Fake Passport

The woman shakes a blanket from the window

The blanket slips off her hands spreads in the air

slowly orderly horizontally The woman looks on smiling

she jumps on the blanket off the window The blanket becomes

heavy closes like a sack hovers and stops This sack is

lifted by a calm man going upward to the sky

in wide strides He also knows that he lied

For that reason he has turned his back toward

the big door of the printing company from where

three newspaper sellers come crying without newspapers

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Manifestation

We sensed deeply the time had come. From the shiver

of the wind and the melody of morning dew, from

the strange light over the cemetery and the laughter 

of the fat woman, we knew time had arrived when

He would appear, the Übermensch with all His power

in the chrysanthemums’ simplicity, in the humility

of the front step of our house, we knew it, our

Übermensch would appear.

But tell me, if you can, how the widow spent her first

night of loneliness? And we prayed for smooth sailings,

for rocky promontories that gazed the infinite, let them

be holy, and for the hyacinths that poked the soil in every

frosty March until finally He arrived: our Übermensch.

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II

I don’t talk to you, I don’t see you

I don’t touch a shadow of your steps

I don’t — how naked you want me to be?

Don’t believe me, don’t believe me at all.

And when I place moments in my certain shape

when I refute your smile

when I call beauty a perishable shell

don’t believe me — although I tell you the truth.

I can’t endure this futile hope that

I survive in your by chance thought

though each night I warm it up again.

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Meadow

First day at the verdant meadow euphoria

of fragrance among Hellenic wild flowers

laurel branches and self centered narcissus

when I grabbed

double colored poplar leaves

meant to dress my nakedness before

the serpent was to come and

I the primeval martyr 

stood under the light and named

my cosmos as

I perceived it: virginal and with

a baby rattle in my cradle

to shake and to move from right

to left between two extremes where

the meaning of my life was wedged

when I the infant boy in swaddles

heard one command

as paradisiacal as I had ever

dreamed: stand up, my pride, and create

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Poem by Nektaria Mendrinos

FREE

You wrapped

my neck

with sweet, warm

kisses and caresses

with heavy breaths

and words  —

especially words —

tangible

purple

whispers

then

you let me free

no one holds you back

you said dryly

and stood unwavering

certain

of the result

methodical and detailed

certain

that as longer was

the silence

tighter was the invisible noose

around my neck

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Χρυσόθεμις//Chrysothemis

Εκείνο το «δεν εννοείς να μεγαλώσεις», είχε πάψει από καιρό να με πικραίνει —
το ’νιωθα μάλιστα, έτσι κάπως σαν προνόμιό μου — η άλλη μου όραση, η κρυφή χαρά μου. Τα χαράματα
έβγαινα μόνη μες στην εύπιστη δροσιά του κήπου. Καθόμουν
και κοίταζα ώρες τα πουλιά.
Πολύ συχνά, κάποιο σπουργίτι
κατέβαινε στη γη και περπατούσε αστεία, μιμούμενο με ακρίβεια
τα κορίτσια στο πρώτο ραντεβού τους· — δεν το ’πα στα κορίτσια
μη και θυμώσουν με όλα τα πουλιά· παρότι πολύ το λαχταρούσα
ν’ ανακοινώσω αυτή την ανακάλυψή μου, ή κι αποκάλυψη μπορείς να πεις —γιατί όχι;—
έτσι πίστευα τότε (ίσως και τώρα·) — κάτι τέτοια ασήμαντα πράγματα
φτιάχνουν καμιά φορά το πρόσωπό μας και τον κόσμο, — έτσι δεν είναι;

That phrase, you don’t mean to grow up didn’t embitter me

                   anymore;

I even felt it as my privilege, my second vision, my secret

joy. At dawn I used to go out to the believable freshness of

the garden. I sat and looked at the birds for hours. Quite often

a sparrow would come and saunter in a funny way, mimicking

accurately the girls on their first date. I never said it to the girls

so they wouldn’t get angry with the birds, although I felt so

strongly to announce that discovery, revelation, you could say,

why not? I believed that back then (perhaps even now), some

insignificant things like these make up our faces and the world,

isn’t that right?

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Ambivalence

Thought pendulates between

my finger’s touch and

thirst of my lips

for the contour of your breast

that sunlit semicircle

in dilating sunrise

spread over our pillow

eyes shut, erotic message

contention of a night full of passion

but why the rooster woke us up?

Why the day came so early?

The night’s pleasure was

as splendid as it could be and

you said —

don’t ask me to get up

let me in this dream a bit longer

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