Obsessions

When you die, I won’t be there
To keep your feet warm
Between my antiquated breast
To recite poems dedicated
To the living air and say:
“Your legs, your lies
The tufts of your hair, all so well made!”
But when you die you’ll find me
Having carpeted long ago
The corridor leading to the next room – life

Present Eternity

From my window I observe the traffic –
Cars parked in the void
Or speed up in order
To catch themselves returning.
The world seems indefinable, dim
As if I were blinded by the steam
From some distant cauldron
Where the evil of creation
Is stewing in its own juice.
The infatuation bodies used to provoke –
Where has the infatuation gone?
How can a wounded memory
Count absences?
Has the content of life changed
Or does my person no longer offer
Sufficient future
For life to contain me?

A Frightful Oligarchy

Fear is an absolute monarch;
Nothing overshadows
His omnipotence.
Next to him Queen Despair
Has fewer competences
Since it is as if everything has been lost by now.
When she doesn’t feel young and strong enough
To plunge into mourning
Sailing-souls, she asks the assistance
Of her exclusive nurse, sadness

Λέει η Πηνελόπη

And your absence teaches me 
what art could not.

                                              Daniel Weissbort

Δεν ύφαινα, δεν έπλεκα,
ένα γραφτό άρχιζα, κι έσβηνα
κάτω απ’ το βάρος της λέξης
γιατί εμποδίζεται η τέλεια έκφραση
όταν πιέζετ’ από πόνο το μέσα.
Κι ενώ η απουσία είναι το θέμα της ζωής μου
–απουσία  από τη ζωή –
κλάματα  βγαίνουν στο χαρτί
κι η φυσική οδύνη του σώματος
που στερείται.