Summer Solstice
1
The grandest sun on one side
and on the other the new moon
distant in my memory like those breasts.
Between them the chasm of the star filled night
deluge of life.
The horses on the threshing floors
gallop and sweat
over scattered bodies.
Everything goes that way
and this woman
whom you saw when she was beautiful suddenly
bends, cannot endure, kneels.
The millstones grind up everything
and turn it into stars.
Evening before the longest day.
DEVIL WITH THE CANDLESTICK
3
It was when they were loading the first ships for the great
expedition;
good luck, good luck, the parrot repeated with a hoarse voice
he of course used that phrase for other reasons at the brothel
entrance
then, they discovered the compass so people could die
elsewhere and gluttony so they could stay dead forever;
the frightened molls ran around the harvested fields
every evening and
someone had carefully erased his fingertips from the pages
of Genesis.
Sometimes I truly think of standing at the edge of the road
and count all who were saved that perhaps I could sleep
better at night
then sleep knows more than those who commit suicide
and the oleander more than the soldiers
and those thirteen met again at the crossroads; what did
they talk about or rather what they hid
since at the same time in another city people died for
no reason?
The guards ran frightened not knowing who they were
chasing and
anywhere you wished to pass you had to show the
proper permit;
they indeed raised the dresses of pregnant women
and they could always find something stolen; I’m very
unhappy, Lord, help my brother; it was the time when
the prison guard passed him over to the priest and when
they asked him of his last wish,
“I want a small scale” he said and they understood later
that his words didn’t mean anything
and the wall was too cold for someone to lean on.
[Ενότητα Φωτοσκιάσεις]
XVII
Τα μάτια μου έγιναν άπληστα,
Σαν λιμασμένα πουλιά.
Τα χείλη μου όλο διψούν.
Τα χέρια μου δεν έχουν κορεσμό.
Πεινώ και διψώ: αγκαλιάζω τον άνεμο.
Διψώ και πίνω και δε χορταίνω.
Ο ύπνος μου μέσα γέμισε ρωγμές,
Σαν τ’ άδεια σπίτια τα ετοιμόρροπα.
Τι να τα κάμω τούτα τα στεγνά καψαλιασμένα χέρια,
Τούτη τη σάρκα που μύρισε στάχτη και καπνιά.
Να πιάσω απ’ την αρχή να ξαναγίνω,
Να με γεννήσει η μάνα μου ξανά.
Από τη συλλογή Φωτοσκιάσεις (1961) του Γιώργου Θέμελη
Οι ποιητές της Θεσσαλονίκης τον 20ό αιώνα και ως σήμερα (ανθολογία) / Γιώργος Θέμελης
Hellenic Canadian Literature 