THE GIFT OF SLEEP
All of a sudden my proud silence is teased
by the thought
that ants never sleep
and their sad and Sisyphean wakeup call
could follow me even in my slumber,
and then I withdraw into
the perfume of a box from the Palais Garnier,
into the smooth flight between napping and music,
or into the coolness from the Bedouins’ pillows
and the non-shadows from a high boat,
among the fjords heated and extinguished for centuries
by the sun protected in silky whiteness,
beyond all the pains and beyond
the final repentance,
in an Edemic garden
where the fertility of wilderness is now lying,
and keeps reminding the Inuit
how non unique his soul is
and how I have always dreamt of him in the destiny
projected against the waves of the huge crowd in Mecca,
Oh God, all these are getting petrified
in Veronica’s veil, a little statue
from a Bosnian village often swept
by the Virgin’s hem.
Metaphors
South wind cadence of cedars
fingers over harp strings
insubordinate son of the wind
the light-blue sea undulating
finite earthly work of art
the unstoppable thunderbolt
flashing, warning, burning
April flowers
dandelion, forgetful
ambivalent melody, mental
balance, proud young hawk
first innocent
kiss, ancient hymn Eros and Psyche
image of a naked woman
erotic consummation, lustful
snow-white swan feathers
rough August seas, dreadful
begging of the beggar’s hand
blessing for your plentiful
caiques before their christening
the boy’s scratched knee, soft
summer holidays, middle of June
conflagrating my skin
Picture by Germain Droogenbroodt, the Ifach, ex Ithaca
Glow
With the gold of the stars
unshadow the night
restore silence
with words of light
don’t experience time as loss
or as bygone
but of every moment
the ephemeral glow.
Germain Droogenbroodt
Λάμψη
Με το χρυσάφι αστεριών
διώξε ίσκιους της νύχτας
επανόρθωσε τη σιωπή
με λέξεις φωτεινές
νιώσε το χρόνο σαν απώλεια
κάτι περαστικό
σε κάθε στιγμής
την αιώνια λάμψη
Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis
Twilight
Towards sundown, where the road turns
at the edge of the village, where the immense
olive tree groves spread at the time when
the faraway mountains and the shades of trees
shine light blue hues, five big sizes, hairy and
wide-mouthed men arrive, and after they lay
a very high ladder on the soil they leave. Then
the silent woman, with her face hidden in her hair,
comes, leans the big ladder on the trunk of a conifer
and climbs.
Manolis Aligizakis 