Στην πολυαγαπημένη μου Μαρίνα

Ι

From Propontis your long travel, Marina
Marina
with the winds blowing
Vosporus up
oaths and whispers of my blooded
Porfurius
and you like an upright wave galloping
on the morning crystal

you came

at the time when July
was awaking the cicada all night
and the world shone withing
its tide
as far as the silver paths of the oceanbed

And right away God cashed his miracle

with rings of Ionian sun
which sparkled in your eyes
Even though you are daughter of the West

ΙΙ

A long time ago had heard of you
the sea rocks of Lemnos
which prophesize in the wilderness
as well as its emerald seashore
since I was preparing your arrival
on the traces of the seagulls

And the spring started
filling its basket with stars
and bluebells of Shallow Waters
and polished verbs
all with the seal of centuries the infallible
and two small palms
raised by sea caves
from the depths
and cups of history vine

ΙΙΙ

Because memory took a new duration
a new vow
a new endurance
and the night hanged up high
in its sleeplessness
small white church
with a broken amphora
at its side
and the icon in tears

It was such love that brought you
from a flourishing little street
into paternal house
with its large jars full
of perfumed raki
or even of forgotten constantine coins

IV

Even God accepted
to keep me standing up at the top of the stairs
that creak
as I am waiting for you
to have my duration
and my seat
in the Interminable
when
with the red of the wind and the white
of the Acherousia
my soul is reversed

V

You should know Marina
about the little church where
I hanged up for you
that
tearful Saint
and the standing up waves which at nights
gallop under the sleep
full of secrets
and whispers of blood

VI

You must know
about the earth of your country
with the aconite
and the snail
on the inscription stone
and for the time vertical
in your entrails
full of Antigones and Artemides goddesses

the circular time which brought you here
galloping a free wind and zephyr

in sea white dress
the grand daughter of Maroula and Hypsipyli

Remember

the poem I did not write is you
a long poem
unknown.

White hours of Archipelagos
March 2011

Connection to the book