Is

IS

Superb English global poetry of the twenty- first century

By Dionysis Maravegias i

I tell you the money is packed away at the bottom of a trunk And the trunk is in the deep of the ocean And the ocean personified Clearly in You In you whom I am conversing with And between us runs a luminous space And alight is the whole world. I tell you I have a good ear for music And a sharp eye for pictures Hurrah! And a speedy imagination. Sometimes a malicious impulse too For things to cover and to discover. What desires you have for my tricks I don’t know But abrupt and vivid gestures apart The eyes survey with abandon The ears listen with resignation And the notes on the table are never dropped like bombs Even though they contain these words, I need you.

ii

A superb opportunity to proclaim your freedom Fly from one night to another Inhale the odors of the spring Resist the uncomplaining melancholy Of the infinite that has come down to this sidewalk To this superb aversion of the senses To this pungent reasoning To this schedule To this minute To this: On second thought I thrust back into unconsciousness A lowland and a highland And a way to manage things In the near distance The blue eyes of the sky Resemble a renunciation and continuity. My older self and my other self One could say and not be far away But “he’ll do as he likes” adds, I am carried back To worldly delights And to the ripples of the ocean Together proclaiming the impact of empty words Together apart returning turning From one night to another Inhaling the odors of the spring Resisting Territorial protections Exploring the sensible nature That lies there.

iii

My labors are scarcely over Resuscitating the art of poesy Am I at home? Is she here? We can be completely deceived Fall in the wrong trance And wait stubbornly for a rainy day As if abandoned in a desert [via a pack of antennas] Consumed by an angry rebellion Expecting a future hero Who’s very slow at coming? And in the end In the end He/she points to a most commonplace present. (However, my labors are not over, Multiplied perhaps shall be, prosecuted by wicked albeit indifferent clocks.) The senses are that reward us Because the money could be packed away And what symbolize may be reflected in you

iv

The white lights that go out And the red lights that come on And the black dress that swirls between rainbow walls Crowds and artificiality and an ecstatic air, All in all, juxtaposed to the simplest reason

To the most nebulous arithmetic sequence A pretension of a lively pacifism. I should like to agree, is that impossible? A spectacle composed of gestures and poses That no longer insists on things past Outstretched Compact comfortable and sober Fit to the demands Fulfilling the directions Healing the wound. The lovely arms that dance in the air The indulgent moment that induces sublime thoughts Intimacies that distract and expose a soft fire of gratitude In one’s eyes one sees the other Nonetheless life is not spoiled Because to face facts is a bad form And way too early Way too early. Indeed ’tis better scattered in all directions A foretaste of fervor And a myriad joys Music that never stops. On the night table the incomplete happiness The clarity of the project The certainty that the benefit is entirely moral.

v

The gravitational attitude was misunderstood And the listless polishing of the manners Off centered as at the destination point A shift had materialized. Either of time or of space

There was talk of things different A plethora of new arrivals Hordes of new needs in newly painted faces. Our cherished fascinations were ignored And our fundamental standpoint cut off from principles We had to manifest an affinity to the labyrinth And no declarations of discontent or disagreement. No occasion to revert to dark colors Integrating the domain of lower functions With the next morning Rather something more suitable Like a purer relation to the past This knocks inaudibly the door of this present A desire to identify with restorations Where every inch of space is carefully designated And it is thrilling but doesn’t come by An adieu at the revolving door of a hotel.

vi

A wiped off writing on the blackboard Created the occasion for an adventure. The behavior was to be diluted Inextricably linked to the commonplace. The rest should be consisting of saying the right thing.

Masked witnessing compassion scorned In simple terms simplicity not divine. That we had to re-discover Going around places And large signs pointed the ways. Trivial and fresh like apples fallen We went and came back and still are going. The venture was a paradox And the path narrow between two walls. Was it a river or a lake (we halted or went on?) An ocean or a sea of trees A caveman’s advanced predicament -Nothing looks awful nothing needs helpGraffiti all over large small some invisible A march that leads to the completion of the alphabet Or an interminable turning round? We slept in a field that reminded of a battle Between subsequent winners and losers.

vii

The totality of the organism subjected to the rhythm Crosses the barrier of analysis The surface overflows with integrated realities Whoever said one level parallels another Could have been in the right track

The basement is reminiscent of A happily unloaded trailer. Being concealed is the simplest hallucination Largely unknown runs a dream that feeds the days And what is essential is the impression. Thus with a warm heart I waited A curious turn of words After an interval of silence After a long interval Of confusion simplicity or complexity Waited there sometimes alone Till a flood of lights Till a recognition would come up A scene of celebrated combatants Jumping into the flood of lights. You were there, true enough, too, Offering blank pages, talking softly to my ear…