Tasos Livaditis-Poems, Volume II

THEN, who is the one who looks over our shoulders

signaling to someone else behind us and they agree

without us? I turned to look, however which secret

was even hidden with so much craftiness, as all else

was a conjecture amid the dark shadows? “No, no one

is left”, I said and when finally the car stopped in front

of the door no one got out since the incomprehensible

was already inside the house and the old man, standing

by the door, wore a big size robe

       like the poor who, when they die, are very light in

their casket since Fate had wasted them and couldn’t

find a buyer for their souls; when the others returned to

the city to finish their day the poor dead seem surprised

that while time flies no one comes to send them away.

Neo-Hellene Poets, an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry 1750-2018

POEM by Kostas Karyotakis


                There’re people who carry

                their bad luck inside them

Little hands holding roses

hands warm from the joy of kisses

little hands holding roses

and knocking at the door of death

my beloved eyes that thirsted for something

you have remained thirsty glances

my beloved eyes that thirsted for something

you have remained closed windows

oh, lips that had much to say

your words chose your grave

oh, lips that had much to say

you didn’t mention of the grief I write.

Beloved eyes, little hands, lips narrate to me

the momentary pain, the pain of a place

beloved eyes, little hands, lips narrate to me

the pain of things and that of man

Wheat Ears – Selected Poems


And in secrecy I celebrated my nuptials

as per tradition, a rooster always called

the dawn and I, the anointed,

was meant to mound the Kore

before the branches of trees

connected to form the cross

symbol of my catharsis eternal

toughened and invincible who I had become

years that I had spent in my mind’s purgatory

was it in my previous lifetime or in my dream?

And truly, I was meant for the sacrifice

and I searched for purity to the point

of relentlessness and I longed for

the beautiful to the point of regression

traumas of my youth turned out

to be a lifetime effort to my apotheosis

resulting in my wisdom

like the esoteric anchorite’s

Κουτοπονηριές με τα Γλυπτά του Παρθενώνα


Γράφει ο Κωνσταντίνος Κόλμερ

Χωρίς περιστροφές: “Φέρτε πίσω τα γλυπτά του Παρθενώνα” που ανήκουν στην Αθήνα. Τα άρπαξε ο Άγγλος λόρδος ΄Ελγιν προ δύο αιώνων με απάτη. Τα υπεξαίρεσε, δηλαδή ιδιοποιήθηκε ξένα πράγματα που δεν εφυλάσσοντο αρκετά καλά από τους κατακτητές και ασχέτους Οθωμανούς. Τα επώλησε στο Βρετανικό Μουσείο αντί πινακίου φακής, το οποίο έτσι κατέστη κλεπταποδόχος και τώρα γίνονται διαπραγματεύσεις με την κυβέρνηση Μητσοτάκη δια την επιστροφή των στην Αθήνα με μειωτικούς όρους.

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