Shopping

The blonde female cashier looked at me suspiciously

and waited for me to pay my bill; how much

the priest charged you when you had your last

confession, I mentally questioned, while I placed

the two bags on the counter nervously searching

my pockets while the old man behind me smiled,

stench of his breath reminded me of wine mixed

with compassion and the blonde cashier had already

figured I was as poor as a doornail. While carrying on

with my search I said to the old man, ‘it happens to me

every time’, so simple, his smile, the alcohol stench,

the compassion I returned the smile no idea the man

behind me was as deaf as my somber day.

~ I like those who despise everything, for they, alone,

seek to pass over to the other shore.

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What if

What if you stopped staring out

from the blue window

reversed your sight path

and from the balcony

gaped at house’s innards

spied into

secret space of summer sofa

no need

to whisper for pillow

or reddish throw while loving

on the bare tiles

dawn lights a candle

in front of the saint’s lean icon

what if you with void eyes

saw green raw forms

red layered forest 

and in the chiaroscuro of first light

you gazed without gazing?

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POEM BY ANTONIS FOSTIERIS

Voyage of the Hours

There are some nights

sadly futile

and some days

that travel through time

like lazy galleys.

Some southwestern winds

control them

and they go back and forth

aimlessly in the open sea.

There are some empty hours

silent and cold

that dance on the waves

like foolish crafts

and there are some tired seamen

who until they die

dream of reaching a land

that they never reach.

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PERSEPHONE

Further away,

no one swims, no one yells; the three gray, snobby

rivers, flow around the huge rock; they’ve a totally

different sound, loud, unique, that motionless sound

of eternal flow, you get used to, you almost don’t

hear it.

When my mother’s brother came to the house for

the first time he had something gray on him, like

those rivers. Suddenly he became ill; they laid him

on this bed, applied a few wet cuppings, I believe

he had caught a cold from the bright light and the heat,

I remember his wide shoulders, strong like grassy fields.

You’d fear his hair would catch fire, the candle was

so close, white candle on the silver candlestick. After

that they put it in the marble sink. The room smelled

of burnt cotton. His cloths, still warm, were thrown

on the chair. I noticed the candle dripped big drops

of wax on the marble.

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Διαδοχή

Ο ήλιος δέ λογαριάζει τίποτε απ’ τούς δισταγμούς σου,

γυμνόν σέ θέλει καί γυμνόν σέ παίρνει,

ώσπου έρχεται η νύχτα νά σέ ντύσει.

Μετά τόν ήλιο είναι η μετάνοια.

Μετά τή μετάνοια πάλι ο ήλιος.

Succession

The sun doesn’t think of your hesitations –

it wants you naked and it takes you naked,

until the night comes to dress you.

After the sun there is repentance.

After repentance the sun again.

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Promise

And we promised never to deny Him not even

for a night or day, not for a single moment, even

when He spoke to the fallen tree or to those ancient

ghosts that often passed through our minds.

Endless famine of our race, queen of our bellies,

slowly crawled on wet cobblestones like our childish

innocence and we asked Him to continue His teaching

and He liked us because we chose to be scattered

into innumerable pieces that the wind may blow us

to the opposite shore. He liked us, because

we disdained everything even the secret for our

sacrifice. Übermensch smiled and said,

‘it was all good.’

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