Long Listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

2023 Longlist Announcement

DAYS OF ANGER ii

II

I asked the caretaker for the key; I pushed aside the open,

dripping umbrellas in the hallway and I unlocked; the letter

was still there on the night table, twenty years later, a

woman was lighting a candle “who are you?” I asked,

“you know me well” she said to me. I shivered. I saw

the executioner through the open window. He was often

dipping his hands in water “The asshole, he’s washing

his hands” I yelled “no, he doesn’t like seeing

his ugly fingers” they told me. An old woman was sitting

at the entrance unraveling a ball of wool; for which

dream or which return? The glow of the dawning day

flooded the poor people in the street with golden hues.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/ke4yv6?page=1&pageSize=10

PERSEPHONE (excerpt)

Sometimes

when I walk in the garden absentmindedly under

the poplars or when I clean a shirt in the stony basin

or I let my hand rest on my chest or I hold a flower

with my own girly tenderness I suddenly feel naked,

pinned on the wall or on the trunk of a tree or

in the metal entrance mirror, especially there,

in the mirror, double pinned, double seen, without

refuge, without any leaf, in a concentrated lucidity,

lighted from outside and from inside by two spotlights

of his breath which dash out of its narrow meaningful

nostrils, its oracular, sensual, religious nostrils.

Send it away, send it away

I yelled at him, fixated there, angry with a vague

guilt or innocence, I had nothing to hide, free

in my indisposition.

Only my hair flowed everywhere, getting in and

out of its nostrils like restless roots that shone

around me like wings and waves. I saw them.

They gave me back a different pride, my pride,

an independence opposite the dog and its master.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/q9mkmy?page=1&pageSize=10

Δημήτρης Χιλλ, από τον “Κιθαιρώνα”

Neon

Under the slick gleam of city

stars and blaring horns

you wish to be entrapped

would prefer to mingle

and drape your solitude

with transience, garment of

indefinite multiples of

companions, even if lasting for

moments, lights and music from doorways

simply to capture desolate emotions

distill them to sure

numbness when wintry you

shoot up, hoping to glissade into a

new kingdom of delight

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/y26q9n?page=1&pageSize=10

CIVIL SERVANTS

The civil servants melt and wither

in pairs like columns in the office

the city and Death must be

the electricians who replenish them.

They sit on their chairs, they scribble

without reason on innocent white paper

along with this correspondence

we have the honour they affirm

and only honour’s left to them

when they climb up the street

at night eight o’clock as if tuned

they buy chestnuts, think of the law,

the exchange rate and shrug their shoulders

the poor civil servants.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/vznd2p?page=1&pageSize=10

Ancient Supper

They brought the golden pitcher, the big silver bowl.

They washed their hands, sliced bread, ate.

The ephebe wasn’t hungry. He was silent. He was

examining the face of the stranger when, sometimes,

his fork created a shadow like a mast.

Then the old singer tuned his guitar.

Big plane tree leaves fell on the plates

next to the bones of cattle. Multi oared ships, from

the Neios harbor, came through the door and

stood upright in the middle of the hall. Him, with

the hairy, naked chest held the yoke of the last ship

having blindfolded his eyes with a white kerchief.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/w454dzp?page=1&pageSize=10

DIFFERENCES

What did you finally risk? What you got

to know of our years in your own skin?

Have you ever accepted the irreversible without

hesitation? Then, how you secure the right

of your certainty or your doubt?

But, let it be. We have to go beyond our differences.

And I have to crush this secret belief in my superiority.

4

Some years ago you said

‘Basically I am a matter of light.’And still today when you lean

on the wide shoulders of sleep

even when they anchor you

to the drowsy breast of pelagos

you search in corners where blackness

has turned thin with no resistance

you grope for the spear

that spear destined to pierce your heart

and open it to the light.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/ezvgyr?page=1&pageSize=10

Back to the First light, a tribute to Lawrence Ferlinghetti by Lidia Chiarelli

Light on the Walls of Life

To Lawrence Ferlinghetti for his 101^st birthday

Teach me to paint

the light on the walls of life.

Teach me

to look at the world

as you see it

to become a tear of the sun

a hill of poetry

a word in a tree.

Lead me

to see the sun

hitting the sheer cliffs

the tides that restlessly ebb and flow

the water birds challenging the wind.

Let’s listen together

to the breath of rustling leaves

the perfect hush of a starry night

the sound of summer in the raindrops.

Here and now

help me reach the very shores of light

waiting for

the renaissance of wonder

with you

again and forever.

Lidia Chiarelli, Italy

ΦΩΤΙΣΕ ΤΟΥΣ ΤΟΙΧΟΥΣ ΤΗΣ ΖΩΗΣ

Δίδαξε με να ζωγραφίσω φως

στους τοίχους της ζωής

τον κόσμο να κοιτάζω

όπως κι εσύ

το δάκρυ του ήλιου να γενώ

λόφος ποιητκός

κόσμος ενός δεντρού.

Οδήγησε με

να δω τον ήλιο

να πέφετει στις πλαγιές

και στις παλλίρριες που πάνε κι έρχονται

στους γλάρους με τον άνεμο

που πολεμούν

Μαζί ν’ αφουκραστούμε ανάσες

στο θρόϊσμα των δέντρων

της πάναστρης νύχτας την τελειότητα

τον ήχο του καλοκαιριού στις στάλλες

Εδώ και τώρα βοήθα με

να βρω του ήλιου την ακρογιαλιά

να περιμένω

του θαύματος την Αναγένηση

μαζί σου

και για πάντα.

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Lidia Chiarelli, Italy

Teacher

It was a foggy day when, like students, we entered

the school; found the teacher writing on the board

something narrating a familiar fable which we found

tasteless. The teacher welcomed us, especially the initiate,

who always inspired admiration with His graceful persona,

His stature and it was as if He led us to a garden full

of bloomed flowers, playful butterflies hanging from

threads of air, colorful spring, and the teacher repeated

to his students, ‘attention children attention, it isn’t

often that we have such a special visitor’, Übermensch

laughed and obviously pleased He said: ‘these students

are tomorrow’s Übermenschen.’

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/7pnp6z?page=1&pageSize=10