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



They all change, become one another

wood turns into stone, trees turn into clouds

women become men leaves become sea

the feathers water-wells the eyes winds

the drawers metals the flowers mind

writing and letters become

illiterate, the beautiful turns ugly

the male becomes neutral the secretive obvious

hope turns blind like wealth

they all become telescopes, then

there isn’t anything to happen or it won’t

each is inside the other

stones and rivers run through his fingers

words turn into tulips

his love becomes a cistern, a table

the chair settles in his right eye

through the window you see only one orchard

cemetery of leaves the marketplace is virgin

and the dew of the dusk nothing but wrong turn of the steering

a needle stretches its thread until it brakes

a leg chews its chain, a kite turns

into a dog and bites whoever goes by

an orphan child becomes the mother of another

a title becomes destitute and gets married

whatever exists is alive, the metals are in the earth

stones in the soil, proof that they wilt

if you uproot them the world turns horrible

lends and borrows, changes color

you don’t call it anymore, it exists as it’s named

monster, turtle, divan, couch, thigh, stove

and blonde hair around a woman’s mound.

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume III, Second Edition

Towards the End

The houses moved along with the garden benches;

the café tables too. Sometimes you discern them

in the air, among the clouds, in groups, with their

faded green colour and engravings by pocketknives

of sailors. The railings of the orchard left too and

the basket with the carnations, the two abandoned

wheels of the big car, the cop, the woman with

the woven demijohn. Relieved, abandoned, serene

space, ready for the small earth heater and poetry.

Wheat Ears, Selected Poems


He dons his hat peers outside

at darkness under clouds

laughter staggers like

it craves light from under rock

Look up he said the geese show a path

toward the same direction

keep your hat on and your arms

keep them open a wish may

embrace you or smiling passion

kiss before you run into

the ambush pain

of having a hat on

under lead clouds

and the sun hiding behind

Γιώργος Θέμελης: Φωτοσκιάσεις (XVIII)

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

[Ενότητα Φωτοσκιάσεις]


Είναι μέσα μου κάτι σκληρό.

Από πέτρα, με σιωπή πέτρας.
Από μπρούντζο ή από θάνατο,
Από τ’ άσπιλο μέταλλο του κόσμου.

(Μπορεί να ’ναι από θάνατο,
Μπορεί από μπρούντζο οι Άγγελοι.)

Από καμπάνα ή από σάλπιγγα.

Με πνίγει ο χρόνος, σημαίνει,
Με δέρνει η τύψη, αντιλαλεί
Μες σ’ όλους τους ανέμους,
Σα να φωνάζει βοήθεια,
Σα να ’πιασε φωτιά η ψυχή.
Καίγεται: τίποτα δεν τη σβει.


Στώμεν καλώς∙ στώμεν μετά φόβου.

Από τη συλλογή Φωτοσκιάσεις (1961) του Γιώργου Θέμελη

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

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