Mihalis Katsaros
A BALLAD FOR POETS WHO DIED YOUNG
Poets are imprisoned in their cave and are not coming out they fear they do not surrender— with whom with whom to talk? Papaditsas holds the secret firmly he plays like a bird he goes out of the window getting wet and re-enters — with whom to talk? Sachtouris picks up his words with a flashlight and piles up the events in trees then he pounds his chord amazed as a little child — with whom to talk? Anagnostakis got lost in North without a new lament as if he had really died now without lamenting neither Haris nor the Sun. With whom to talk? Sinopoulos is wandering dark dead he dines with the dead he runs underground alone carrying lamps matches and torches. With whom with whom to talk. I don't remember anyone else anymore in my ears I hear the shoutings of Christodoulou wandering in strange corridors carrying a lantern screaming like a wounded dog. Jason Depounti are you mourning— alone? Nikos Fokas are you still looking into your "madhouses"? My dear George Gavala where are you? Ah Sarantis did you give the blood? Nikos Vranas don't look at me with such a cold eye I am here near you — alone. Who whom with whom to talk? And you poets all of you lonely what happened to you? What wind drove you out taking you? Now I invite you all here — do you remember, really remember the cafes the sidewalks the revolvers the rooms with golden birds do you remember that evening when we were talking do you remember? The poet Likos was unknown And still is.(Transl. Panos Bosnakis)