Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume I

Morning in Salerno, III

A large explicit earthen pitcher

(nevertheless, always amorous) painted with

fleshy light blue and red flowers stood

in the middle of the street among the busy people

So that is the answer we had sought in debates

in museums in postponements and silences?

I retain this joy attached to my flesh like a handbook to discover

a speechless affirmation amid the awkwardness of words and deeds

I held up

this pitcher with my arms I brought it to my lips It was empty

An azure and a red flower fell into my two pockets They

didn’t wilt

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763076

Adam Smith & “The Wealth of Nations”

Αργυρώ Αξιώτη, τρία ποιήματα

Αίσθημα Ανωτερότητας

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume IV

THE GATE (excerpt)

The same share of voice and silence. A boy goes by

with two wooden pails overflowing with milk, light blue

               milk. The foliage

of trees has warmed up along the avenue — full

of fragrance like the underside dresses of women

we have nothing but this unconvinced toughness for

               women’s legs

ascent, descend, he said, slavery, freedom, detachment,

dream; dream before and after, the original, the

               in between, the extreme.

The cat grooms itself in the sunshine

the dog stares at the upper window patiently

a band of light on the vacant house

the gloves of the retired boxer on the bed

two big glass bowls

where the goldfish with the green bellies gather

the white basin with the red fabric of the widow

            in the terrace

the seafloor water is darker at dawn under the

            sweet surface

they all have a casual excuse,

we have one too.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CGX139M6

Μάτση Χατζηλαζάρου, στίχοι

Οι γέροι του νησιού

Ένας μεγάλος έρωτας

Wheat Ears – Selected Poems

Burden

He put his bag on the floor

he lay next to me, raised one leg

and leaned it against the wall

as if to leave

a fleshy mark on it,

a faint human trace

the other leg was resting

on the cool cement

suddenly as if he remembered

something very important,

he got up

walked to the table

leaned down and smelt

the last bloomed rose, then

he let a sigh float

in the darkened room

as if to release

the burden of his last breath,

silence truthfully adhering

to heartbeats slow, fading,

and without a word

he collapsed on the cool cement

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

Βασίλης Νικολόπουλος, Δύο ποιήματα