Ionia
Ionia was lost forever
in 1922
Ionia, a spring and a mother.
Think of the silent deeds
that stand by us
when we become conscious of the great pain
deeds of man and the mountains
take form slowly in such a way
grievance isn’t for Greece
but for history.
How often power hidden
in the mystery of life
turns its face away from
the honest works of man
before the decay
that confronts and spreads
like the frozen and parched
gust of winter
the longing of the Greek
and the Turk’s arrogance
fade away.
Both alike
the sun and the cloud
that together sink and dissolve in the night
in the great night.
In Ionia one can meet us
you and I and
the black headscarf of the grandmother.
One can see the made of oak wood boat of Odysseus
the vendetta of stony Mani
and Markos Mpotsaris’ Laka-Souli
the voice that became Logos
or the playful waves
accentuated by star matter
thickening the columns of the temple.
In Ionia man tried
to create the face of god
and at last
he created his own
thoughtful face.
THE NIGHT led us sometimes to forgetfulness and other
times into feverish roses
like the love you give up and then what you want to say stands
behind heavier than before
and the defeated saw another shadow
that walked next to him
because such sorrow was too much for just one man. Until at dawn,
the beggars,
since the ancient days engaged to the corners of the streets, reclaimed
their rights
and we had to endure our everyday history like a different, wider
sky.
Nothing can stop my ardour
nor my joy, nor my festival.
I want to carry as I started
to run victorious to the end
who can cut the golden thread
of my ardour, my joy, my festival?
Not the Turk nor any demon will
stop me nor war, not even an
earthquake, this the plain that fights
for my ardour, joy, and festival.
The horses dig the soil and chariots
wane as if alive and
my people await to crown
my festival, my ardour and joy.
Aloof
Behind the lectern, the accent develops
in words spoken differently
echoing funny, unheard before
eyes roll around, sighs desperately
float mid-air unsure of where to land
the excessively long moustache
covers facial metamorphosis of
foreigner who recites a poem, imagery
delightedly soft, caressing the buzz of
birds in nearby foliage, autumnal
lethargy of sun loitering in gusto
as the man shivers in his effort to
pronounce words in a way that people
will understand a futile battle
already lost, never to be won
his strong accent annuls any brain
he might have, been considered an
idiot in most groups, a man with such
a different way of talking can not be
the one, one wants to listen to, period.
Neighbourhood Afternoon II
No — it’s nothing — I’m not hungry, you hear me?
It’s just a little headache. I rather go lay down
to put the chin close to the knees — to go to sleep
listening to the wind that grinds its teeth outside.
These faces look so strange
the steps on the sidewalk so strange
and the pepper trees of the street also strange —
the children get frightened by them — and
they pull their hairs without saying any words.
They had tied the rope on the trees over there —
five men stayed there for three nights and three days
like riders of the galloping wind who never got away.
The light of the lamp doesn’t recognize our hands —
the glass is smoked up, you see;
our hands on the table resemble dried up plane-tree leaves
they can’t hold a harmonica, can’t say thank you
or the day after tomorrow;
only when they hold another hand
they become hands again — and then the circle created
by the light of the lamp resembles a dish with warm food
from which two or three or more men can eat
and feel content.
Look, the evening star is rising. A purple dusk
after the rain — the evening star is
like the first I love you of a different spring. Look.
Freshly washed fence walls — the letters are still visible.
Stay by the window for a while yet. Here. We’ll look far away.
Over there to the corner of the road where our old spring
resembles
a green kiosk with many colorful magazines hanging
on cloths-pins fluttering in the breeze as if they clap
joyously;
a kiosk with many cigarette cartons
that the workers stop and buy after work,
a kiosk with small mirrors
where the neighborhood girls stop and pretend
that they don’t look into while absentmindedly
look at the young worker who passes with his hands
in his pockets
and as the mirrors hang slanting in a way
it gives them the impression that the young worker
will fall on them —
as they absentmindedly fix the curls of their hair
that slides on their foreheads like the light slides
on the upper crack of the door that leads to
the next room where two lovers kiss.
Look, then, the evening star has risen.
WHAT WE LOVE
What we love
Is not an apple orchard
available for everyone,
what we love
cannot be taken
and carried far away,
what we love
always
stays at home.
excerpt
up six more cents, leaving a good sixty thousand share purchase
order on the low end. Eteo turned to Logan with a grin, “They obviously
like the stock all of a sudden. Let them buy as much as they
like, but keep an eye out for when they look like they are going out
in case they plan to do that soon.” Logan just nodded and walked
back to his desk.
Eteo’s phone continued ringing all day long because of Platinum
Properties. Even Mario called again, almost at the end of the trading
session, to say how pleased he was that Eteo decided to stay with Platinum
for the long run. Eteo asked him to pass by for a minute or two
after the market closed and Mario agreed and said he would bring
the Nostra Ventures subscription forms with him. Half an hour later,
Mario Messini was sitting in Eteo’s office, his face gleaming with satisfaction.
He waved the forms at Eteo.
“How many copies did you say you needed? I only brought one
of each.”
“No worries, I’ll make some,” Eteo assured him. “Let me see,” he
mused as he studied the forms and thought about who to involve in
this. “Two for Robert and three for me, five altogether.”
“I have to admit, Eteo, that I liked your aggressive buying at the
end of the day,” Mario said. “It up-ticked the stock at once and left it
looking very good for tomorrow’s opening.”
“What can I say,” replied Eteo, smiling. “I like the company, and
I certainly like its trading pattern over the last two weeks. I’ve talked
to my people, and most of them will stay. Some even bought some
extra stock today, but I should also let you know something. Just between
us two. I have your word, right?”
Mario nodded yes.
“The boss is buying most of it.”
“Connors? Hell no! Are you sure?”
Eteo told him about his meeting with Bradley Connors while
Mario shook his head.
“I don’t know whether to take that as good or not,” he finally
replied.
“I know what you mean, but look at it this way. Even if the boss
has a short fuse, as everyone says, at least for the next few days…
Stool I
The house was filled with friends
who suddenly came;
they seemed to be joyous
seen from over the railings.
They were a big bunch.
We even brought the kitchen chairs
with the holes in their middle
that we could all fit together
in the balcony.
I took an old stool.
They were so many friends
we all got mixed together,
we laughed, joked.
None of us had any money.
Suddenly the conversation turned serious —
the tiles were still warm in the sunshine.
Then, suddenly, I felt
that we could separate
we could go away to the four corners of the globe.
And I saw that even if I delayed
that moment
it could soon arrive.
Manolis Aligizakis 