Athena Papadaki: Poems

See video of Athena Papadaki reading at the 21. Prague Writers' Festival here. 

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.

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.

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.

The Bride 

Slowly I descend from the heavens.

First lace

Second branch

One hundredth bead.

The veil is carefully lifted.

To my left side are horses in the pallid blue

until the appearance of

                                      Pandrossos the obedient,

my name is among the cows.

The mind cultivating

cotton and cabbage

                the other language

clay in the blood.

Girl in an elaborate territory

with kataifi

spinning its golden hair on the stairway

of almond.

                And the violin

the king with his red nails

pointing to

the night,

on her palate

the Bible is thinking.

Tulle in the commandments

                in abundance.

I will live

in the vineyards

in the proverbs

in the linen

in the heart

in the lullaby

in the dowry

in the shadow

in the muck

I will live in the family home

                            until

the nations turn their heads

in admiration.

I am a virgin,

tougher than cacti.

My body desired you in the night.

In the morning I looked for you with my soul.

The Inaccessible

The dream

the speechless

the other

the lovers

the next moment

the jasmine

the poem

the pain

the pining

Like the chamomile

with a single dream

and less water.

photo: Petr Machan, PWF 2011