Neo-Hellene Poets, an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry, 1750-2018

Poemj by Cloe Koutsoubelis


When Antigone leaves she always forgets something.
A lacy glove on the satin bed-sheet,
a steamy drop of lemon
on the cheek of a friend,
a stolen touch on a lover’s arm
a lip-mark on the porcelain tea-cup
when she drinks hastily.
Antigone forgets
the gauzy handkerchief moistened
by the sudden momentary tears
the little umbrella in the fragile rain.
Antigone forgets
the rustle of her dress when she walks
the fan that changes her seasons.
Antigone always forgets something
and for this she always leaves.
Only some nights

as she starts remembering things
she sprinkles ashes on her hair
buries herself in her cave
and laments for the not buried dead.


Katerina Aghelaki Rooke, Selected Poems

Erotic Poems After Death


I pass by flooded by the light

in the routine of the clouds

and suddenly I’m nailed in the soil;

a myopic ant gets close to me

leaves its burrow

its crumbles

climbs up from my nail

I’m in danger again

I’m again ready for death

with my belly, the arms…

I’m trapped

the ant wins

it carries me, bitter, dried up matter

while the cicada screams

untaught in all the passion.

Yes, the cicada

makes tangible of the day again

short but of such immenseness

and contracted.

Day of the cypress and of the creaking door

my day

first thus simple

last thus simple.