A man was calling me, Muse, multifaceted...
A green notebook with poets. My mother's notebook.
Seferis, Elytis, Ritsos.
No woman. And Cavafy, hidden until death — back
from a glass.
Sun, lots of sun, and barren rocks tearing the blue.
A hidden cove, white and with palaces built on the sand.
They said, Greece, that you are selling your children as slaves.
And in Thomas' tavern the City is still burning.
(A father made of ancient stone and with ambition to
sunshine.)
Marches at Akadimias and a green bin burning.
Greece of Greek Christians and bars — bars everywhere.
The sandy beaches of Homer, with a cicada that convinced thousands
others.
And then the stadium, betting, fighting.
(Mortal children who feed on the flesh of those for whom they
who will die.)
A woolly, vernacular language. Xenopoulos, Kazantzakis and one other
Hadjidakis.
With hair tousled by the crazy north wind and with almond blossoms.
El Greco, Cavadias and Gatsos travel, the form or
Their spirit is no longer here.
So, push forward with waves, from Ayvalik to the motherland
Russia and even the thieving America.
The sky is a mirror and the sea reveals a form of sorrow.
crafty.
The Virgin Mary, the mermaid and the church on the mountain up there.
(Mother immaterial, vapor that emerged from the collision of the Primordial
of the elements.)
On the Areopagus sat Ares, Pericles and the General
Kolokotronis.
It seems it takes over a thousand years for a Holy Day to
It's dawning.
The King is still made of marble and Alexander the Great
He is no longer a god.
Aristotle, Plato, Socrates; they are enough for us to be
always the land of the wise.
(Mother who insists on resisting oblivion and clinging to
(She is buried in the torn flesh of her children.)
I learned we had three parties — English, French and
Russian.
Is it their fault that—always others—shadow the land of light?
And the law students have nice clothes and hair,
to dance tsifteteli in a basement in Fylis.
Thanos, Alexis, the dead of Marfin. And then Pavlos. Always
a Paul.
They say that Greece is the great lean cow of Europe.
(But... The father is made of stone... You won't find him, if that's the case anymore.
you want to break the stone.)
And when they are killed, life goes uphill.
This shutter opens.
And consciousness is as bright as summer.
I just don't fit in.
I have to leave.
* The poem contains references to figures and works of Greek literature
and history (Homer, K. P. Cavafy, G. Seferis, Od. Elytis, G. Ritsos, etc.).
photo ClickerHappy, https://pixabay.com
