Γεράσιμος Λυκιαρδόπουλος, Από το ‘Υπό ξένην σημαίαν’

Unfulfilled

Taboo
Touch your right arm
With your left hand… slide
Imagine that I’m
By your side
If you want more…
Soften your lips
Feel them with your
Fingertips
Imagine that I’m…
Kissing you
The rest for these lines
Be taboo

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763688

Wheat Ears – Selected Poems

Embalming

And the time came to speak the truth

rising through the cracks of the floor

four signs of distress sent

to the four corners of the globe

and I positioned myself

before the wrath of Zeus

when the mistral blew against me

and the terrace creaked

as if agreeing with my anger

at the little people who always knelt

while golden nymphs 

reminded me of man’s misery when

finally, I placed my head on the pillow

to spend my long night of solitude

truthfully, Him I was, the splendorous

loner, the irritable saviour

foolish enough to be embalmed

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S

Βύρων Λεοντάρης, Ξερίζωσέ με, άνεμε, ξερίζωσέ με

Water in the Wilderness

Excerpt

Rachael bounced over the kitchen floor to watch Tyne take the roast out of the oven and place it on a platter for Morley to carve. “That sure smells good, and I’m real hungry.” The child sniffed the air. “Do we get gravy, too?”
“We sure do,” Tyne said, “and as soon as you’ve washed your hands we can start to eat.”
After they washed at the kitchen sink and settled in chairs at the table, Morley said, “Tell Auntie Tyne what you saw.”
“Piggies,” Bobby sang out.
Rachael cut in. “Chickens and cows and ….”
“Baby cows!”
“They’re not baby cows, silly,” Rachael said with authority, “they’re calves.”
Tyne laughed quietly as she filled plates and placed one in front of each of them. “And did you see the mommy hen with her little chicks?” she asked.
“Yep!” This from Rachael as she grabbed her fork and began to dig into her mashed potatoes.
Bobby followed his sister’s lead but Morley reached over and touched their hands. “Wait until Auntie Tyne sits down and we ask the blessing.”
Both children looked at him blankly. “What’s that mean?” Rachael demanded.
“It means,” Morley said gently, “that before we eat, we thank God for the food.”
“Oh yeah,” the girl said. “Mommy thanks God sometimes, but she calls it Grace. Why would she call it Grace? I know a girl at school who’s called Grace and she never says anything like that.”
Morley glanced at Tyne who noted with some satisfaction that her husband seemed momentarily at a loss. She bit her lip to hide her smile.
“Well,” Morley said as Tyne took her place at the table, “your mom is right in calling it Grace. You see, grace is a blessing …

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Ithaca Series, Poem # 717

All the Pianos in the Wood

   I like to play on the black keys

because I believe that night music

is the key to being dreamed.

   I like the music of dreams that

is more real than ‘all the tea in China’

and ‘all the coffee in Guadalupe’.

   I like it most of all that all the love

birds in the world are singing their

hearts out, so that the hurt world

will know again, that dancing

on one foot the other is not forgotten.

Michael Harlow, New Zealand

Πιάνο στο Δάσος


Θα `θελα να παίξω τα μαύρα πλήκτρα

γιατί πιστεύω ότι η νύχτα

είναι για όνειρα.

Μ’ αρέσει η μουσική των ονείρων

που είναι πιο αληθινά απ’ όλο το τσάί της Κίνας

κι όλο τον καφέ της Γουαδελούπης

και μ’ αρέσει πιο πολύ γιατί όλοι

οι αγαπημένοι του κόσμου τραγουδούν

μ’ όλη τους την καρδιά

που να ξέρει ο πονεμένος κόσμος

πως κι αν χορεύεις στο ένα πόδι

το άλλο ποτέ δεν το ξεχνάς


Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Michael Harlow, New Zealand

Ευσταθία Π., Από τη συλλογή “Σίνγκερ”

Ο διαπραγματευτής του Τραμπ …

Chthonian Bodies

Lethargy
Upright they stand: trees and rocks
whims of faint air coming
almost unintentionally amid
leaves loosened to desirous move
sea wishing expansion
to the other side of the globe
where they built tall ships
sea’s message to them:
STOP sending men over here
we don’t need your civilized ways
wisdom of our fathers is enough
STOP coming with your
loaded guns

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763424

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume V

Secret Transportation

With difficulty, they carried the stretcher inside. They closed

the door. One of the woman’s shoes was left by the front step,

outside. On the road, the others waited for someone to open

the upstairs window, perhaps the servant with the wart

or the female nurse, who would pour out a glass of water

or throw away a glass vile or ask for that shoe. Nothing. Night

came. They turned the light on inside. The window was lit

a little. Then the wide shadow of a stooping back closed the

windows. The others, down below, left noiselessly through

the neighbourhood side streets.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763726