Τετάρτη, 8 Ιουνίου 2011

Gothic poems in English

Today and for the next two days I shall publish only English poems.
Gothic poems, deep underground poems, satanic poems – the reader may call these 9 poems as he wishes.
As fare as I am concerned, I do not believe in any gods or devils. These verses are only the result of a bet with a bad guy (he dared me...), who was, allegedly, interested in satanism. He had to concede that he was deeply impressed. After a few years I had almost forgotten these poems.
The specific content being what it is, I do not dislike the purely esthetic side of this work.


Χθόνια ποιήματα στα αγγλικά

Σήμερα, καιι για δύο μέρες ακόμα, αναρτώ μόνο τα ποιήματά μου τα γραμμένα στα αγγλικά. Μερικοί θα τα πουν σατανικά ή σατανιστικά και θα τα διαβάσουν με βδελυγμία. Δεν είναι όμως τίποτα περισσότερο από 9 ποιήματα, γραμμένα σαν αποτέλεσμα στοιχήματος μ’ ένα παλιόπαιδο (μου είπε: σε προκαλώ...) που ενδιαφέρθηκε, τάχα, για το σατανισμό. Όταν τα διάβασε, παραδέχτηκε ότι είχε εντυπωσιαστεί πολύ. Μετά, τα ποιήματα έμειναν ξεχασμένα σ’ ένα φάκελο.
Το περιεχόμενο δεν αντικατοπτρίζει τις προσωπικές μου πεποιθήσεις γιατί δεν πιστεύω ούτε σε θεούς ούτε σε δαίμονες.
Δεν είμαι όμως δυσαρεστημένος με την καθαρά αισθητική πλευρά του θέματος.

Τα σημερινά ποιήματα, τρία τον αριθμό, είναι σε πρώτο πρόσωπο και προσδιορίζουν τη δική μου θέση. απέναντι στις χθόνιες δυνάμεις (πίστη αλλά κι αμφιβολίες). Αύριο ακολουθούν τρία ποιήματα με τα έργα του Σατανά, και μεθαύριο τελειώνει ο κύκλος, πάλι με τρία ποιήματα όπου εκφράζω τα αισθήματά μου για το πρόσωπο που στάθηκε αφορμή του όλου εγχειρήματος...



NIGHTMARE

my dream was of ages
when fear had the taste of daily bread,
when little time was left for dreams and
bowing heads did never care to see the sun.

my dream was of ages
when each man was another man’s slave,
and the most mighty king a submissive liege
of the Devil, of Satan the Lord himself.

my dream was of ages
too dark for myth, for tales and history,
too cold for true love in endless nights,
when birth meant rape nine months before.

my dream was of ages
long forgotten, but by the few who
on hidden altars under midnight moon,
proudly proffer the raw incantations to exorcise

the nightmare of life today.




SOULS LOST

my window at night
is a refuge for souls at large,
for spirits damned by man.
so put the candle on.
the shadows on the wall
are not, are not at night
the familiar shapes of life.
on the way to the wood,
the whistle of the young lad
will suddenly turn into a
wild short scream.
the shadows on the wall
will shudder,
and silence will rule again
in utter darkness.

whose soul was it
that blew the flame
and went into smoke forever?




FAITH

night fell as a cloud over
low pine tree hills.
silence came so close to me,
that I had to shout my name
to myself in the dark.
but word and sound echoed back,
in a language unknown,
in sacred syllabs long forgotten.
and fear with silence again
met my burning soul.

where are you?
why should your presence
unsettle my desire to serve you,
Lord, day after day,
faithful as in the hour I denied
the cross,
faithful as in the hour you marked me
with your blood-red blason,
faithful as in the hour
my body lay in abandon and lust,
and your word was heard
that youth and pleasure would be mine
in eternity.

night fell as a cloud over
low pine tree hills.
silence came so close to me
that doubt filled my heart,
my heart now beating
for pleasure unknown,
for knowledge unknown,
and suddenly shivering
in fear for a
soul in abandon…






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