Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Selected Books, Volume II, Second Edition


We haven’t said anything yet

we have yet to sing our song.

The buzz of the parade stayed behind our voices

enclosed by a thousand doors when

people marched throwing their caps in the air

when the affluent trembled behind the windows

when our hearts were weighted among thousands

          of other hearts

like a hurrah among thousands of red flags.

Then the salvo at dawn

scaring the sparrows from the cypresses

the lorries loaded with fighters

going to the place of execution

slicing the sun in two with their wheels.

They sealed our mouths, comrade;

we have yet to sing our song.

There is still plenty of dust left in the afternoon

left behind the black dresses of mothers

as we return from the Averof or Xatzikosta Streets

or the transit prison

the black mothers with their black dresses

with their hearts wrapped in their kerchiefs

like the leftover bread that even death can’t chew.

They locked up our mouths, comrade,

they turned off our sun

we have yet to sing our song,

the one that started simply, powerfully, sadly:

proletariat of the world, unite.

The shadow of a gigantic crutch appears on

         on the Makronisos rock

during the night when a lawless, silent moon rises

        on the horizon.

We have to build a ladder with this crutch, Vangelis

        whispered in Peter’s ear,

as if he was whispering a verse of our future song.

We are late, comrade. We’re very late.

We have to sing our own song.


Wheat Ears – Selected Poems


Ahmed rolled up the shop shutters

entering darkness

he turned on his flashlight

checked the meagre supplies

covered by dust 

needed clean up before he opened

for the neighborhood customers

he places flashlight on the counter

grabs piece of cloth when suddenly

the familiar hellish sound

pierces his ears: guided smart bomb

blows two stores next to his

ground recedes, firms up, trembles

like Ahmed’s legs, hell on earth

reinvented, defense contractor’s

smart weapon found its earthly target


Γιώργος Θέμελης, Προσδοκία

Βίκυ Παπαπροδρόμου: ό,τι πολύ αγάπησα (ποίηση, πεζογραφία & μουσική)

[Ενότητα Συμπτώσεις]


Δεν έχει κατά πού να ρίξει το πόδι.

Αν μπει σε καφενείο, ανησυχεί.
Κοιτάζει πόρτες, παράθυρα, τους έξω δρόμους.

Κάποιος βέβαια είναι να φανεί
Απ’ την καμπή εκεί, απ’ τον άνεμο, κάποιος
Έξοχος νέος, ωραιότατος, ντυμένος φως.

Θα φέξουν τα σπίτια,
Θα φωτιστούν τα πεζοδρόμια.

Από τη συλλογή Συνομιλίες (1953) του Γιώργου Θέμελη

Οι ποιητές της Θεσσαλονίκης τον 20ό αιώνα και ως σήμερα (ανθολογία) / Γιώργος Θέμελης

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Κιλκίς: Στο «φως» αρχαία πόλη με τείχη τουλάχιστον 4 μέτρων


Η κεντρική πύλη της αρχαίας πόλης (αριστερά) και τμήμα του νότιου τείχους της με τετράγωνο πύργο – Φωτ.: ΑΠΕ-ΜΠΕ.

Μια αρχαία οχυρωμένη πόλη έφερε στο «φως» η αρχαιολογική σκαπάνη λίγο έξω από την πόλη του Κιλκίς, μεταξύ των κοινοτήτων Καμπάνη και Πεδινού του Δήμου Κιλκίς.

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