Greek Avant Garde Poetry


Alk Gian


I have my wings open.
Leave. I'm running to the top of  the Alps
abandoning  the dust veiling the eyes
in the low road
furrow of animals.
You, don't bind me.
My voice knows how to conquer  the thunder,
and my land  is the eternal ice
which crystallized even the luck.
There is a new strength
and new religion:
It seizes my brain and dissolves it
I  galop  the wind.  I am running from top to top
(The rock that screams and falls down
is the howl of  a bitch in love)  
If this height is dizzying for you 
you never know the  strength of  pain nor the bloody joy 
that throws to your eyes.
Down a fire flares up
a flammable match
that never goes out,
a lighter's spark here and there
and I strike the ax and each smell fades more and more.

Transl. from Italian  by Panos  Bosnakis