Whistle
Whistle of the train
or the white ship
utterings of injured crow
while you stay behind
thinking of your pending voyage
to faraway countries
while gazing at twilight stars
this lonely July sky
smoldering without her advice
company of owl’s grunt,
two crickets, one red
one white trying to couple
blend, ruddy apparition
pink melodrama
Needed Shade
The whitewash, the paper, the marble, blinding
brilliance in the sunshine; the pure white is horror.
We fill the walls with names, Iolaus, Patroclus,
Antilochus , while in the ancient nakedness the cicadas
scream “A shade, a shade” the harvester yells down in
the grapevine field, “A shade” his echo answers from
the standing boulders.
A shade to cool the eye — not to hide in it — that
minimal shade with the two ends, the shade under
the breasts of the headless statue.
Poem by Odysseus Elytis
AXION ESTI — THE PASSION
B
They gave me the language of the Hellenes;
a humble house on the shores of Homer.
My only concern my language on the shores of Homer.
Two-branded breams there and perches
wind blasted verbs
green currents mixed with the azure
which I saw aflame in my viscera
sponges, jellyfish
with the first words of the Sirens
rosy shells with the first black shivers.
My only concern my language with the first black shivers.
Pomegranates there, quinces
gods with dark complexion, uncles and cousins
pouring olive oil in the huge storage jars
and fragrance from the ravine sweet smelling
osier and bulrush
broom and ginger root
with the first chirpings of the finches,
sweet psalmodies with the very first Glory to You.
My only concern my language, with the very first Glory to You.
Laurels there and palm branches
censer and incense burning
blessing the sabers and the muzzleloaders.
On the ground spread with vine leaves
smell of burnt meat, eggs cracking
and Christ is Risen
with the first firings of the Hellenes.
Secret loves with the first words of the Hymn.
My only concern my language, with the first words of the Hymn.
Startle
They walked slowly, gazing at their worn out shoes.
The light had a joyous, childish insolence —
it didn’t hide any of the deficiencies. They stopped
outside the flower shops. With a sense of conspiracy
they breathed deeply the thick aroma of the flowers.
Then they sped up, turned the corner of the garden,
came out of the shade of the trees. Agamemnon’s
big dog appeared in front of them; it showed them
his long, snow white, shining teeth.
Eight o’ Clock
Eight o’ clock
a vacant chair
stars half dimmed
your insistence in filling
the void with hope persists
brightly lit vessel divides bay
your unbearable insistence
as the hour shifts to anxiety
when fragrance of sea
fills your nostrils, your assertion
in filling the sensual void with
spent dreams and myths
long-gone, unbearable
as the first cricket arrives
stroking the comb of spring
Poem by Odysseus Elytis
II
Games of the water
in the shadowy passages
they speak of dawn with their kisses
where the horizon
begins —
and the echo of wild doves
vibrates in their cave
glaucous waking in the spring
of day
sun —
the mistral bestows the sail
unto the sea
the caressing of hair
to its carefree dream
freshness —
wave in the light
rebirths the eyes
on which Life sails toward
the gazing
life —
THE BRIDGE (excerpt)
Our humble needs don’t humiliate us;
on the contrary, they save us; they give us ground
to walk on again, to stand erect, to work, and
their knowledge and approval is our brotherhood,
it’s the beginning of our profound freedom,
it’s that sacred truthfulness,
the first and last truthfulness of man, so much so
that you could cry out of tenderness,
for this confession of yours, for this humiliation,
for this pride with which you were born and will die,
for this work that was caused by these needs of yours
that it will be offered to the needs of others,
to the eternal needs of man, an eternal commitment.
I always come back to you, and it’s my great joy to know
that you await for me, to know about your beautiful
patience and your deep trust. Allow me then to repeat
the articles of your faith with the simplicity of the novice,
with that sweet enthusiasm of the young proselyte who
recites off by heart the articles of life written in large
red letters
on the façade of history and the horizon:
I believe that the first step to progress is the correct
distribution of bread,
I believe that the first step to progress is the increase in
the production of bread for all
I believe that our first duty is peace,
I believe that our first freedom isn’t our loneliness
but our comradeship; as for the rest, there will always
be time for them too, but only from there on.
It was about this bridge that I wanted to talk to you —
Inheritance
He knew I devoted all my
earthly love to him
I pronounced him heir
of the world I kept
away from the traitors
for this he dug
his grave deep
he threw
inheritance in it
and, somber, standing
on top of the slab
from the depth
of his lungs
he wailed
we’ve dwelt
in this darkness for eons
you and I
the two disinherited
you and I
the two exaggerations
Manolis Aligizakis 