25.4.24

"a/z" [excerpt]


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

from Α/Z [exc.]

 

  The stag deer

looks at his fawns with pride

under the oleander.

He moves his head;

the antlers

shake the boughs –

pink petals trickle down.

  The chestnut tree died

at seventy-five.

How many summers more
will the pomegranate’s shadow last

wedged in the rock?

How many carefree summers,

left for us?

you ask me on the phone

next to the sea.

  Through summer and winter,

for ages,

boys had been wearing
shorts:

in the north, in the south.

The boys waist as he grows

does not change much:

only the legs get longer.

Shorts

remain short,

though shorter every year.

And when they’re baggy,

they last longer:

as the waist grows wider,

and the thighs grow strong.

Plus, during games,

long trousers will get stained,

and torn.

Better

a wounded knee

than patches
– mothers have thought,

over the globe,

for ages.

You save on fabric,

and boys learn

to hurt

and to take care.

And to not be ashamed

to show their wounds.

  Like

small

slabs

protruding

from a wall horizontally

in houses built of stone:

they seem placed randomly,

but they are steps

that lead.

  

      [translated by Panayotis Ioannidis]

 

~ Appeared in "Reading Greece", April 2024

 

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