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Dance at night - Paros Poems II 2008
To Elpida
Castle church in Paros
Un-remittent
Un-remittent are our disturbed souls,
Even when they cling to wishes we cannot fulfill.
But life is not just a dream.
Reality catches me most of the time out of breath.
Stars, tell me, what can I do?
Sea, how can I heal my wounds?
Sand, what signs should I draw with my feet to change my fate?
Wherever I go, the road has never been easy.
Even if my country is filled with thorns,
A stony path down to the sea is not the greatest of all obstacles
Nor does the wind make me feel alone.
For I love the sea, the wind and the sand and stones
yet pathways through my heart are much more difficult.
Cumbersome is the resurrection of my heart.
After I was left standing to bleed nearly to death,
I saw the light coming through the roof full of holes.
I found myself in a hut on an empty beach,
slept there like a pirate’s wife
and drank all night with the men.
Yes, I dared to joke about their toothless swords,
and asked if they could only see themselves in the mirrors
of a dark eyed women they all desire like fata morgana
beginning to exist when someone shouts ‘land ahoy’.
O yes, I forgot those daily bills. Don’t remind me of that.
I wish a donkey or some other magical trick
like a goose which lays some golden eggs
would save my soul from tax collectors, debtors and other thieves
who take never into account the value my life has for others
even when they cannot count on their fingers
how many times I have saved their lives
out of sheer courage of my heart.
There is no need for a monument for my deeds.
It is just a fact, not non-sense. Any parrot or cat
can do better than that, I know,
or a modest measure is to reorder the kitchen
or to start cleaning the house all over again
since life brings with itself constant disorder.
It keeps me busy, my thoughts occupied and shy enough as I am
to admit I would not mind smoking with all the pirate’s pipe
I dream about a rich ship at anchor, ready to be taken
like a beautiful bride with a dowry
when the wind picks up and fills the sails
to depart along the coast till safe anchorage
can be found in one of those secluded bays
where no one knows your face.
Yes, I wish to share that kind of life with you
for I am armed to the teeth with love.
**************
Dance at night
I whisper into your ear
every night a poem
how stars look at you.
This universal love
stems from
your peaceful heart.
The dance of the candle light
takes me by the hand
down to the sea.
.
On the beach
I find another star
for you to see.
Paros 21.7.2008
*********************
Light of the lantern
The light of the lantern has shown to men and women the way.
Many use it to give signals from boats close to the coast.
In mines lanterns were used to find the coal.
Usually a lit lantern is a sign someone is at home.
It is a light of hope and of life.
Protected against wind, its light cannot be sniffed out at will.
The lantern made possible to transcend dark times.
Hovering close by it is to feel the radiance of its light.
It invites dreams to step out of the shadows
And to settle down to hear stories.
Remember that the night watch man of Rembrandt would challenge:
“Who goes there?”
Hope lifts up if dreams reply
With clear notification
That all debts have been paid
And no more taxes need to be extorted from the poor folk.
But you there, stranger, step closer,
Let me see your face in the radius of the lantern’s light!
O yes, my dream is as close as the lantern to your face
When you lie down beside me to make the night
Into a revelation as the hand follows the warm glow
Of the candle light burning bright to let your touch
Vibrate through my mind and body and back to your hand.
*************
Bliss at noon
We all seek places to rest, even for a short nap,
But when colors harmonize,
Then it is only bliss as the mattress suits the body
No longer aching because the soul
Has discovered the love to dance in the wind
And when smiling instead of crying becomes the light.
We remember all the tender kisses with which our mothers put us to bed
Or how we answered calls of the sea
By looking at our feet leaving traces on the sandy beach.
If only good dreams would stay free from murdering pictures like Rembrandt’s,
Then I would be willing to lift the veil separating your face from reality.
Lift it yourself so that I can see you when resting at noon
In a place where all colors harmonize with your smiling face!
12.8.08
**********************
Door half open
Philosophy of the mind
Becomes like the head put out the door to feel the air massage the face
At a place where the wind marries silence everyday anew
And where a smile becomes a treatise on creativity
Before knowing anything about love
Or that it has to be based on the ethical bind between man and woman
In order to further the understanding of the necessities of life
From which according to Baudrillard everyone wishes to emancipate him- or herself.
They do so by seeking a metamorphosis in order to become objects of desire
When in fact they are but metaphors of missed out passions
In a world of indifference to all the battle fields where wounded loves
Were left behind by armies of seduction in search of new lands and people to conquer
As it has always been in history the case to continue worthless searches
To fulfill some dreams out of vanity when honesty would have been just enough
To put to rest doubts and nagging thoughts about what lies ahead.
If only going the wind could sweep away the cobwebs and mendacity as well
Before halls of fames are constructed for statues to look at
By noisy tourists who do not mind about what consciousness we had
When living this transition from the twentieth to the twenty-first century.
We know all of us are full of worries about health and the way of life
As exemplified by Western love for Buddhist nuns and monks in Tibet
At the time when the Olympics took place in Beijing
But no one remembered then that growing old by people in love
Is really about earning the right to stay young in the heart.
************************
In the sign of the wheel barrow (I)
You know when the earth
Breathes again
After archaeologists
Uncovered contours of a former temple
On Despotiko,
First dedicated to Esthia, then to Apollon,
That you are again at a place where everyone conjured to
To show off their wealth
While getting the blessings of the others
For what they had in mind
Was to confirm their plans
To take over the Aegean soon,
That is, when the winds are favorable
And the big cities sleep
While Korens remain over time the reference
Of such beauty waiting
Till modern dreams come to rest on stones
Bleached by the sun
After digging has been done
And the earth taken away
By using the wheel barrow.
Clothes to dry
Have you understood my call?
I recall your name when the landscape whispers
What the wind left behind.
I see the stark eyes of the eagle circling high up
As if I want to spot where your feelings run to.
Do you really feel chased along that rocky path up to the crescent of the hill
When I would rather like to share with you this landscape?
Silence abounds. Each stone sighs. Heaviness weighs on my soul.
It makes survival appear to depend upon just one statement:
You can make it!
Alone I think stones have a good rest every day.
They soak up sun rays while the wind cools their fore heads,
And they know feelings cannot be broken by faceless tears.
I need to see your face, hear your voice and feel the touch of your hand.
Look, this is all what I brought to the table for the discussion.
I gather many things first for breakfast and then for writing to you.
But then there is this little sculpture I did to recall
The conversation we had last night when the moon lit the landscape.
I could see you a dance in the moonlight. It was magic.
You enchanted not only me but the stony landscape
Gone silent so that you could speak to my unconsciousness.
Stone walls
These stone walls were put up by men many moons ago
as elongated borders they partition the landscape
ending something which belonged once to all: the free land!
Was it only to keep out the wolves and in the sheep?
What if the golden eagle comes, for then
no wall suffices against that swoop from high up
till not only sheep but everyone gets carried away
to leave behind a landscape gone silent.
A landscape kept in constant movement by the wind
beholds at a distance the view of the sea
and closer by the Acropolis overrun and burned down one day
back in history full of upsets and ousters
of the one who had collected riches behind stone walls.
Immediately brittle when they could no longer beat back
determined invaders grimly armed to the teeth
as if a mixture of pirates and angry angels
send by the Gods to announce victory means defeat.
What have I done
At the bottom of the hill, but up high,
There is that incredible house
Hosting day and night the winds
But not necessarily any guest.
It is surrounded by shepherds
Who attract women over the Internet
And then buy them cars to keep them
For a while, as if a rotation systems on the go
Even while he rides back home on a donkey
And greets his neighbors with a curious smile
Since he wants to find out where she went,
That woman from America who transformed
The hut into a house of astonishing beauty
Now blending into a landscape just asking
“what have I done”.
In the sign of the wheel barrow (II)
Astute the sense of archaeologists
As to where to track down fine details of the past
In order to decipher puzzles left by Ancient Times
Even if women or men remain bitter about something, such as
He did not notice my new gown or she did not greet me,
But for sure, whenever people come together,
Whether then or now, they have something to quarrel about,
Or they want to settle something before they make a sacrifice
At the site of worship where everyone came together
To honor Apollo and one’s own secret dreams
As if those favorable winds are needed
To be taken back by ships swift and fast,
Past riffs and wild hordes of bees swarming out
Whenever they believe there is bounty to be fetched.
Then a bird’s song interrupts the thoughts.
A trickle of time means all water has been spent.
It leaves burial grounds dusted over by golden sand.
Traces thereof, left in the ground, have to be shoveled free
Of the red earth before their meanings can be made out
In the blazing sun one summer when they found a korai statue
So amazing in light and weight that no one knew which was which.
In the end there was no more turmoil and a light spark spoke
Like a beautiful voice coming from no where to remind
About something to be found only in the heart
Or whenever one can listen to her voice speaking softly to remind
That any presence of life in this century is sea miles away from the universe.
The archaeological dig of Despotiko
Many volunteers from France pushed at the archaeological dig the wheel barrow
To take away the sand from the rest of the feet of the statue now uncovered
As much as he dreamt of unveiling her face and smooth body
Forever an ephemeral statue not just standing there, but alive,
As she walks light footed down to the sea to welcome the boat
With a smile he only knew twice before in his life and so he sank
To his knee beside the wheel barrow, clutched the shovel,
And murmured to the earth a humble thanks for finding her
Since now he was able to respond to the call of love
While she with full trust that he was faithful to only her
Knew now what to demand from Apollo, namely to guide her swift thoughts
So that he could feel her heart and hands, hear how her feet pound the earth
As they started to run towards each other out of certainty of love
Down by the sea side, to meet in the shade of trees to make endless love speak.
Hatto Fischer
Text and photos@ Poiein Kai Prattein, Paros June 2008
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