Anna Afentoulidou, Greece

Anna Afentoulidou, Greece

The Poems

Collector

Burnt butterfly wings
beside the line
left by a squished firefly.

Tales I forge
pinning broken earrings
on the eyes of plain dolls.

I shall be smoking at night
staring at their remains,
scattered upon the wall.

*

Συλλέκτρια

Καμένα φτερά πεταλούδας
γραμμή στην άκρη
πυγολαμπίδας λιωμένης.

Παραμύθια σκαρώνω
καρφώνοντας
μισά σκουλαρίκια στα μάτια.

Θα καπνίσω το βράδυ
κοιτάζοντας
τα κομμένα τους μέλη στον τοίχο.

* * *

Muse

He called to me, again and again with his low, almost melodic voice so persistently and
tenderly, almost torturously. Until he managed to get me out of my chronic sleep,
from what seemed to me like a lifelong lethargy. Deep green thoughtful eyes, black
curly hair. Thin, snow-white fingers. He used to slowly wrap a curl around his index
finger as he spoke, with his gaze lost somewhere far away. A poet who was looking for
a painful inspiration. In such trying times. After all these years. A small miracle of life.
On that night he persuaded me to touch his lips; oh, how many years had it been since
I had last felt it! He tasted the little secrets of art and love and I got something that,
having decided that no one would ask for, I had fallen into despair. He never asked me
for anything again, except that first kiss, which he had heard would give him the talent
he was owed by fate.
Only every other day do I change the water of his pond now so he does not lose his
color. I also throw a fly his way now and then so that his precious tongue does not fall
into disuse.

*

Μούσα

Με καλούσε καὶ μὲ καλοῦσε ξανὰ καὶ ξανὰ μὲ τὴν χαμηλόφωνη, σχεδὸν μελωδικὴ
φωνή του τόσο ἐπίμονα καὶ τρυφερά, σχεδὸν βασανιστικά. Ὥσπου τὰ κατάφερε νὰ
μὲ βγάλει ἀπὸ τὴ χρόνιά μου νάρκη, ἀπὸ ἕναν διὰ βίου, μοῦ φαινόταν, λήθαργο.
Βαθυπράσινα στοχαστικὰ μάτια, μαῦρα σγουρὰ μαλλιά. Λεπτά, κατάλευκα δάχτυλα.
Εἶχε τὴ συνήθεια νὰ τυλίγει ἀργὰ μιὰ μπούκλα στὸ δείχτη του, καθὼς μιλοῦσε, μὲ τὸ
βλέμμα χαμένο κάπου μακριά. Ἕνας ποιητὴς ποὺ ἀναζητοῦσε μίαν ἐπίμονη
ἔμπνευση. Σὲ τέτοιους χαλεποὺς καιρούς. Μετὰ ἀπὸ τόσα χρόνια. Ἕνα μικρὸ θαῦμα
ζωῆς. Ἐκεῖνο τὸ βράδυ μ’ ἔπεισε ν’ ἀγγίξω τὰ χείλη του· ὤ, πόσο χρόνια εἶχα νὰ τὸ
νιώσω! Αὐτὸς γεύτηκε τὰ μικρὰ μυστικὰ τῆς τέχνης καὶ τῆς ἀγάπης κι ἐγὼ ἀπέκτησα
κάτι, ποὺ ἔχοντας πάρει ἀπόφαση πὼς κανεὶς δὲν θὰ ζητοῦσε, εἶχα πέσει σὲ
ἀπόγνωση. Δὲν μοῦ ζήτησε ποτὲ ξανὰ τίποτα, πάρεξ ἐκεῖνο τὸ πρῶτο φιλί, ποὺ εἶχε
ἀκούσει πὼς θὰ τοῦ χάριζε τὸ ταλέντο, ποὺ τοῦ χρωστοῦσε ἡ μοίρα.
Μόνο κάθε δεύτερη μέρα τοῦ ἀλλάζω τώρα νερὸ μὴ χάσει τὸ χρῶμα του. Καὶ ποῦ καὶ
ποῦ τοῦ ρίχνω μιὰ μύγα μὴν πέσει σὲ ἀχρηστία ἡ πολύτιμη γλώσσα του.