Avertings
Stray
If I was once hidden
under electric lights
turning my need into breath; heartbeat.
And if I was enchanted
by incomplete forms
trying to see the stars without a telescope.
And if I looked for.
And f I got lost.
Now I am here
to show you the non-existent path.
It’s only that you have been used to my silence.
Small nights
When I look at you
there are no words.
I have to turn my gaze away from you
in order to be capable of speaking.
(Isn’t this what you have always waited for?)
To turn myself away.
Small nights call upon me
to dry them out
by sipping blood from their fingertips.
But here am I, sleeplessly dreaming.
Touching your absence.
Solitude makes poets out of us.
Just
There exist no hidden things
They just exist
Waiting for you to look at
Female students
The best time to ride the city bus
is around eleven p.m.
on weekdays
downtown to uptown.
That’s when
the young girls
of fifteen to eighteen years old
return home from prep school
neither innocent enough
neither guilty enough
to smile at you.
While windows reflect beauty
and air fills
with sweet voices and soft perfumes
you think
that all these
will be yours never again
or simply never.
And you have a half-crazy wish
to caress their hair
to put their head on your shoulder
to whisper at them
that nothing has yet ended
that nothing has yet started
that it is still too early.
Guilt
may wait.
Things
There are things I have said
and things
I have not.
Things I should have said
and things
I should not.
The problem
is the lack of correspondence.
Savoir-faire
It’s something to know how to punch
but it’s even more to know how to take punches.
Life is large
and buys time in the most improbable hideouts.
Imagine the worst case scenario
and when it has been realized
be sure
that you will be able to think of an even worse one.
Have a big soul.
The bigger you can.
Construct inside your head an elaborate network
consisting of the needs, the hopes, the wishes
of those that surround you.
No matter if most of that does not explicitly regard yourself.
Everything is relevant. Or, it may become so.
Always act accordingly.
Go wherever you’re invited to.
Wash, shave, comb your hair, wear clean clothes.
Talk pretty.
In general, be pleasant to other people.
Never say something,
if you suspect the slightest possibility
that it might discomfort them.
Love, even if love is not returned back to you.
Be patient.
And when you go insane, keep it only to yourself.
Sceneries
Tonight
I have decided to get you out of my head
And to put someone else in there
Just like that
For a change of sceneries
Everyday is like Sunday
He must had been sleeping for about twelve hours.
He got up, and went to the toilette.
He returned to the room.
He took the cigarettes, and lit one.
He didn’t pull up the curtains.
Nevertheless, the light that passed through them indicated the strong probability of a lovely day out there.
He looked at the books on the shelf
waiting to be read.
He thought of the words
waiting to be read, to be written, to be heard, to be spoken, or whatever.
He thought of time
existing only to be little.
He wiped out the cigarette.
He laid on the bed.
He fell back asleep.
A random averting of the gaze
I don’t look for her anymore.
I don’t revolt.
I don’t try.
Her eyes
are indifferent to me.
I am full
of small moments
we never shared.
Full
of love
I never gave her.
Intact.
Wish.
Longing.
Fantasy.
The kids that were playing outside my window
have gone to bed.
An exercise in melancholy
We die young
Sunday morning
with the sun shining.
Flowers blooming
kids playing in the street
me, caressing your hair
against your will.
We die alone.
We live alone.
Whatever we share
is too little.
Don’t let Beauty startle you
So, it’s your time to wander.
Whatever easily accessible did not suffice.
And that small universe of yours
was not enough.
If you come across Beauty
don’t let her startle you; it won’t do.
With clear head and full heart look into her eyes
and embrace her.
And if you don’t have words, that’s fine.
Kefalonia
Just be alert
and don’t get lost on some deserted island
without hope of escape;
with sole company
those
who padded with waxed ears
while you
were listening to the mermaids singing.
Love
I have a broken heart.
It is a ticket to stars already wiped out.
I am still here
I, who never were.
I have a tired mind.
I have a stopped clock.
I have a poem you did not deserve.
Published poets
Maybe all we had to say was pointless
driven by some post-adolescent urge
or some unconsciously inaccurate knowing.
And maybe we would be better off
remaining forever life’s mute lovers
and wisdom’s passive receivers.
But who would constrain us?
We are the only measure of ourselves.
Everyone’s view is incomplete.
*Asterios Toutios, Thessaloniki-Serres, 2002-2005
For the translation, Nancy-Paris, 2008-2011
