As published in Volume 10 NO 2, June 2013
February is ending.
Light is coming.
But still so much darkness !

On the hills the wildflowers
are out, as they once were.
They will speak the words
buried in the cold ground.
Flores para los muertos!

We will all lie in the black ground.
The flowers will speak for us:
forget me not, o, don’t forget me, no.

for my father

They wrapped my father
in Egyptian cotton
the East was his home
the West his destination.

O my mariner pines
sing him the wave
and you boatman, keep to the other shore -
he’ll swim across, and never you mind.

Wave on wave
time carries me onward .

Land behind me
the edge of the world before me.

The child embracing me
will know about me some day:
that I had good ships
and that the winds weren’t fair
and that I never arrived, no, never.
Translated from the Greek by the poet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s