From many places, speaking truth
and making magic happen. Celebrating language.
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POETRY OF KOSTAS HRISOS
|Zempekiko||Nut & Bolt||Just like them|
|Little Mermaid||Span of attention||The dilapidated pot|
|Blessed||To the researcher...||Heron-on-a-paperweight
|The scoop||Sea, my love||This life|
|Easter Sunday Eve||I see the Light||3 visual poems:
I cannot sleep
Do not forgive us God
Next to me
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A single note from a
from its long neck in
its round belly
in the hollows of
stirs the nerves.
Knees bent, as if heís praying.
Fists clenched, as if heís cursing.
Feet stamp the earth, as if itís her fault.
Arms outstretched; ready to take flight.
*Zempekiko: a Greek dance
Bouzouki: a Greek musical instrument
tighten slightly first
heat up with an intense flame
use some corrosive spray.
Do not use a large spanner,
it will strip the threads away
or they will break.
Just like them
In a Holy Bible
At the bottom of a drawer
The Holy Trinity,
The Virgin Mary,
The Four Horsemen,
Among so many others.
Some move with such dexterity
In half-tone grey landscapes,
Sleeves rolled up ceremoniously,
Talking in hushed and weird tones,
deliberate their predicament,
Yearning for attention.
Others demonstrate discontent,
Shouting out loud
As in a march, or at a football ground.
Demanding my attention.
I hear them all.
I donít answer.
on overhearing an American tourist in Copenhagen
Maybe because you arenít
as large as the Statue of Liberty,
listed as one of the most
disappointing sites in Europe.
But I can still climb up in your veins
and look though the halls in your eyes
that constantly search
for your missing head,
that it most probably had
far many more interesting adventures
that the Statue of Liberty will ever have.
Span of attention
scanned the scenery
in millions of Dots Per Inch.
processed the data
(faster than the average
span of attention),
rejected the information,
and averted the eyes.
The dilapidated pot
I look OK, for my age.
Without a head, just
a big mouth that looks even bigger opened up.
No legs, just one arm;
But what do you expect?
Iím not a Greek Urn.
I was blessed
With the labour of the golden wheat
Bread for the body
I was blessed
With the labour of the fleshy grape
Wine for the blood
I was blessed
With the labour of the sweet olive
Oil for the kantili
Kantili: the little light that burns with olive oil, in front of the icons.
You must be joking, I said,
I wonít let you in my head
not until Iím really dead
and maybe not even then.
At first, misreading your name as
ĒHaronĒ, I thought you were named after
ĒHarosĒ, the boatman who carries the souls to their place of rest
Painted on a stone that
We throw behind our backs, meaning ďnever to return here againĒ
You fit the name but look nothing like him.
I think itís a pumpkin but
itís too small to provide
enough scoop for a pie
or many seeds for passatempo1.
But Iím sure it does a great job
watering a thirsty mouth.
1 dry roasted pumpkin seed.
Sea, my love
I dive into her watery body, I reach the sandy bed
and untie the ribbon.
Her hair flies loose, spraying the rocky shore
with a fine, salty mist.
I kiss her on the mouth.
Suddenly the lighthouse flashes!
as I come to my senses.
Agreed, yes; but this lifeís without end. (Odysseas Elytis)
drags some of us by the scruff of the neck,
carries some of us upon its shoulders;
and to what end?
To lifeís no end my friend.
To lifeís no end.
Easter-Sunday Eve, in the old cemetery.
Itís drizzling and a bit windy,
the candles are flickering,
the faithful are chanting quietly.
Suddenly the gravestones take flight,
they hover above our heads for a while,
not long enough to read the names,
and then they disappeared into the ether,
to the right.
Leaving the smoke from the incense
to keep us dizzy
and the dead in the damp earth.
I See the Light
I see the light
Somewhere in the distance
I am not scared.
Even if it's only a candle
And it goes off, by the time I reach it,
I will light another.