Scandalous

He stops shaving razor floating in air

hand absentmindedly creates a circle in mid-void

like a bird stilled by camera lens

her scandalous vulva visits his mind

from days of that August

on the scorched island

in low tone siesta

in muffled moaning

lest the mirror would crack from tension

in the cool soothing room

before his eyes

finger in circular motion

swirling eroticism

higher and higher

near a shuddering apex

wind, pandemonium

lust and a red coloured

Lucifer laughs sardonically

as the razor touches his flesh

opening it

like hers

reddish colour

                                          Painting by Yaha Silo

Before the Joy

My words are no longer charcoal
as they were before
when in the heat of the glow
they had become black
now they move with the softness of hope
and at the dawn of beauty
they open their eyes
already adorning themselves
for the eternal journey.

            Hussein Habasch, Kurdistan (Syria), 1948

ΠΡΙΝ ΤΗ ΧΑΡΑ

Τα λόγια μου δεν είναι κάρβουνα

όπως πιο πριν

που με τη τη ζέστη της λάμψης

μαύρισαν.

Τώρα πλανιούνται στης ελπίδας τ’ απαλό

στην ομορφιά του ξημερώματος

που ανοίγουν τα μάτια

ματιές λατρείας

πριν το μακρινό τους ταξίδι.

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//translated by Manolis Aligizakis

MYTHISTOREMA

I

The angel,

we had waited for him for three years, concentrated

closely examining

the pines, the seashore, the stars.

Joining the blade of the plough or the ship’s keel

once again we searched to discover the first sperm

so that the ancient drama might recommence.

We went back to our homes broken hearted

with incapable limbs, with mouths ravaged

by the taste of rust and salinity.

When we woke, we traveled to the north, strangers

driven into the mist by the perfect wings

of swans that wounded us.

During winter nights the strong eastern wind

maddened us

in the summers we got lost in the agony of day

that couldn’t die.

We brought back

these petroglyphs of a humble art.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/ezvgyr?page=1&pageSize=10

Ο ΠΟΛΩΝΟΣ

Ancient Polis

The Agora must had been here. Houses all around.

The Theatre stands out on the opposite side, hanging

off the hill. Big white boulders, yellow thorny burnets,

lizards.

During the summers, at noon, with the innumerable

cicadas, the shepherd leans over the dry water well

and screams.

The shadow of the echo rises, leaden-silvery, paints

his face, chest, hands. When he goes back, his dog

gets wild, barks endlessly doesn’t recognize him.

On the whitewashed wall appears the erect shadow

of an invisible horse with a naked rider.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/w454dzp?page=1&pageSize=10

Tρελαθήκαμε τελείως;

SCULPTOR OF TYANA

As you may have heard, I am not a beginner.

Some good quantity of stone goes through my hands.

And in my home country, Tyana, they know me

well; and here the senators have ordered

a number of statues from me.

Let me show you

some right now. Have a good look at this Rhea;

venerable, full of forbearance, really ancient.

Look closely at Pompey. Marius,

Aemilius Paulus, the African Scipio.

True resemblances, as true as I could make them,

Patroklos (I’ll have to touch him up a bit).

Close to those pieces

of yellowish marble over there, is Caesarion.

And for a while now I have been busy

creating a Poseidon. I carefully study

his horses in particular, how to shape them.

They have to be so light that their bodies,

their legs, show that they don’t touch

the earth, but run over water.

But here is my most beloved creation,

that I worked with such feeling and great care

on a warm summer day,

when my mind ascended to the ideals,

I had a dream of him, this young Hermes.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/pv8qkn?page=1&pageSize=10

Umbrella

You grasp your umbrella close

to your head, keeping stormy

weather at bay, the statue’s head

drenched by a downpour

cascading on its shoulders

on the wide bronze chest

musing that he perspires at the specter

of homeless in plastic bags

covering breathing bodies and

all possessions, denuding sobs

or sighs of pigeons under his plinth

or in branches of plaza elms

and you brace your umbrella close

to your head, staving off stormy

weather with an odd desire

to cover the statue’s genitals

making you blush more intensely

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/y26q9n?page=1&pageSize=10

In the Bedroom

His high black boots in front of the bed. The dogs barked

a little in their garden dog house. The woman placed

the candle in the glass. She hesitated. She looked at

the naked legs of the man on the carpet. His legs

are two men, muscly, twins, with a helmet, with a lute,

with mustaches. If I don’t give birth to a male baby now

he’ll kill me. She turned her eyes away, took the boots,

one in each hand and went out.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/w454dzp?page=1&pageSize=10

“Lovers-2”, painting by Leonid Afremov, https//afremov.com

《情人2》列奥尼德·阿夫雷莫夫 绘

启 始

无边无际，

冥想中一棵

柏树的梦幻形象，

经历过的

手指和呼吸的

羽毛般的触感，

天国的声音

而飘落你眼里，

落进你的眼泪，

我想发现

这不可思议

和隐晦的

时间的启始。

原 作：克里特岛 马诺里斯·阿利吉萨基斯

英 译：作者自译

汉 译：中 国 周道模 2020-8-7

Initiation

Borderless,
dreamy image
of a cypress in meditation,
feathery touch
of fingers and breaths
experienced,
heavenly sounds

and in your eyes,
in your teardrop,
I want to discover
the inconceivable
and cryptic
initiation of time.

Manolis Aligizakis (Crete)

ΜΥΗΣΗ

Ονειρεμένη εικόνα

ασυνόρευτη του πεύκου

διαλογισμός και αχλή

αφή δαχτύλων και πνοών

που ζουν θεσπέσιους ήχους

κι εγώ στα μάτια σου

ψάχνω να βρω

σε δάκρυ

ασύλληπτη

κι απόκρυφη

τη μύηση του χρόνου.

Translated by the author –

Chinese translation：William Zhou