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


Water pitchers and baskets at daybreak

aluminum plates, tin cans

shadows of the night, cries under the wooden beds;

this night has passed too. The chaki soil,

the chaki tent, the chaki scarecrow,

patched up blankets and the sky.

White bed-sheets shivering at the dawn breeze —

           who looks at them?

A wild olive tree leaf like a cloths peg on the cloths

           line — who pays attention to it and

who will undo the cloths peg that holds the kerchief

           of summer?

A white city with green window shutters is spread

           behind the mountains

buzz of many lorries carrying workers,

sacks of cement and power poles.

There are faraway, we know, many women

embittered, taciturn who lean down

holding a needle as if holding a sun ray sewing

a big flag; windows turn rosy, freshly painted.


A cat, out in the field, is playing

with the lemon cup of the moon.

No, we aren’t tired at all. We aren’t thirsty.

We changed our shirt, our light-blue shirt of dawn,

we shaved, where are we headed?

The white city spreads behind the mountains

where women sew the big flag.

Good morning

the forced labour starts. 


Wheat Ears – Selected Poems

First Images

Joyous like a child’s innocence

the north window stood up

proud defender of tradition

that encircled the perpetual now

humble door with lowered eyelids

toward the lonely ray of the first sun

and I asked

Can I enter, can I exit

what toward the west and where’s the goal?

Icon in the corner of ceiling and wall

like the sick man in hospital ward

candle mother always lighted

in honour of her wedding coronals

and I asked

Can I reach, can I grasp

what toward God and where’s the meaning?

Fire-pit by the corner, like a soldier

guarding our hearth and smoke

that choked our lungs like hunger did

our stomach when mother cooked our food

dressed in courage and awe

I gazed at the sunlight

in this earthen dwelling

I feasted on fear and hope

in this earthen hovel

I tasted the bread of bitterness


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



Beautiful girl of the monastery,

here I am. I look for you, I wait for you.

Come out to the gate and hear me sing

the sweetest verse my heart has ever sung.

May the wall allow me to be heard,

may it not feel jealous of me,

and before you leave, may you come close,

so that in kissing you I quench this fire.

Beautiful girl of the monastery, come here

and know I cannot let your virgin state,

oh innocent girl, go to waste.


Γιώργος Θέμελης: Δενδρόκηπος (I)

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



Κανείς δεν έρχεται να μας φιλήσει,
Να μας κλάψει, να μας καλωσορίσει
Σας καρτερούσε, σας είχε στην καρδιά.
Έβγαινε στον εξώστη και σας φώναζε.
Όπως στο σπίτι σας, καθίστε.
Απόψε αναπαυθείτε κι αύριο βλέπουμε.
Αποκοιμήθηκε με τ’ όνειρό σας.
Μπορείτε να βγάλετε τα παπούτσια σας,
Μπορείτε να πλύνετε τα πόδια σας.
Τριζοβολούν τα θυρόφυλλα καθώς τα σπρώχνουμε.
Μην ενοχλείσθε για τίποτα.
Κάμετε τον σταυρό σας. Καλή νύχτα.

Είναι κάτι παλαιά πορτρέτα που θαρρείς θα σου μιλήσουν.

Εδώ ήταν μια δίφυλλη πόρτα,
Εδώ, ένας καθρέφτης.
Εδώ μια παλιά κορνίζα σκαλισμένη.

Μπορείτε να μου πείτε τι έγινε
Κάποιος που καθόταν εδώ;
Πού τον έχουν βάλει, πού τον έχουν θάψει;


Το ταξίδι που τελείωσε δεν έχει τελειώσει,
Συνεχίζεται μέσα μας όπως η μουσική.
Δεν είσαι πια εκείνος που ήσουν.

Μη με ρωτάτε, δεν ξέρω ποιος είμαι
Και πού πάω, έχασα το σπίτι μου.
Δεν έχω τόπο να ταφώ, γυρίζω

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