30 Αυγ 2008

"Sotiris Pastakas : The Isle Of Chios (2002)" [Translated by Yannis Goumas - 2008]


The isle of Chios
grows inward then sticks out
like a hangnail.

Itching sends me away,
ancient oracle
and I’m accented on the penult.

I must have gone too far.
To think
that where I am now
the sea is called Ionian.

*

Autumn as psychism:
sorrow that comes externally
and crushes us. I was afraid
of its melancholy strain,
the parade of thwarted
aspirations, the established
order of passions. I was afraid
of recurring sorrow,
the dragging delirium,
the discolouration of words,
the derangement of footsteps,
I feared they comprised the manifest
tokens of a specific disease.

*

I am looked on, and maunder about,
as a retired emotionalist.
Immersed in words
betrayer of oaths
robber of prospects
unfit for the future,

never-failing lover
war criminal.

*

The marble stadium in the background. Midday
spectre, the ouzo bar in the shade of terror.

Saturday as an adjective of a proper noun
we surrendered to you one afternoon.

My girl and I anonymously
paraded through eponymous streets

the celebrated Beauty.

*

Don’t hesitate. Summer’s over,
the day has decreased its light, leaves
of finite red, the grape harvest gathered.

Don’t hesitate. Your synonymity
with summer allots the meaning
to the warm hearth of my self.

I am here, glowing with fire, consumable.
Older than winter, I await you
with open arms. Don’t delay.