Mystic Passage

I believe that this is my most crucial work. Blood poetry "a naked rose to contain the desert". It consists of fourteen passages of matter and cosmic substance, existential passages, where the soul seeks its signs, to bring them along, these signs that the soul carries like heavenly memory in its worldly landscapes.

 

Reviews

Mystic Passage", Preface for the french edition by Jacques Lacarrière
Mystic Passage, Preface by swedish translator Ingemar Rhedin
Mystic Passage, review by Apostolos Athanasakis
Mystic Passage, review by Christos Malevitsis

Mystic Passage, “You have to make life difficult”, review by Bengt Holmqvist

Mystic Passage, revieu by Bengt Holmqvist, in Stockholm

Κριτική του Κότσιρα στην Ευθήνη για Μυστικό Πέρασμα, αυθεντικό 

Κριτική στην Καθημερινή της Χωρεάνθη, αυθεντικό

 

Interviews

Mystic Passage, interview with Dimitris Gkionis, "When the voice chockes in the volume of silence"

 

Excerpt

Read Mystic Passage in English

 

FIRST PASSAGE

The Agony of Matter

Winter will find me naked
In a dilapidated room
With time welling up through the holes of the floors
Winter will find me stirring the ashes
of my poetry

A handful of words like star or blood
Like I wander or oath like
"Souls can smell"
I burn them to warm myself

*
Winter will find me barefoot wandering
Up and down the one and only abyss
The soil is soft I sink into it
Mud from ancient stars
"I will get through," I say
Branches of the azure in my hands
And the tree officiates over the silver of the desert
Odor of the boundless void
My pained matter that I inhabited

I raise my poetry before
"Garment stained with blood"
I burn it to warm myself

*
And it rains and rains in my tattered room
Which sways a "reward for fire"
It rains full moon and ancient blood
Crystals laden with my centuries

I bend over to look at myself in the most,
In the most deep well of cracked crystal
My face perplexed and mournful
And it rains and rains silver deserts on
the sacred icon

My body is an odor of night's shudder
And the archangel standing in the window
Fashions a sensuous curve from God and Universe

I wrap myself in the boundless azure
To pass through.

Winter will find me dreaming
A rose sprouted on the storm
With paradise shifting like a mirage
and Time still prophetic
liberating the stars from my flesh.

*

Winter will find me in the desert
Marching like a revelation
And Age, the Exterminator, melts like
A scented candle
With the seven flames kindled in my body
Sites of nascent whiteness
With a fragrance of burnt pine-needle for recognition

A rose that prays forgotten
At the edge of the storm

I walk no longer
I sink down like a prophetic dream.