Three poems

Landscapes I

It’s an icy day.

A lifeless wing of morning light
hangs there, mundane
stubborn.
The smell of frost and the red leaves of the plane tree steaming.
Fresh furrows of soggy raw material
my hands
held straight out before me
devout and servile
worn by desire
sullied by the mud of self-indulgent nostalgia
gather their bearings.
Staying faithful to this light
I learn myself more clearly
I remember myself more clearly
beyond prediction or truth.
The autumn smoke rises serenely.
The forest of my troubled thought
rustles above me.
A sound fades red in my mouth.
Close your eyes
Close your eyes well to—

I you and this.

A handful of grief is scattered across the sea.
The sea is glorious.
We have no glory.
Only our hands a couple now
white hands amid green
worn down by desire
sullied by the mud of self-indulgent nostalgia
borrowed hands
live
for a moment, almost bright
then eclipsed
a small violent army of regal frivolity
only our hands a couple now
—but without wings—
wrapping and unwrapping promises
forcing back the decay

while we lie silently
in the dark
looking at each other

while we hold each other
silently
in the dark

and the heart asks for nothing

—for we are poor—

just breathes the rhythmical breath

of its own relentless pounding.


Case Study VI
(On Poetry)

The sun spreads an intelligent shadow over the reliefs.
Sweaty summer sky descends.
History persists—
(just think: a piece of your life
has now finally come full circle)
like a bothersome gadfly.
The mystical one shines with his God
and the soul of things
—O, blessed gadfly—
knows the poem
and like a thin breeze
settles below its dome.


Landscapes VIII

But—
what could have any meaning now.
The lowering sun grazes the edges of sky.
The sea is now ready.
The moment
polished
radiant
poised with fecund promise
at the edge of the green fresh leaf a soaring dart.

I would blossom into the poem.
No sound.
Not a noise was found to redeem it.


Translated from the Greek by Maria Nazos.


Poems by Dimitra Kotoula, translated by Maria Nazos are reprinted from The Slow Horizon That Breathes (World Poetry, 2023). Copyright © 2023 by Dimitra Kotoula, translation copyright © 2023 by Maria Nazos. Reprinted with the permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.