Πέμπτη, 9 Ιουνίου 2011

Gothic poems

Gothic poems in English

Today and tomorrow I shall publish only English poems.
Gothic poems, deep underground poems, satanic poems – the reader may call these 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.
Three poems were published yesterday. Three are following today. The final three are due tomorrow.

Χθόνια ποιήματα στα αγγλικά

Σήμερα και αύριο, 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 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.
Χτες αναρτήθηκαν τρία ποιήματα.
Τα σημερινά ποιήματα, ξανά τρία τον αριθμό, περιγράφουν τα έργα του Σατανά. Μεθαύριο τελειώνει ο κύκλος, πάλι με τρία ποιήματα όπου εκφράζω τα τότε αισθήματά μου για το πρόσωπο που στάθηκε αφορμή του όλου εγχειρήματος...


why is this open place amidst the wood
so silent
as if no bird dared to appear?
why are the trees so stern?
why is this place so perfect a circle
and what has been burning,
burning in the centre of it?

strange lights can be seen at night
moving from tree to tree.
and in the circle a low fire is on
with no people sitting around.
and dead as the place may be
as long as sunrays wink,
mysterious signs remind of life
beyond this earthly life,
when midnight tolls
and lonely souls
start hunting for a virgin
or for a boy uninitiated.

nights on end the chasing will be vain.
but when a maiden too rebellious,
a boy too eager to indulge in
overwhelming pleasure,
ventures into the wood
on stormy nights:
the souls will have their victim!
and high will sound the canticles of joy,
of burning satisfaction
of all around the fire who watch
Lord Lucifer consuming
again and again till dawn comes up
His sacred rape.


the wood is full of silent sounds
of shadows and of smells.
a whisper is sliding through the trees,
the naked trees that seven springs
now beg for leaves and blossom.
but naked they stay, victims hated
by the wind and by man’s memory.
as seven summers have gone by
since Devil’s day, Lord Satan’s day,
when sacrifice they witnessed
of seven youths, who out of silly arrogance
had here invoked His name, and
when so mighty His presence came unto them,
had fled or tried to run, praying now
to another god, to pale inable saints.

short was their path.
no supplication afterwards for mercy in despair
would hold the hand, that seven times
brought down the sacred dagger
onto their naked handsome chests,
untouched by maiden fingers,
and blood, dark blood had spread
on flesh too young for death.

now deep in earth,
down in the deepest of deep palaces,
in glowing ardent beds the seven youngsters stay,
to all the devils there around
and to Lord Satan, at a whim,
from dusk to dawn
a willing prey.


thunderbolts are tearing the clouds to shreds,
daylight could not resist.
devout fathers cross their children’s forehead.
the elderly try to remember
how long ago somebody had died
in lonely fields, under trees
full of all too frightened birds.

among many, one man only keeps open
his door.
above his bed no cross, no icon.
uncosy, dark and chilly is the room.
but when dusk falls and the thunderbolts
make children innocent to scream,
when every other house in town is closed
and latent fear persists,
this room receives a lot of strange companions
with eyes glowing in excitement.
in a circle they all stand.
signs inintelligible to laymen
are drawn symmetrically on the floor,
and candles everywhere.
then slowly, slowly they start to sing and dance,
and round they go and round they turn
in steady acceleration of heavy chants,
until a whirl it has become
that fills the room
with shrieks and voices and excitement
and jolts of pleasure – for hours it lasts

the Sabbath,
the Black Sabbath
in the Devil’s house
in Twilight Town.

2 σχόλια:

  1. Μου αρέσουν πάρα πολύ τα ποιήματα!είμαι όντως εντυποσιασμένη!όμως έκανα ένα λάθος!πριν καταλάβω ότι είναι δικά σου δημοσίευσα το rape έχοντας βάλει φυσικά την πηγή!σε πειράζει?