Witness
And what about our sins?
Darkness in the sky wouldn’t bother with our
sins or pleas, insignificant supplicants that we
were, fear and anguish rested on tired shoulders
like sparrows on the branches of the plaza tree
and the man with his crutches laughed at the cafe
patrons before he lifted his left arm as if to shoot
someone or to reprimand their pitiful lamentation.
Owl, witness of ancient images, flew away with
its wisdom, the man hit his shadow with his crutch
and yelled, ‘I’m good, I’m pure, I’m clean like
my shadow, I’m pure like my shadow,
I’m Ubermensch!’
I like those who sacrifice themselves on Earth which
might become the motherland of the Ubermensch.
https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/y26q9n https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S
(Excerpt)
Χρυσόθεμις//Chrysothemis
Κάποτε ένα χαμόγελο ανεξήγητο κυματίζει στον αέρα. Ένα δείλι, στον κήπο,
σκυφτή στο εργόχειρό μου, αναμετρώντας το άσκοπο των γεγονότων,
το άσκοπο του ίδιου του κεντήματος —μη σταματώντας ωστόσο να κεντάω—
μια λάμψη ξαφνική μού γέμισε τα χέρια και τα μάτια· — δυο μεγάλα πόδια
ξυπόλυτα, νεαρά, με άψογα νύχια, είχαν περάσει
εκεί μπροστά μου. Ο νέος κηπουρός μας
σάρωνε τα πεσμένα φύλλα των ευκάλυπτων. Δε σήκωσα τα μάτια, —
μου ’φτανε η εικόνα εκείνων των γυμνών ποδιών και της σκούπας.
Η κάθε μέρα κάτι μας αφήνει για τη νύχτα· —είναι δύσκολος κάποτε ο ύπνος
αν κάτι ωραίο δεν έχεις ν’ αντιπαραθέσεις στο σκοτάδι που ενεδρεύει. Τώρα
μόνον τ’ αγάλματα μένουν στη διάθεσή μου — ανέγγιχτα κι αυτά, γυμνά, δίχως δάφνες,
ή εκείνοι οι μακρινοί σαλπιγκτές πάνω στα τείχη, ορθοί, γραμμένοι
στον χρυσοπόρφυρο ουρανό της εσπέρας — δεν είναι λίγο.
Sometimes an inexplicable smile undulates in the air. One
evening, in the garden, stooping over my needlework,
pondering on the futility of the events, the futility of my
needlework, though I didn’t stop my knitting, a sudden
gleam flooded my hands and eyes; two big barefoot,
young legs with well-trimmed nails had just passed
in front of me. Our young gardener was sweeping
the eucalyptus leaves. I didn’t ever raise my eyes;
the image of those bare legs and the broom was
enough for me.
Each day leaves behind something for our night;
sometimes sleep is difficult if you don’t have
something beautiful to put against the lurking
darkness. Now, I only have the statues I can use,
untouched too, naked, without laurels or those
distant trumpeters on the walls, erect, incised into
the gold-purple evening sky. This is more than enough.
https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/q9mkmy https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TLBNFK
Long Listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards
(Excerpt)
Ah, when shall we return? Bring one of those
old carriages
which parked in the suburb square or the ones
created by the evening shadows. And I, why
did I grow? What was I expecting to find? Distant
voices heard in a dream
or a lonely night when you, in lust, cried silently
for things forgotten by most people
and we shall never find that era when we lived
the best we had love for a colourful pebble, the
secret burial of a bird,
or a letter, without an addressee, which we took
to the post-office
since our summer friend had left without letting us
know
“but the letter has no addressee” the post-office clerk
said – since then you knew the world can’t offer you
any help.
Besides time has come to accept that we too don’t create
anything important; yet what is important? And of what
use would it be?
My good people fate tricked us or the dream
betrayed us and oh, futile hope, how we loved you
once!
The twenty-day moon. How have the years passed?
https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/ke4yv6 https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564
Manolis Aligizakis 