fourteen
Among all this wander,
Oh, ancient Hellene,
you won’t be the first to discover Zero.
A Mesopotamian
rounding up a piece of wood
and holding it up with sun rays
he foreshadows it.
Hindu, you discover the circular void
oestrus of numbers
the circle that was meant
to become a whirl
that every hesitation will suck
into the center of a woman.
15th of November
The newspapers arrived. The Chinese march on.
We walked out to the front yard. There was a big moon,
a gigantic yellow moon; and how can we fit in
this ward, within this barbwire, during this time?
16th of November
I’m very tired. I wrote all day long, and
of those intervals and those extra writings
nothing has remained. A ship sailed by.
Perhaps Ios or Heraklion; from up here we heard
its whistle.
The postman will come again tomorrow.
Only the word silence wasn’t uttered.
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VII
Stagnant misery stays over
the echoing plains like a queen.
Stagnant misery hovers over
the humble sinless hovels and
desolate dreaming dreams
logos caged in the dismal cell
where the fangs of pain reign
endlessly and torture conscience.
The occult cornering of rivulets
and sighs suddenly turn to the east.
Eyes filled with tears as the reward
for the few braves who stand up against
the enemy’s thundering spears.
Nothing exists but bitterness and grief,
human worthiness weighted
on the scale of the monopoly and
only the courageous aspens
uphold the spring and its hours
like the monotonous elegy lamenting
logos kept in the sunless hallways
of the palaces like a caged dove.
For a Woman
Do you remember the nights? To make you laugh, I could
walk on the glass of the night lamp.
“How is this possible?” You asked. But it’s so simple
since you love me.
Hellenic Canadian Literature 