Κατερίνα Φλωρά, Από μακριά

REPETITIONS, SECOND SERIES

Change

Thus it happened to them, the non-believers, the vigorous

the beautiful who relied on their hands and smartness

         like

the governor of Cilicia, who, although Epicurean, one day

decided to send a newly freed slave to the Oracle of Mopsos

with just one question sealed in an envelope. He as it was

customary spent the night in the temple. Half way in his sleep

a very tall, handsome man appeared to him and said only one

       word, “black”

Since then the governor changed. He often offered sacrifices

honoring the great Mopsos. We often heard him, during

the spring evenings as the fragrance of the moist garden

charged through the windows, whisper to himself” “black,

black, black” as if resisting something inside him. Then he’d

       smile.

We, around him, felt freed that the Epicureans were finally

       defeated. 

That “black” was joyous and practical. It saved us (truly a

        little late)

from all the struggles, denials and concerns. Outside of

the windows, in the garden, a thin moon, slow and fresh,

looked at us as it gleamed behind the poplar.

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POEM BY MARIA POLYDOURIS

ONE NIGHT AT THE TRAIN STATION

A sad place the train station

soon after the train leaves.

Moments earlier it was stopped here

on the rails with the passengers

coming and going in haste

laughing without any reason

and the ones who stay behind

don’t have their previous faces.

The emptiness of the rails, the silence

of the station that lost its train

and the ones who stay behind scatter

with decisive steps as if following

their Fate. Something of theirs

leaves them every time and they stay

at the station closing their blurry eyes

before they courageously turn back to the same

with their backs even more stooped.

Cursed let it be the separation

yet even with you I shall fall in love

because the hello was sweet

and the hand waved in the air

and the handkerchief was whiter

than a bud, a light in the distance

that I hadn’t seen before

serene and beautiful your vision.

Cursed separation:

my lips tremble calling your name.

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ΤΟ ΤΕΛΟΣ ΤΗΣ ΔΥΣΗΣ-di Roberto Pecchioli

REPETITIONS, SECOND SERIES

Present Things

“Descend” they said to him, “don’t be afraid; the

ascend is glorious; the future will be clearly visible

to you” He hesitated. Yet he prepared himself at

the chapel of Good Luck; he passed the chair of

Forgetfulness and Mnemosyne; he offered his

sacrifice on the tomb of Agamedes; he bathed in

Erkyna, guided by two charming twelve year old

boys; he applied oil and moved on. At the last moment,

in front of the black mouth of the oracle, the holy,

the sealed by the bronze railing, he stopped; “no,

        no” he yelled;

“no, no”. He pulled away in fear. Perhaps he

recalled the unfortunate satellite, Demetrius who

never returned. Of course, they said that Apollonius

pulled up two steel plaques from in there. Yet, what

would he do with the Pythagorean words, the past and

the future? The present things were better even if

they were a few and insignificant; better than

the unknown. And suddenly he felt all the brilliance

of the moment. He cut a laurel leaf, he bit it, and run

       away

while the advice of the priests echoed behind him.

Voice in the Night

“Water, water” the deep voice was heard over the ships

during the night. No answer was heard. A sailor stood next

to the mast. A star hanged off the rope ladder. A little

later a rivulet was heard trickling down towards the sea

a rivulet just held by two fingers. Another voice at the quay

“water, water” then quietness again. The big crab, on

the big rock remained motionless listening to the voices.

Visitor

Old Chevy squealed frustration

over the rough asphalt

just outside the little town he reached

at dusk.

They noticed his laughter

in the beer parlour

and at the convenience store

where he bought a pack of smokes.

Molly felt overwhelmed

when she looked deep in his eyes

and by chance touched his hand.

None ever called his name.

Who was the unknown soldier

who fought by our side

in the battle for the spring song?

Futility recommenced human history.

Unaccomplished travesty

when the next day on his way out of town

a door slammed behind him

and when they found him fallen

in the middle of the street

they knew he talked to our glorious ancestors

just one stratum below the reality of his dream.

The following Sunday

Molly went to church

dressed in her red dress

and on her golden hair,

the white scarf.

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