A keresés eredménye

He Is Not Oedipus

A huge sky filled with swallows
enormous halls Doric columns
the hungry ghosts
sitting in chairs in corners
weeping
the rooms with dead birds
Aegisthus the fishing net Kostas
Kostas the fisherman the afflicted
a room filled with tulles of many colours fluttering
in the wind
bitter oranges break the windowpanes
and enter
Kostas killed
Orestes killed
Alexis killed
break the chains on the windows
and enter
Kostas Orestes Alexis
others return to the streets from the fiesta
with lights with flags with trees
they call on Maria to come down
they call on Maria to come down from Heaven
the horses of Achilles fly in the heavens
rockets attend their flight
the sun rolls down from hill to hill
and the moon is a green lantern
filled with alcohol
then silence falls like night on the streets
and the blind man comes out with his cane
children follow him on tiptoe
he is not Oedipus
he is Elias from the vegetable market
he plays an exhausting and fatal flute
he is dead Elias from the vegetable market
 

Deep Mine

I write you filled with fear from a nocturnal arcade
lit by a lamp as small as a thimble
a wagon carefully passes above me
it gropes its distances so as not to hit me
but sometimes I pretend to be sleeping sometimes
to be darning a pair of old stockings
because all things about me have strangely grown old
 
At home
yesterday
as I opened the wardrobe it vanished it turned
to dust together with all its clothing
the plates break as soon as their are touched
I'm afraid and have hidden the knives and forks
my hair has become somewhat like cotton batting
my mouth has turned white and hurts me
my hands are stone
mw feet are wooden
three small children wander about me crying
I don't know how this happened and they call me mother
 
I wanted to write you of your old happiness
but I have forgotten how to write of happy things
 
R e m e m b e r - m e
 

The Gifts

Today I wore a
warm red blood
today people love me
a woman smiled at me
a girl gave me a seashell
a boy gave me a hammer
Today I kneel on the sidewalk
and nail the naked white feet of the passerby
to the pavement tiles
they are all in tears
but no one is frightened
all remain in the places to which I had come in time
they are all in tears
but they gaze at the celestial advertisements
at a beggar whose sells hot cross buns
in the sky
Two men whisper
what is he doing is he nailing our hearts
Yes he is nailing our hearts
Well then he is a poet