George Seferis – Collected Poems

…shrinking, yet unable to vanish completely. I don’t know what I have to say or what I have to do. Sometimes this obstacle appears to me as though a tear drop flopped on a music composition that will keep it silent until it dissolves. And I have the unbearable feeling that all the rest of my life won’t be sufficient to dissolve this tear drop in my soul. And a thought haunts me that if I were to be burned alive this obstinate moment would be the last to surrender.
Who would help us? Once, when I was still a seaman, one July noon, I found myself alone on an island, crippled in the sun. A soothing breeze brought to my mind tender thoughts, it was then when a young woman with a diaphanous dress revealing her body lines slender and willing like a gazelle’s and a somber man who stared in her eyes from a yard away, came and sat not far from where I was. They spoke a language I couldn’t understand. She called him Jim. But their words had no weight and their glances, mingled and motionless, left their eyes blind. I always think of them, because they were the only people I saw that didn’t have the grasping or haunted look that I noticed on everybody else. That look that makes them resemble either a pack of wolves or a flock of sheep. I met them again the same day in one of those island chapels that one finds as he goes by and loses them as he walks out. They still kept the same distance from each other, then they came together and kissed. The woman turned into a cloudy image that disappeared as she was of small stature. I asked myself whether they knew that they escaped from the world’s nets…
It is time for me to go. I know of a pine tree that leans near the sea. At noon, it bestows a shade upon a tired body and at night, as the wind passes through its needles it starts a strange song, like souls that have abolished death at the moment when they start becoming lips and skin. Once I spent a night under such a tree. At dawn I was as fresh as if they’d just cut me off the quarry.
Ah, if one could live like this, irrelevant.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

…despite the heavy atmosphere
and, as everything changes, here is the fog
the ship enters the fog area
impossible to see ahead of us
curtains of fog in layers
and the first raindrops
start falling
and a sudden, wild wind starts
to ruin the sails
the boats the masts
it destroys everything on the ship
it groans around us like a beast
and the wooden ship rocks
how far the images of our homeland —
under us, the abyss opens
and darkness thickens in the horizon
as if it was possible
it thickens
darkness falls
dawn comes
curtains of rain replace the partitions of fog
the bright sun is hidden
and only the cursed wind
ravages the palm trees in the faraway islands
our ship delays
it delays a lot
when are we to arrive
to the foreign land?
The Atlantic, I repeat surrounds us
it’s a huge ocean
we are timid it is fearsome…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744799#print

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

Marginal

Lesson
The sound of a shell in the mouth
of the beautiful woman prepares us
for the ultimate lesson and teaches us
how to die with dignity when
her naked body remains unnoticed
though it stands erect, provocative,
tempestuous before our eyes so
we can learn how to depart with
our heads up during that first snowfall
covering our footsteps at dawn,
in the secluded room, and the lone chirp
of a hungry bird tells us one
day we won’t ever be hungry
memory runs to the light sleep
under the grapevine, middle of July
when cicadas continued
their perpetual revolution of
species unaccustomed to obeying
rules or laws when we sleep in peace
dreaming of Helena’s naked body
under the light bed sheet during
that first autumnal rain and the fresh
smell of earth, soil desperately
seeking understanding when we must
learn how to die with dignity and
this, our ultimate lesson in humanness

https://draft2digital.com/book/3747032#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771715987

Kariotakis – Polydouri, The Tragic Love Story

All My Belongins
All my belongings have remained
as if I died long ago
dust to dust the place is full
and I inscribe crosses with my fingers
all my things recall
the hour we spent together
when my books lost themselves
the clock has stopped at that hour
the happy hour, enchanting
was the sundown
I’ve been dead so long
the window has always been closed.
No persons nor the sun ever enter
my deserted house echoes
that hour again, the only hour
that lasts from morning to the eve
and I don’t know what this place is
nor who inscribes the crosses
and all my things remained the same
as if I died long ago

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562951

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763459