Day: July 26, 2025

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

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When Midnight Comes,


Jef, the Great Automaton …
Est-ce quelque dedale ou ta raison perdue
ne se retrouve pas?
Fr. De Malherbe


When midnight comes, Jef, the great automaton proudly says the words, eternal words and deceptive and futile, yet so advantageous for the satin eyes we loved, remember? Do you remember or would you rather try to tame them into a siren’s voice in the nets of their hair, which mercilessly ploughed the knitted and turned-off lamps of the flowing water…the flowing voices…the imagination…of the great erotic beds. Nothing of all these? Nothing. Then, the heights are meant for us. We must focus on the heights. Like the nihilist, who sprouts up in the air like a live flower. And as we must come down from the heights, let us do so. But, then again, with flowers, like flowers, with palaces, with spring music, with words of love and eyes of love. Set aside, be joyous, with your big eyebrows and open the big eyelids of the cloud. Look: the metal flutes are in a straight line over the carpet of dew. Here is what we call joy. Yes, this is known as the tender touch of a beloved woman. This is the law of life, the frontman of the sun, the sun of silence. Pay attention to these words. They have many obvious and hidden meanings. They are words full of metaphysical concepts, they are the depths of bitterness and mountains of joy. They are words life says, words the noisy piano key of love says, the bronze echo of love, Jef, the midnight great automaton.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734


68

Swamped

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Excerpt

Logan getting up and walking to the shower. The sound of the water
mixed with the chirping of birds in the trees around the house. Logan
came down ready for an early departure to the office.
“You’re up very early today, son,” Eteo said.
“Yes, earlier than usual, but let me share a coffee with you before
I go,” Logan replied. He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a
cup, then sat next to his father.
“What should we focus on today, Dad?”
“Keep on buying slowly in the new company. We have plenty of
orders, right?”
“God, yes, at least half a million, but I’ll do it slowly.”
“Yes, and carefully. If you notice anything strange, let me know
right away. And don’t forget we have plenty to allocate to our clients
from the private placement.”
“Yes, I remember, and yet we still have lots of orders. When the
market goes after it like we do, what do you think will happen to the
price?”
“We don’t like to chase it up ourselves, you know. We want other
people to do that.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And something else. Let’s try to unload some of that loser we
bought a year ago, that real estate deal that didn’t do well. Let’s call a
few of our people who invested in it and convince some of them to
take the loss and reposition into this one. They’ll have a better chance
of recovering their losses and maybe even making a few dollars this
time. Get Helena to talk to some of them. Let’s see where that takes
us.”
“Okay, will do.”
“Have you got enough stock for your key people?”
“Not for all, but I’ll keep on buying. Slowly, as you said. We have
enough right now for the two brothers and Angelo. Have you talked
to them?”
“Yes, I talked to them and to Yannis. Kenny too. Position him
and his friends in this one, but slowly, as long as we get some stock
for all of them, okay?”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Opera Bufa

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Second Canto
As the new language of despair
formulates new gothic phrases
I start painting my canvas with dark
red carts carrying cadavers and
lonely crosses toward the mountain peak
remainder of her flattened breast
perches firmly disassembled in the
shadow of magnolia leaves
the orphan sound of a lyre’s suffering
scolds dawn when quiet
amplifies the petty and stingy Where
in hell is a grand goal to be followed?
Where in hell is a maimed soldier
to be consoled? Who the devil will keep a
black-veiled widow company
through dark hours of her
soul’s nightmare? Nothing reveals
a snip of shredded light other than
indifference of the neighbor who
trims junipers with a deep
satisfaction of sedentary life stitched
on his t-shirt’s nonsense logo then
what’s left for old Death to do
but toy with the
ladybug on His hand and enjoy
a disjointed farce of the eminent
teen who thinks He knows
everything? Are they not all alike?
The last hurrah comes from hedging
trees and withering hibiscus asserting:
We can do better

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763092

Καίσαρ Εμμαουήλ, Νυχτερινή φαντασίωση

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Καίσαρ Εμμανουήλ, Νυχτερινή φαντασίωση