George Seferis – Collected Poems

II
Mycenae
Give me your hands, give me your hands,
give me your hands.
I have seen in the night
the pointing peak of the mountain
I have seen the far side of the plain flooded
with the light of the hiding moon
I have seen, turning my head
the black stones rounded up
and my life like a taut chord
beginning and end
the ultimate moment:
my hands.
Whoever carries the heavy rocks sinks
I have carried these rocks as long as I endured
I have loved these rocks as long as I endured
these rocks, my fate.
Wounded by my own soil
tortured by my own shirt
condemned by my own gods
these rocks.
I know that they don’t know, but I
who have followed the path
from the killer to the victim many a time
from the victim to punishment
from punishment to the next killing,
groping
the inexhaustible power
that night of my return
when the Furies started whistling
on the scarce grass
I saw snakes crossed with vipers
meshed over the evil generation
our fate.
Voices coming out of the rocks out of sleep
even deeper here where the world darkens
memory of anguish rooted in the rhythm
that stomped the earth by feet
forgotten.
Bodies sunk in the foundations
of the other time, naked Eyes
fixated, fixated, to a sign
that no matter how you try, you can’t make out
the soul
that struggles to become your soul.
Not even silence is yours anymore
here where the mill stones have stopped turning.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J

Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

Long Listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

https://griffinpoetryprize.com/press/2023-longlist-announcement/

e old woman stares at the naked semblance
of the unknown soldier in the frost,
takes off her shawl and steps over to cover that
naked boy who feels cold
Rough faces like logs
sharp faces like axes
red faces, coppery, ashy
deep faces, immense like the dark, distant horizon
hands that build the world in an hour
and tumble it down in a second
roughly cut faces, stony, ominous
A man selling coal, his eyes on his black face
resemble two red emergency lights in the night
one day
we’ll find out
who yelled
no one
the war blows
the war blows —
we shall all yell together
The wind blows the old woman’s shawl
raises it up high
unfolds it
and the shawl becomes a gigantic octopus
that grabs the whole city
The wind mixes up the streets, dates, faces
sweeps the dust from the battle grounds
this dust buries Europe slowly
it blows on the fields, harbors, open roads
the great fires of Asia reflect behind our window panes
a signal

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

Orange

Chores
You ask the silent mountains
to bring the morning
to craft the trees’ shade
your heart to be
concealed by fog
flower that vanished behind
a curtain of pain and
you got up to stare into
the eyes of another sunny day
motive for thoughts you had
of him to trim the maple and
to spread some fertilizer
over the flower beds when
familiar anguish attacks you
beauty passes by your irises
benevolence doesn’t impress you
and you have missed
another innocent moment
like his voice and
his tender arm over your shoulders.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763750