Athena Papadaki: Pale almost White and Sleepless in the Skies

Sleeping in the open

1

The cicadas expand the infinite

every night, one inch at a time,

I grow more humble when I sleep outdoors.

Most gentle senses,

what would beauty be without the invisible

or sound without silence?

Between the thorns and the coolness

sleep vanishes, I lose it.

On a simple balcony

I found a place of prayer

holier than an olive grove.

2

I sleep on a balcony of stars,

decent linen covers touch my body

which at dawn is thrown to the howling dogs.

The fate of the party changes easily. 

Country House

I will live with basil plants and pulses,

clasping my hands

I will pray for the cycle of my life to close gently.

The ceiling lower than the trees,

the front step two centimetres above

the silver driftwood of the shore.

Towards sunset at the turn of the skies

you lose your power

but gain radishes

and running water.

I step out on the balcony to take some air.

Between the door and the horizon god intervenes.

Ash and ash again

The earth is falling, falling

with all things winged and fragrant,

a drop of oil on my passions.

I owe my bad name to fire,

just as all fatal things

it moves armies of dreams

until it blackens Utopia like grass.

Sometimes Utopia returns to life

as a gazelle from the sweat of the horizon

to arouse the day air once more

from the lentisk.

I believe in whatever is burning hopelessly.

Transient and speechless,

I see mammals in flames

in the festival of milk.

I am expensive in the extreme.

I guarantee nothing but ash. 

Translated from the Greek by Thom Nairn and D. Zervanon