Katerina Anghelaki Rooke – Selected Poems


                             For Timothy

                                       But is there any comfort to be found?

                                       Man is in love and loves what vanishes.

                                       What more is there to say?

                                                                             ~W.B. Yeats  


I saw you among the leaves

in the waters

in the light of the leaves

in the leaves of the waters

in the moon’s reflection in the water

I saw you in the lakes, in waterfalls

in the lakes that light creates

in the waterfalls where light tumbles

the light encircling your body.

You were coming to the opening of the trees

walking, floating

over dewdrops

over smooth shining caresses

in the insubordinate black of the night…

ah, the night steams behind your shoulders

steams on wings

and a mysterious triangle shines

on your chest: dazzling target

of beauty.

From the grassy areas to the haired tops

up high to the crowns

of the superior branches  

the highest frieze of lunacy

in nature

the voices of the moth corpses

to the spring of springs

the unbearable bird of sorrow

I hear with your voice

that rises from the depths

where the bile and the soul

in one voice refuse to die.

Everything that’s yours raves

in the thickets, in the grassy empires

of the dreams

in the glorious silence of the ivy

in the silent syncope of the fern

the vinous fainting of the autumn leaves.

Your meaning gushes out:

that no life

is stronger than lust

no act more final

than poetry.

There where you touched me

where I flowered

where I almost died

from where I call you

adorning your other nature

there where I was crucified

where I suffered

for your fairy-like grace

there where Eros was light

but with heavy consequence for the water.

Untamed in the ruling of reality

tell me, how I might see you again

coming out to the opening of the trees

with your thin legs

wrapped in wisterias

with the sperm of birds

in the roots of your hair

you who brings the sky

that I spent hours gazing out the window

the crows shifting their nests

you who speaks the words

that resemble wild marigolds on the hillside

you whose shining lips-speech

you the superior being

of poetry in the creak.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s