Τραγούδι Α'

η νύφη
Είναι μαύρη αλλά είμαι ωραία,
θυγατέρες της Ιερουσαλήμ,
σαν τα τσαντήρια του Κηδάρ,
σαν τα σκηνώματα του Σολομών.
Μη βλέπετε που είναι μαυρισμένη-
μ' έκαψε ο ήλιος.
Οι γιοι της μάνας μου μού θύμωσαν-
μ' έβαλαν να φυλάω τ' αμπέλια,
όμως τ' αμπέλι το δικό μου δεν το φύλαξα.

Α! πες μου εσύ που αγάπησε η ψυχή μου,
πού βόσκεις το κοπάδι σου;
πού ξαποσταίνεις το μεσημέρι;
Για να μην τριγυρνώ κρυφά
μες στα κοπάδια των συντρόφων σου.


...

ο άντρας
Τα δοκάρια του σπιτιού μας κέδρο
και τα φατνώματά μας κυπαρίσσι.

...

2 Οκτωβρίου 2011

once upon a time
people made stories out of imaginary creatures
details that they had pictured in their minds
during the long hours

note

the first autumn rain
it goes on since last night




after the rain
before night

I ask-
does music
change
who we are?

i ask-
how will my generation be documented
in history

today it is the most mysterious moon of the year

the only planet which gets closer to us
so close that we can see the human face
reflecting on its dry-land

-do you see?

in my mind, silently, i have made several comparative pairs

i have jointed Picasso with Le Corbusier

and Karolos Koun with Manolis Andronikos

also, Halepas with Theofilos
and many others, less identifiable.

I imagine, for the ones i cannot find their proper pair,
the crowds of people i have never heard about,
the millions who have lived and created and i know nothing about

the moon is almost full
it gets yellower outside and only darker inside
as if for the greater importance of
land to be imposed on the human cave

and then, shortly after,
blue fires are twisting onto our heads

names
and days and numbers