Ποιειν Και Πραττειν - create and do

Dance at night - Paros Poems II 2008


To Elpida

Castle church in Paros


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!




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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