Ολοκληρωτισμός χωρίς γκουλάγκ

THE GATE

(Excerpt 13)

The other passes with a sack on his back; all his

belongings, a pair of socks, an undershirt an

undergarment — he wears his shirt — two slices

of bread, no razor, his beard has grown long, no

notebook, he has paid off his debts, doesn’t need

to borrow anything, he had seen a naked woman

in the twilight, hadn’t seen her clearly, he shuts

his eyes, imagines her the way he likes, short legs,

long legs,

big breast, small tight, you can’t control the body;

the other’s body or yours, it slides on the light,

escapes its shadow,

whole, cut in pieces, each piece, water well

in water well

hill upon hill, tree next to tree over the other tree

circle on circle, secure circles, you run around them

you see one piece, you miss the other,

Oh mother of mine, he yelled, you gave me a circular

mouth,

circular hand too, to see, to lick, to touch the whole

circle.

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POETIC POSTSCRIPT

Poems can’t be

beautiful

when truth has turned ugly.

Experience now

is the only body of the poems

and as experience is enriched

the poem finds nourishment

and it might become strong.

My knees hurt and I can’t

kneel before poetry anymore

I can only gift it with

my experienced wounds.

The adjectives wilted

I can only use my imagination

to embellish poetry.

Yet I shall always serve it

as long as it too wishes

as only poetry makes me forget

the enclosed horizon of my future.

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Ψυχολογία : Αυτογνωσία και Αυτοβελτίωση