Comments & Greek artists: the definitive passageway between the unstable and the well stable...

Greek poets & Greek artists, contemporary Greek painters


Yannis Stavrou, Olive Grove in Attica, oil on canvas

Dedicated to August 15, 2010 - the great Greek Orthodox holiday...

Takis Papatsonis

Hestia

MY ENTERING your home, entering of friendship is,

visiting friendship. The first door's

passageway, alone, disposes me there to.

The small garden's sight, hail

the first. The inside door's opening, my entering

and again behind me the closing, is the definitive

passageway between the unstable and the well stable.

The tepid streams in the half darkness that welcome me

are the messages of a warm heart, that somewhere inside

beats, beating awaits. The meeting

with your kin, who equally are my kin

shows the brotherhood. Without caresses.

Nor embraces. Nor kisses.

But everything exists, it belongs to the soul. Blessed

were the hours under your roof ordered to me.

You reserve for the end the great gift,

your advent, our meeting, which, if it were outside of

the mystic luxury of your house, it would be

like an indecent thing, not the congruent

with your being - a being of the Hestia, not of the open air.

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Source: ELLOPOS.NET

Comments & Greek artists: without mirage I carry my soul...

Poets & Greek artists, contemporary Greek artists


Yannis Stavrou, Pine Trees in Attica, oil on canvas

But well lonesome and well naked
without mirage
I carry my soul...

Giuseppe Ungaretti

San Martino del Carso
Little Valley of the Solitary Tree

Of these houses
remained
but some
tattered wall

Of many
that connected with me
remained but
not even that much

Yet in the heart
no cross goes missing

It is my heart
the most wrecked village


Giuseppe Ungaretti (1888-1970)

Drowsing
Little Valley of Peak Four

I attend the raped night

The air is riddled
like a lace
by the gunshots
of the men
portrayed
in the trenches
like slugs in their shells

It seems to me
like if a panting
swarm of stonecutters
was beating the pavement
of lava stones
of my streets
and I was listening to it
without seeing it
drowsing

Weight
Mariano

That farm worker
relies on the medal
of St. Anthony
and goes lightly

But well lonesome and well naked
without mirage
I carry my soul

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The poems are translated by Dennis Cooper