed them on the desk in front of him, and smiled at
Emily as if to atone for the harshness of his words. “Having said
that,” he continued in a gentler tone, “I will tell you what Ben wanted.
You would have to know in a day or so, anyway. Ben’s getting
married on Friday.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. She had been about to take offence
at his inference that she was a gossip, but his last words erased every
other thought from her mind. And she certainly paid no heed to his
advice because, within five minutes, she was on the phone to Molly
Andrews, her best friend in Nimkus.
As in most small communities, a class system existed amongst
the residents of Nimkus. The town matrons would have denied it
but the divisions, although very subtle, did exist. There was no doctor
in town, no dentist and no lawyer. For services supplied by these
professionals one had to travel to the neighbouring larger town of
Bradshaw. With the absence of such elite families as these, the responsibility
of maintaining the position of upper crust fell to the
wives of the banker, the minister, the station agent, the town clerk,
the druggist … and on it went.
Had the principal of the three room school on the outskirts of
town been a man, his wife would certainly have been included in
this group. But the principal of Nimkus School happened to be,
and had been for some time, a single woman. Although well regarded
by the parents of the children she taught, Miss Donna Carrington
had no status in town because she had no husband. And a
single woman, no matter how brilliant and ambitious, was secretly
regarded as a nonentity by the town matrons.
Immediately following Ben Fielding’s visit to the vicar, Mrs. Carson
telephoned Mrs. Andrews. The station agent’s wife then called
Jean McKinnon, the banker’s wife. Mrs. McKinnon just happened
to be on her way to do her grocery shopping. And, of course, she let
slip the astounding news she had just heard as soon as she began
to give her grocery order to Mr. Stratton, the owner of Stratton’s…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

Neo-Hellene Poets, an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

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SPRING
It’s here, it has come.
Women, gather round,
let’s march to meet it,
let’s march to welcome it.
Here comes sweet spring
adorned in flowers,
riding a donkey,
sitting like a man
with herds of braying
donkeys close behind it,
ready all to copulate
ready to be lovers all.
They kick with all four legs
and bellow in their joy,
so wildly alive that you can see
the madness in their eyes
and braying all along
they bellow out spring’s beauty
and carry it abroad
for all the world to see
and spring, as it proceeds
and blazons its warm breath,
fills up the entrance way
of every house with heat.
The newly married maiden
feels hot in the cool air
and dresses in her
lightest cotton dress
and walks out to refresh herself
for all to see her passion
and the wind, if it can,
to cool her ardor.
Ah, spring, sweet spring,
companion of the young,
youth’s oestrus, comrade
equally to boys and girls
if you run out to the fields
even if you took away your steps
a myriad of followers
you will always find beside you
while all the long-lived men
who can no longer walk the fields
to meet you, stay behind
and envying, blame the young.
Ah spring, let us give
to others their fair share
without losing our good hold
on the reins of your donkey.
Look how the young girls
play and push each other.
Look how they fall and show
their secret lines to men.
Ah spring, stay steady
on the saddle
and hold more tightly
to your donkey’s reins.
Oh spring, oh my sweet spring,
companion of the young
youth’s oestrus, comrade
equally to boys and girls.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

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

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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excerpt

Some adventure this is.” Atall turned to slash furiously at the bush he’d
been trimming.
Ari was gone. Atall called after him, “You should be helping us cut grass. Hjálmar’s
sailing first thing in the morning.”
Keallach and Ailan watched Ari drop down beside them. He put his finger to his
lips for silence then untied their bonds. They followed him up and over the side
into shallow water. Neither thought to ask why or where. Ari’s friendship with their
Brother Lorcan was all they needed to know. It was not until they reached a clearing
in the woods that they noticed his blood splattered tunic.
When Ari told them that the Little Warrior had been avenged and could rest in
peace, they were glad. Both Brothers at the same time said, “God forgive us.”
“Now we must find your Brothers.” Ari told them. “But we must be careful.
Searchers are out looking for Hrafen, Atall and Bjorn. Soon they will also be looking
for four escaped thralls and for me.”
The Brothers were ready to go but Ari cautioned them to remain in hiding.
“If I run into searchers, I will just be one of them. When I find your Brothers, I
will either bring them here or come back for you. Now, please lie low until I return.”
With that, Ari slipped into the night. All was quiet except for the hooting of an owl
and the scurry of tiny paws on the forest floor.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562826

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

Introspection

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Zeta
I paired my sigh with
the stirring of my heart,
the pleasure of the first penetration
with the apex of an orgasm and
the rain’s slow slap onto
the earth’s voluptuousness
I paired my lust with
undulation of her body with
its erotic rapture and
the longing for consummation
I paired the horse with its rider and
death with
the flower of life and
I said,
together they constitute
the meaning of transcendence
I paired the beggar’s plea with
the concern of the passerby and
I said,
together they fight
the common enemy called hunger,
the endless source of need
for equilibrium
the unhealed wound or
the bleeding scar
of the twentieth century
as always and

I said,
together they define
the meaningful schemata
of the swallow’s flight path
that slices the wind
caressing it with a winged shadow
together they formulate
the essence of the unexpected
soft pain and sweetness
together they constitute
the final, greatest monad

https://draft2digital.com/book/4118210#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763777

The Qliphoth

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excerpt

Lucas:
Grand Junction
The light filters through a drifting barrage of cloud, early evening mist blurs a
green froth of trees and Lucas doesn’t know anything any more. Now that he’s
walked out he feels uneasy about his paternal rescue mission. No one stops for
the lone hitcher. The B-road wanders everywhere and nowhere. All the signs
are overgrown.
He staggers into Abbotsburton railway station. At least he can dry out and
ponder. From the doorway of the deserted waiting-room, he studies the slant
of the rain. No way back to the motherland now. He gazes along a curve of single
track. Squat oaks crowd the edge of the trackbed. They bulge with
growths, puffs of whiteness.. The dankness of this landscape might dissolve
the sticky molecules of his identity.
The waiting room window is pointed, forming pseudo-gothic lancets with
small leaded panes. There’s a peculiar stained-glass armorial motif at the apex,
a stylised flash of green lightning bursting from blue-tinted clouds, with initials:
WGJR.
This must be the privately-owned ‘restored’ line, probably run by enthusiasts
in woolly hats and anoraks. Perhaps they’re hoping to reconnect
Abbotsburton with the local coastal resorts, miles away across the moorlands.
Yet their steam-age revival has apparently failed already. The cracked canopy
leaks, and this room is a sparsely furnished shed, offering a slatted wooden
bench, scarred with ancient rune-like graffiti. The faded adverts for
Brylcreem, Park Drive cigarettes and Philco Radio-Grams are the kind of
time-capsule memorabilia his father used to sell.
He is atomised, all his bits and pieces are in free fall. Best not to think too
hard about past, future, any time at all. Of course, he has left his bleeding
watch behind.
Lucas turns up the collar of his black bomber jacket and walks out to the far
end of the platform, where nettles split the asphalt. There’s no sign of a timetable
or platform staff. He scans the rusty rails. They curve in from the woods
and continue out into a steep cutting, between slopes of thick wet bushes.
On the far side of the track he can see a low windowless red-brick building,
overgrown with creepers. A derelict sub-station; or a wrecked trackside
memorial to some defunct moorland industry?

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508

Swamped

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excerpt

…awkwardly. “It’s about Frances.”
“What about her?” Eteo replied, smiling.
“She’s crazy about you, Dad,” Logan finally said. “She has asked
me twice now about what she can do to get you to go out with her.”
Eteo laughed. “I’m aware of Frances, son. I’ll approach her when
the time comes, don’t worry about her.”
“Be careful though, Dad. She sleeps around, you know.”
“I’ll be careful. No worries, son.”
When Logan went back to his desk, Eteo sighed and began to
make some calls. Yanni. Spiro. Angelo. Tom. Nick. It was time to update
them on their accounts and let them know what he had in mind
to do for them. As usual, they all said it was up to him to choose what
to get into and when to sell their accounts. Eteo felt his chest expanding.
He knew he would make some good money with these clients.
He always made the most with the ones who just said, “Do what you
think is best.” Clients like Ariana who had said exactly that when she
opened her account and deposited a hundred thousand dollars in it.
He dialed her number.
“Hello, sweet baby” he said when she answered.
“Hello, my love,” she replied. “How is your working day?”
“Pretty good, sweet Ariana. How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine, though she’s in her own world these days, I’m afraid.”
“Want to meet for lunch? When I’m done here, I mean. We could
go to the White Spot on Lonsdale or the one at the Royal Park mall.”
“I’d love to, my love. Either place. Just come and get me when
you can.”
“Soon as I’m done, then. I’ll be at your place no later than 1:45.”
“I’ll be ready, baby.”
At exactly 1:40, Eteo pressed Ariana’s buzzer. She came down at
once, and his day turned more pleasant just as quickly. He kissed her,
led her to his car, opened the door for her, and drove to the White
Spot at Lonsdale and 23rd. Ariana ordered their legendary hamburger
with fries and Eteo the equally famous Mediterranean chicken
salad. They shared a half liter of red wine, the house Shiraz, a respectable
Okanagan product, and laughed as they clinked their
glasses, enjoyed their unassuming meals, and talked of simple things…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX