UNTITLED I
I will die
but roam at night
to see how small
– so small
are human moments…
UNTITLED II
All I have ever written were footnotes.
Verses I did not write,
I admired the eternal poems that stroll
afternoons in the avenues of Nicosia
and of every city
famous for its superb versification…
UNTITLED VI
In my biographical note
I include no details of my life,
such as where I was born and how many times I have died.
ODE TO NAPOLEON LAPATHIOTIS
A bird of the night he was, elegant,
fine-looking.
A well-known bohemian of the era.
Always sporting a flower on his lapel.
A dandy like Oscar Wilde.
A poet estet.
Fluent in French
a piano virtuoso,
a tender master of the verse, a dreamer.
He loved the night, the moonlight,
a quivering candle was his poetry,
a slowly waning moon his breath.
THE MEETING
for Carolina Öhrn
I meet them often when they walk
silent and alone.
I meet them when they walk
sunk in thought.
What could those who walk
silent and alone at hours such as these
be thinking?
Could they be thinking about what they have won, lost
or nothing of the sort?
Could they be thinking about women
they have loved, lost
or still love?
I meet them often when they walk
silent and alone.
AT THE COFFEE SHOP
OF THE DESPERATE
Let’s speak tomorrow
I will be here
in this neighbourhood
in his city,
I will walk
the same road
that lonely passersby
walk.
Look for me
at the coffee shop of the desperate.
FRAGMENTUM III
Malice is an ugly thing; the ugliness of the soul.
FRAGMENTUM V
Eventually death will come to erase it all, our terrible crimes…
FRAGMENTUM VI
Itís time for the silence of centuries, we have said too much…
FRAGMENTUM VII
I want my verses to drip of sweat, like
lovers at the peak of passion.
GUILT
At night feelings of guilt pounded at my door
bringing back to me
everything I wanted to send far away.
Late at night
I would wake up,
wrestle the nightmare, exorcise the feelings of guilt.
Chasing them maniacally, saying “next night
I will arm myself mightily
with munitions and armour, sooner or later
I will have the coup de grâce
and go back to sleep triumphant
with doors and windows open.”
Lately they knock and I open
at the first rap,
I leave the windows open
and they enter.
Now, they no longer come and I worry.
One night, by chance, I saw one from afar.
I ran… “I am expecting you. When will you come?”
We have been decimated… it replied,
there are so few of us left
that we no longer hound every random person.
We seek out those who deserve
those who are worthy
of feelings of guilt.
THE NIGHT
“I often think that the night is more alive
and more richly coloured than the day.” – Vincent van Gogh
The night is very unjust,
it blames me
for emotional murders,
imputes motive to me
there, where I had no choice.
But there are hours when the night
is superb, when it is sweet
because Eros is acquainted with it
much better.
Fellow travellers in the darkness
in futile meanderings
we will be forgotten before the dawn
reveals that it too
was just another delusion.
THE MUTE POET
This mute poet,
who is burdened by the rage of the terrible winds
by the sorrow of the closed windows
by the anguish of the deserted streets.
This mute poet
who is burdened by silence
by the injustice of the centuries
this mute poet
will not speak…
A HUMBLE CRAFTSMAN
for Christodoulos Drakos* in memoriam
Tame the language, poet,
like the matador
who grabs the bull by the horns
and leads him where he pleases.
Poet, chisel the verse
like the fine artisan
who sculpts stone and marble
and forms wondrous works.
Become a poet, a good artisan
become a humble craftsman!
* Christodoulos Drakos (1918-2018) was the poetís grandfather. He was the person who initiated him, as a child, into poetry, into the love of learning and democratic values.
PROSE WRITERS AND POETS
à la manière de Marc Chagall
Deep down prose writers envy
poets.
They watch them flying above the city
suddenly becoming invisible
at times travelling without a ship
without a train, without a passport.
Deep down prose writers envy
poets
even have reasons to hate them.
Do you know any prose writer comparable
to Cavafy the Alexandrian or to Leonard Cohen
in the art of love?
This is why prose writers hate
poets.
Because they know that, in the sport of love
in all centuries to come,
they will never throw the javelin farther.
IN ONE NIGHT
In one night everything changed.
You left
and I sit here
where the wind has sown me
where the rain has brought me to life
where History has raised me
on dreams.
I will die quietly.
In one night I will become one with the infinite
with the emptiness
I will become a drop of rain.
Come, cover me, eternity
with your veil
eternity, amen.
Give rest to my soul, lord,
Give me rest, lord, amen.
REFRACTION OF LIGHT
For example red and blue
white and black
could be considered refractions of light
or of the stars.
You insist on loving
you insist on infertile lands, barren soil.
WOMEN OF A CERTAIN AGE
Women of a certain age
possess a melancholy, a magic
they lack conceit
and youth, of course.
Wrestling with waves
garments always black or violet
typical
of women of a certain age.
“Dear lady, you are elegant
and the subject of this elegy”
I almost uttered…
as she was walking past with eyes
turned toward the vastness; with eyes
already in the beyond.
Women of a certain age
possess a melancholy, a magic.
She may be a lady of a certain age
but she is elegant; tonight I find her
so sad, in tears again.
a letter
for Anna
I will write a letter to you
and tell you without evasiveness
that I no longer care if you come
or you do not.
You used to be essential to me
but I have grown tired of thinking.
Now I will enjoy you differently.
If you come, I will be pleased.
And if you do not
be well
be beautiful as always
and love me.
WHY TELL ME…
Why tell me and slay me?
Why shoot me?
Let me live with the delusion
with the expectation.
IDENTITY MODIFICATION
On my identity card they wrote without asking
religion: Christian Orthodox.
I struck it out!
And wrote: in everything a heretic
and unorthodox
and in poetry minor!
Translated by Irena Joannides
Christodoulos Callinos belongs to the new generation of Cypriot poets. He is a regular contributor to Phileleftheros newspaper and Anev magazine. His literary work and his essays on art and culture appear regularly in magazines such as In Focus, Frear, Poein, etc. In 2003 his poetry garnered the First Prize at a Pancyprian competition organized by the National Society of Cyprus while, in 2008, it received an award by the Association of Cypriot Writers. His poems have been included in anthologies such as the Anthology of Contemporary Cypriot Poetry published by Mandragoras.
