What if
What if you stopped staring out
from the blue window
reversed your sight path
and from the balcony
gaped at house’s innards
spied into
secret space of summer sofa
no need
to whisper for pillow
or reddish throw while loving
on the bare tiles
dawn lights a candle
in front of the saint’s lean icon
what if you with void eyes
saw green raw forms
red layered forest
and in the chiaroscuro of first light
you gazed without gazing?
POEM BY ANTONIS FOSTIERIS
Voyage of the Hours
There are some nights
sadly futile
and some days
that travel through time
like lazy galleys.
Some southwestern winds
control them
and they go back and forth
aimlessly in the open sea.
There are some empty hours
silent and cold
that dance on the waves
like foolish crafts
and there are some tired seamen
who until they die
dream of reaching a land
that they never reach.
PERSEPHONE
Further away,
no one swims, no one yells; the three gray, snobby
rivers, flow around the huge rock; they’ve a totally
different sound, loud, unique, that motionless sound
of eternal flow, you get used to, you almost don’t
hear it.
When my mother’s brother came to the house for
the first time he had something gray on him, like
those rivers. Suddenly he became ill; they laid him
on this bed, applied a few wet cuppings, I believe
he had caught a cold from the bright light and the heat,
I remember his wide shoulders, strong like grassy fields.
You’d fear his hair would catch fire, the candle was
so close, white candle on the silver candlestick. After
that they put it in the marble sink. The room smelled
of burnt cotton. His cloths, still warm, were thrown
on the chair. I noticed the candle dripped big drops
of wax on the marble.
Manolis Aligizakis 