excerpt
And it was my soul’s most
precious land somewhere
there at the Balkans
somewhere there at Rhodope.
Punished by the people
here I’ve come to you, oh
virgin forests, embrace me
and listen to my soul-violin.
And the trees told me: we know
of you, but your soul doesn’t
like the soft words and fresh
dew which drips like honey
from our leaves and always talks
to the shepherds, the frontiersmen,
the couples with their kisses.
Yet our branches, flowers and
fruit, our fragrance and our birds
exhume words as if from our
sunless depths and these
words are only heard by those
who know how to read the secrets
Manolis Aligizakis 