Neo-Hellene Poets, an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

LAMENT FOR THE YOUTH STEFANOS MESSALAS
Hades was ploughing, ploughing the earth that fears Him,
His rows but gravesites, His seed only poison.
Hades was ploughing with His black ox
which blew hard at each stroke of the merciless goad.
Where the ploughshare passed, it felled the trees,
uprooted homes and wrecked the world,
and you, young lad, what sought you on His path?
In your mother’s embraces, in your father’s too,
you were raised with kisses, and concern looked after you.
Oh, youth, why do you not remain with us?
You thought to sleep inside the earth was sweet,
you did not know, oh child, a grave needs company,
that in it you are destitute, an orphan.
You will not find your father’s bones arrayed
where you’ll descend, but you’ll lie down in loneliness.
Oh, child, why do you want to leave?
But that young stripling heard us while a thousand
worlds and golden dreams around him seemed to shine.
He smiled back sweetly as if to say “the grave, my father
isn’t loneliness but rather life and love.”
Hades was ploughing, ploughing, and didn’t rest,
but day and night His ploughshare worked,
it took the sprouts and hid them in the soil
and soundlessly, alone, He passed and furrowed.
Oh, father and mother, he is gone, the grave is covered,
bid farewell to your child on his last voyage
with your last kiss and bitter tears.
He’ll sail as if he were a bird, and I
wish I were with him, to see my daughter in Hade’s abode.

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Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

Reality
The ship entered the αρεα of the thick fog. A bell
echoes desperately at prow: the route is full of
innumerable dangers now. On the bridge, however,
the sleepless and bewildered captain watches and
drives the ship safely. The captain … his eyes, his
glance. Yes, indeed, his glance is everything, like
now that his glance, straight, strong, mercilessly
pierces through the thick layers of grey pleats of fog
and inside the dark paths of the human psyche, into
the dark sanctuary of Fate, it calms the wildest and
roughest seas, it enters and stands like a guard into
the hovel of the poor fisherman, it saunters tenderly
around the anchors, the sleeping baby, the spread nets
and finally, it comes, settles and serenely rests, next
to the quiet light of the lamp. Certainly, the captain’s
profession isn’t captain. He has different choices,
different longings, and specialties. Different things
attract him and in different things he’s involved. Yet,
when the ship is in danger, they all run to him, who
although they don’t see him as a man, they allot to him
and he accepts the responsibility of many souls. He,
who has no joy but knows of it, who isn’t free, yet
yearns for freedom and struggles while he hopes.
Let it be known: if the Fates never visited his baby
cradle, Fates, Witches and pure Fairies would come
next to his deathbed. The figurehead of the ship
knows all this and loves him. She’s, his lover. This
wild and hot girl with her undone black hair, fiery
red lips and the light-blue belt goes and finds him
secretly every night and they make love ‘together’
and chit-chat erotically for hours. One moonlit night:
“Don’t forget me”, she says to him, “because I’ll die”
One day when he was in a thick forest, rain caught up
with him. He sheltered himself in the tree hollow and
waited. The rain intensified. Among all the rain he
noticed a few tree trunks burned by the fires of
wayfarers and many pinecones scattered around the soil.
Another time, a summer noon, he stood by a water well.
Further away was a tower. A girl came, like Rebeckah
to get some water. She puts the pitcher down, goes close
to him, uncovers her voluptuous breasts and says, “Don’t
touch them, they are roses and drop their petals; only
caress them” Then again, “No, do as you wish with them,
they are yours, my sweet man, I gift them to you.” This
woman, who he fell in love with passionately, one night as
the winds were blowing, he waited for her and he saw
her going down to the harbour. She ran and cried along
the deserted quay. She had tied her raincoat around her
waist with a leather strap and the strong wind sometimes
glued it on her body and other times it whipped her apron
wildly and took away along with her voice, her long
hair too.

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

Übermensch

Jester
As though going through the pages of a porno-magazine
we arrived at the house of the jester. With his back against
the wall he contemplated on how short life was and how
everyone was justified right after their death.
In a moment of paroxysm he grew wings and said,
‘I know how to make you laugh’, something we never
doubted. After all the king never doubted his creativity,
for this he hired him, however we always doubted
the king and the stains on our pants were witnesses
of infidelity, until finally He stood up, the Übermensch
and smiling at the jester He hugged him saying:
‘my brother, you are my chosen one.’

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGFRGLVH

Arrows

excerpt

That was a strange kind of animal. I didn’t think it was a pig, too
slender and bony, and too big and fleshy to be any kind of bird I knew.
My turn came, and I sank the gourd and extracted it with the
stock, which I drank and found to be dull but palatable. As the
liquid diminished, Urquía took the charred carcass and tore it
apart, giving a piece to each man. I couldn’t see clearly, for she had
her back tome, but when she gave Conopoima, who sat beside me,
his piece, my stomach lurched. It was a little hand with fingers
curled up by the heat.
Stories of cannibalism came to my mind. Was it a child we were
eating? Conopoima took the hand and with his teeth peeled the
fingers of their flesh, nails and all, leaving the tiny bones bare.
I didn’t have time to do anything but gape before she favoured
me with the head. It was the head of a monkey with a horrible grin
on its face.
I am sure it was deference to give me the head, but, by all the
saints in heaven, how could I eat it? And how could I not eat it? I
looked around, swallowing the contents of my stomach a couple of
times as they rose, insisting on being expelled. I saw the men
relishing here a hand, there a leg, foot and all, picking out of their
mouths the tiny bones of the toes or a nail, or just spitting them out.
They stared at my inaction, their conversation slowly dying.
I looked at the gourd and turned it over to avoid the monkey’s
almost human face. Then I cracked a smile and held the head with
one finger while I sipped the small amount of liquid left. A cold
sweat broke out on me as I fought the need to retch. I forced myself
to swallow and appear content. Guacaipuro’s eyes gleamed. They
were testing me again.
I deliberately tore a piece of skin from the scalp so that everyone
had time to see, and put it in my mouth and chewed. Swallowing
proved more difficult, but Baruta’s disappointed expression gave
me the push I needed, and I forced it down. Once, twice, three times.
I managed to pick enough meat out of the head to expose a patch

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Ασημίνα Λαμπράκου, Δύο ποιήματα