Χρυσόθεμις//Chrysothemis

Ήταν μια γεύση —δεν ξέρω— από βαθύ γαλάζιο διαλυμένο —
μια γεύση υπαρκτής ανυπαρξίας, υπογραμμισμένης κάποτε
από τη μετακίνηση κάποιου πουλιού στον ύπνο του· —μια σιγαλιά πολύβοη—
κι εγώ ήμουν ολόκληρη η σιωπή και μέρος της σιωπής. Δάγκωνα ένα μυρτόκλωνο
μη και φωνάξω. Γιατί το ’νιωθα: το στόμα μου μεγάλωνε
θαυμαστικό, για μια μεγάλη κραυγή, και τα δόντια μου
αραίωναν κι αυτά, χωρίζονταν, για ν’ αφήσουν διέξοδο
σ’ εκείνη την κραυγή. Την κράτησα. Διαλύθηκε εντός μου.
Αυτή ’ταν η σιωπή. Κι εγώ ήμουν αέρινη — μπορούσα να πετάξω.

This was a taste, I don’t know, of deep, faded light-blue,

a taste of existent inexistence, sometimes underlined by

the great movement of a bird in its sleep, a noisy calmness,

and I was part of silence, the whole silence. I bit on a myrtle

leaf so that I wouldn’t yell, since I felt it: my mouth was

enlarged to an exclamation ready to yell and my teeth

thinned up, separated one from the other to make room

for that yell. I withheld it. It vanished inside me. This was

silence and I was airy, I could fly.

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ΦΑΙΔΡΑ/PHAEDRA

(Απόσπασμα-Excerpt XXXVΙΙ)

Ίσως και να τον είδες ένα απόγευμα, αργά προς το βράδυ,
αυτόν με την άδεια βαλίτσα, που προσποιείται τον κουτσό, (κι ίσως να ’ναι)
αυτόν που κάθε τόσο σταματάει από το βάρος του άδειου —
αφήνει τη βαλίτσα του στο πεζοδρόμιο ή στη σκάλα,
σκουπίζει τον ιδρώτα του με ανάστροφο χέρι, και πάλι
σηκώνει τη βαλίτσα του, ακούγοντας μέσα της τον κρότο
από δυο γυάλινους βόλους (ο ένας κίτρινος, ο άλλος γαλάζιος)
που κυλούν και χτυπιούνται.

Perhaps you saw him in the afternoon, closer to evening,

the person with the empty suitcase who pretended to limp

(perhaps he is) the person who often stops from the weight

of emptiness — he leaves his suitcase on the sidewalk or

the stairs, wipes his sweat with the back of his hand, then

he lifts the suitcase again, hearing inside it, the clank

of two glass balls (one yellow, the other light-blue) which

roll and hit each other.

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Long Listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

2023 Longlist Announcement

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Poem by Dimitris Liantinis

NORTHERN HALO

Before your enigmatic manner

I adjust the red chiton and

the crown of thorns on your hair

I raise your fortitude straight to the sky

and this April I salute you

ecce homo

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General

The monarch butterfly staggers

in front of you light stumbles

on the mauve heather and song you

hear pacifies

suddenly the statue of the general

parked on solid earth unlike

his image in clouds

sweats glory while his subtle smile

bleeds

forgotten soldiers haunting

cenotaph earth his arms

wide as to embrace

all heartsick and hovel-less souls

and his legs straddle the pedestal

poised to announce war is over

wars should be declared obsolete

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A DOG IN THE NIGHT (excerpt)

And that house, which I described to you, was very dark; it

didn’t delay the road traffic at all, nor the soft songs

            heard from the boats,

or the lights that were turned on slowly at the shore-line.

The reflection of the sea lighted the facades of the houses.

The two shadows of couples in love remained among

the dusty road oleanders. No one listened to the hollow

echo from the wing of the bat on the railings in the backyard

like an ashy palm that hit a motionless face. What would it help

if we reverse things, words, events and even ourselves, wearing

a sweaty shirt that we put on in front of the window, immovable

there, in the current — waiting and not waiting.

That day passed noisily in that seashore city.

Soon after the moon shone, wide, despotic, dominant,

and enforced a silvery silence in the marketplace, in the

             quarrels, the lies,

on the store shutters, the glass windows of the jewelers,

and the suburb roofs where the birds had already

             roosted.

A faint glare easily established the meaning of a dusty

            bottle on the old self.

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