Loneliness

And I showed Zeus my first verse

maze-like delicate quatrain

eyes that became epicenter

bell that chimed its aloofness

when flat-footed I stepped into

the fresh and shallow water

vague line of the horizon

merciless hymn hymning hymnal

vespers alike pathways of my mind

traversing my archaic depths

before my advent into this world

caustic gases that choked the soldiers

orders of generals decorated for valor

and death blessing the short years

of the unlucky, loneliness

residing in my primeval verse

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POEM BY SISSY DOYTSIOU

YOU MAY BURY ME ALIVE

You may bury me alive

in the earth

it wouldn’t bother me.

You may put me

in a narrow casket

it wouldn’t bother me at all

that I couldn’t move my fingers

I would die —

you may bury me alive

deep in the earth

that I couldn’t hear the sobs and sorrow of my friends

I wouldn’t be upset

without pity

without my empty heart

and my sister’s whispers

with no help

alone, it wouldn’t bother me

the whispers of my friends

with no help

alone

my death.

You may bury me alive

it wouldn’t bother me

that I would smell the moist soil

in the earth

it’s always moist, it never gets dry in the earth

the soil is always emotional

I could dig deep in the soil

under this life

under this life

a layer of dead people exists

under our feet

our dead sleep

under the foundations of this world

sick bodies rest

tiring thoughts

bleeding heroes

sacrifices

fetuses

wise old men

under this life

they caress the soil

skeletons of memory

love letters

old pictures

you may bury me alive

it wouldn’t bother me at all

that I couldn’t breath

in the darkness

no problem

under our world

the endless white sea of the cursed people flows

the last efforts for survival spasm

I encourage you to bury me alive

I don’t like much sensationalism

I admit my wish

for a triumphant elation

to exist with truthfulness

beyond the hot asphalt

alive

for a while

so long as I last

so long as I last. 

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JOHN KANTAKOUZINOS TRIUMPHS

He looks at the fields that he still controls

with the wheat, with the animals, with

fruit-trees. And farther on, his family home,

full of clothes and fine furniture, and silver.

They will take it all—Jesus Christ!—they will take it all now.

Would Kantakouzinos feel sorry for him

if he were to go and prostrate himself. People say that he is merciful,

quite merciful. But what about the people around him? What about the army?—Or, should he plead, and cry in front of Lady Irene?

Foolish! To be involved in Anna’s party—

he wishes Andronikos had never married her.

Have we seen any progress as a result

of her behavior, or any humanity?

Even the Franks don’t respect her anymore.

Her plans were ridiculous, and all her preparation.

While they spread fear from Constantinople to the world

Kantakouzinos crushed them, King John crushed them.

And he had in his mind to go with King John all along!

He would have done it too. Now he would have been happy,

a great Lord always secure,

if at the last moment the bishop hadn’t swayed him,

with his priestly authority,

with his misinformation from beginning to end

and with his promises, and his stupidities.

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Duality

And I laughed at the comedian’s joke

as if grabbing onto the ship’s handrail

that I wouldn’t fall into the abysmal

mouth of the monstrous logic

many men appeared hungry for my flesh 

easy it was to talk to the inexplicable

when suddenly I felt the fangs

of the inexorable clock ticking

their strange hymn lamenting

my descent to Erebus, where

I was greeted by family members and after

my uncle Antony’s funeral

we all walked to the proper celebration

surprising them all as I too attended

and they all understood the meaning

of the eagle flying over us as if to confirm

on this earth and under it that we once existed

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Silence

When people turned deaf you understood

that they had finally learned the truth or at least

they had touched that secret pride

not to repeat the well-memorized lie

In the evening they sit in the dark inside the house

having both their feet in a earthen basin

with warm water and listening to the old train

going by on time loaded with barrels

sacks of cement re-bar fridges soldiers

and a gigantic whale cut in even pieces

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SHAPE OF ABSENCE  XXI

Since the day of your passing everyone migrated. We, who

stayed behind, are strangers to the day and to the night. The dark

steps of fear creak deep in the mirrors with the concern that

perhaps we might cut ourselves while shaving, that perhaps

we won’t recognize our strange faces, which you recognized

           as yours and ours too.

Only the road where we took you for a walk during the hot

           summer afternoons

up to the small station, along the flower shop and the bakery,

           that road

retains the marks of the wheels of your carriage

as if in a noisy tunnel of our old time, untouched

by the low tone chirps of the birds, the fragrance

           of the fruit, 

the curses one hears in the marketplace. Our space,

untouched, unspoiled, holy, beyond time, a tunnel

that secretly takes you from under the thoughtful

           good evening of the neighbours.

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Tears

Tears run down the cheeks

of the statue during its hour

of meditative thought as if

a merciless thunder covered

the shining palms of the tourist

flawless end and nothing

will ever sprout in my palms but

thanatos as the sun shone hot

on the glyph’s smooth skin,

on the decapitated bust of Athena

under which I’ll bury the foreign

perversion: lavish tables, canned nature,

and preservatives when the arm

of the Goddess pointed over the sand

to the end of the horizon

where birds sang with lustful voices,

joyous and pleasant quivering, first

hymeneal song of my virginal spring

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Long Listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

2023 Longlist Announcement

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