Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

Passing Vendor

Since then I lived without curiosity. Curiosities hurt and

        at the end you don’t find out anything,

though I kept tidying the empty room, “we have to retain

something from the old beautiful youth” I used to say;

which room and which youth, wretched men, you simply

        want to scare me and

usually the devil wins the bet, (you too will meet him

         by the stairs one night)

I, on the other hand, remained a passing vendor selling

         old things that no one buys these days:

umbrellas for ancient deluges, beautiful days that won’t

         come back, a very important case regardless,

since when they send you away, when, humiliated, you go

down the stairs, angels, in heavens, prepare your future

wings. For this, don’t be bothered, I’ll pass by again,

thank you. Your servant.

Wheat Ears, Selected Poems


Certainly it wasn’t I who

last night jogged amid

the suburb houses

dominance, security of

four walls, ambient

with my shirt unbuttoned

like forgotten piety

with my heart surrounded

by the auspices

of the thick darkness

a dream forgetful of its origin

it wasn’t I but my double

who in his bag had hidden

old picture of two stars

swimming in a crystal pond

twin faces, glance of one mirror

and further on: you coaching me

to hide in your arms

releasing my tiredness while

I held the little master key tightly

ready to place in the hole and

open the world like a bloomed rose