maybe

maybe the winter will last longer this year,
maybe spring is really just around the corner,
and the sun will start to shine longer,
maybe the winds will push the dark clouds away
revealing a clear blue sky.
and then, maybe not.
But it doesn't matter a bit to me
because you are here by my side.

Long, cold winter...

Even the squirels in Boston Commons are feeling it, running up to you looking for a handout, as you walk through the park. Whatever sunlight is out there, it has started to stay with us a little longer each day - a promise that spring will come again or maybe fooling us thst this snowy winter will ever end, I cannot tell as yet...

blink

i blinked for a moment and a year had passed
as if the spring air tossing your hair carelessly
in my mind was the same one i am now breathing.
i closed my eyes and wondered if i open them
will you still be here by my side?
and when i opened them again, everything had changed;
you were here, and you brought with you a gift
like no other gift i ever received. and my love for you
could not be contained in the confines of these words.

know where your towel is always...

Lovesong

When all the world seems far away
and just the 2 of us are left
I’ll sing to you these words all through
the night we'll fly in peace and I’ll
and I’ll be air the air that makes me
wanna dive into your skin
into your skin into the stars
into your breath and by your eyes

Into your skin, into the stars
into your breath and by your eyes….

Your pretty eyes I am divided
into fire and glass tonight
and when I whisper when I dance
and when I fall into your arms
it's not a kid it's not a man
it's just myself electric shock
is due to glances and to touches
underneath what seems to be
what seems to hold what seems to touch
what seems to breathe in a moment
and all these moments all the thrill
and all the light that you have brought

Oh God please make this moment last....

Into your skin, into the stars
into your breath and by your eyes….

And all this world, this magic world
that you have showed me is my light
of silence,tenderness,of glances
that contain so many needs
so many wishes, passion, love, desire
and silence is the sweetest thing on earth
and we are birds that fly away
and in our hugs I cannot say
your hand from my hand or your breath
from my breath let me be unsure
and ever I’m confused a sweet kiss
and a hug will make us birds
will give the world away
it's just ourselves that's left I’ll be desire
you'll be the passion we'll be two stars
in a spring more open sky

Into your skin, into the stars
into your breath and by your eyes….

Lovesong by Abbie Gale is one of those rare gems, a song in a tradition much like Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazelwood ("Some Velvet Morning") or Bono and The Corrs ("Summer Wine"), except that the band envelops the tender playfulness between Evira and Vassilikos from Raining Pleasure in a wall of sound. The song comes from Abbie Gale's second CD, aptly called 2 which sees the band taking a new direction from their more acoustic first recording Family Life.

Check the video in the link at the top.

embers

my love for you will last the rest of our days
a slow burning fire
and if that fire turns to embers
your gentle touch will revive the smoldering ashes
and I will love you even more

Growing Up In Greece

Growing up in Greece during the colonels' years between 1967 and 1973, I got to experience counterculture at its best. From the reefer hippies backpacking through Europe sporting Canadian flags and avoiding the draft, to the packed streets of Plaka and Monastiraki before crass commercialism took over, to the emerging student movement and the subversive, underground art. One such example was to be found, of all places, then on EIRT (now ERT), one of the two TV stations in Greece at the time. It was a half-hour tragi-comedy reminiscent of Becket's "Waiting for Godot" called "Ekeinos kai Ekeinos" or loosely in English as "This One and that One". It followed the musings of two vagabonds, vagrants, street people, call them what you like, mostly farcical but surrealistic, existentialist conversations. Here's an example of Solon and Loukas while waiting for a bus next to a post with a faded sign:

-Σολων, δεν ειναι τοπιο αυτο για να περασουμε εδω ολη μας τη ζωη;
-Προσπαθω να θυμηθω γιατι ηρθαμε εδω. Τι μας εκανε και ηρθαμε εδω; Θυμασαι;
-Δικια σου ιδεα ητανε. Και, δεν ηρθαμε εδω. Καταληξαμε εδω.
-Ισως αν ξεραμε γιατι ηρθαμε εδω, να ξεραμε και το που παμε. Τον προορισμο μας τουλαχιστον,
-Σολων, αντι να ψαχνεις στην τσεπη σου για κανενα τσιγαρο ψαχνεις για τον προορισμο σου.

"Solon, isn't this the ideal place where we can spend the rest of our lives?"
"I am trying to remember why we came here. What made us come here? Do you remember?"
"It was your idea. And we didn't come here, we ended up here."
"Maybe if we knew why we came here, we would find out where we are going. Our destination at least."
"Solon, instead of searching for a cigarette in your pockets, you're searching for your destination?!"

....

The ghosts of my house / Τα φαντασματα του σπιτιου μου

Τα φαντασματα του σπιτιου μου / The ghosts of my house


Μπηκα στο σπιτι μου το παλιο, και βρηκα σκονες και φαντασματα
μαζι μπλεγμενα σε ιστους απο αραχνες ξεχασμενες στο σκοταδι
Το παλιο τραπεζι στου δωματιου τη μεση κι' επανω του μικρα παιδια
σκυμμενα, αμελλα, ζουνε στο παρον
Κλειστα παντζουρια, κουρτινες κρεμασμενες με φροντιδα
ξεχασμενη κι' αυτη τεχνη μιας εποχης

Passing under the door of my old house, I found dust and ghosts
together caught in webs from spiders forgotten in the dark
the old table in the middle of the room, small children bending
over it, without a care living in the present.
Closed shutters, curtains hung with care,
another forgotten art in the past
...

Ανταρα / Tempest (a poem in two languages)

Ανταρα
Η ασφαλτος της πολης με οδηγει μπροστα
και δεν μ' αφηνει πισω ποτε να κοιτω,
μα που και που η ματια την αντανακλαση ψαχνει
μιας ζωης που στη καρδια μου σφιχτα κρατω.

Δεν ειναι οτι θελω σε σενα να γυρισω ξανα,
απλα θυμαμαι εποχες που περασαν σε μια στιγμη,
μια ανασα της νιοτης που κρατησαμε σαν καναμε βουτια
στη θαλασσα και κατεβηκαμε στα βαθη της γρηγορα με οργη.

Ο ανοιξιατικος ηλιος εχει αρχισει να λιωνει τα χιονια,
η ανασα του ανεμου εχει ζεστανει λιγο κι' αυτη.
Kαθισμενος μπροστα στη πορτα περνανε τα χρονια,
μια εικονα ξεθωριασμενη μεσα μονο σε μια στιγμη.

Σηκωνομαι αργα, βαδιζω μουδιασμενα, σιωπηλα
σκεφτοντας τα παλια, το κεφαλι σκυφτο.
Mα σε λιγο το αιμα θα βρασει και ξανα με ανταρα
μεσα στην ασφαλτο της πολης θα χαθω.

....
Tempest
The asphalt streets of this city lead me ahead
and never let me look behind.
But once in a while a fleeting glance searches
for the reflection of a life tightly held in my heart.

It’s not that I want to return back to you,
simply that I recall seasons that passed in a moment,
Youth's breath held in as we prepared to plunge
In the ocean and with rage swiftly decent in its depths.

The snow started to melt under the early spring's sun,
the wind's breath has started to warm up as well.
Sitting in front of my door the years pass me by,
a picture's bright colours fading within a moment.

Slowly I rise, stiffly choosing my steps, silently
thinking of the past, the head down.
But soon the blood in tempest will boil,
and in the asphalt streets of this city I will get lost.


...to be continued

hunger moon...

...or Full Snow Moon, so named because of the amount of snow that falls during February. Also observed by the native Americans as the Hunger Moon as it became very difficult to gather food during this month. So this Monday let's pause and think about the full moon when you see it rising in the sky. Let's wonder about the billions that will be spent to fix the economic system and hope they are allocated in the correct way so that we don't experience the Hunger Moon...

Summertime in Prague

Summertime in Prague
when blood was warm
when blood was young
after all those tears
after all those years
I long for

Summertime in Prague
we were so rich
without a dime
when I was your queen
and you were my king
without a palace

We would sleep in cheap hotels
and wake up from the sound of bells on Sundays
we would only drink cheap wine
but I was yours
and you were mine

Summertime in Prague
I was a fool
I could not see
that you were meant to be
the only one for me
now I long for

We would sleep in cheap hotels
and wake up from the sound of bells
on Sundays we would only drink cheap wine
but I was yours
and you were mine

Summertime in Prague
when blood was warm
when blood was young
after all those tears
after all those years
I long for
Summertime in Prague

by Panayotis Kalantzopoulos (with Elli Paspala singing)...is one of those songs that carry few lifetimes in them. Have a listen and let me know what you think.

conversations

At what point in time do our lives become so boring that the most we can manage out of a conversation is the inanity of leafing through a magazine remarking gems such as if so-and-so's kitchen could have used a different kind of patterned tile?

Random snippets, not even random thoughts, just bander innocuous enough to fill in the dead space hanging between two people sitting in a cafe. “Alfa Romeo has this new convertible. I think they've gotten away from basics”. And then bored silence to be broken by yet another similarly existentially vacuous comment.

I'm not looking for profundity in every statement. No life changing aphorisms of an examined life. Perhaps some passive participation in what we know as life. Some indication of awareness that you left the blinders at home today and walked outside beholding the world with some awe. Wonderment at its absurdity, and surreal elements where people feel empowered to spend $1 million on decorating an office, collect billions in bonuses and still let their companies report billions more in losses.

...but when does tomorrow come?

..."tomorrow will be a better day", "save for a rainy day", "tomorrow is another day", "learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow", etc.

You get the drift. Phrases we utter without hesitation, mostly alluding to a time in the future (near or otherwise) different in many aspects from our current situation. But what I want to know is when does tomorrow come? And if it doesn't come then what?

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.” - Albert Einstein

barefoot in the sand / ξυπολητοι στην αμμο

Walking, recalling sun-filled afternoons
looking into your eyes, listening to the sea
Softly crushing on the beach, the pebbles I
Tried to skip over the surf, the words left behind
Written in the sand by hand, a fleeting “with love from…”
Only to be washed away,
But still taken and carried as far as the waves
Can bring such words.

You Must Believe in Spring...

τσουχτερο το κρυο και σημερα,
νιφαδες ασπρες παιχνιδιαρικες πεφτουν
και παιζουνε μαζι μας βιαστικα σαν περπατουμε,
σκυφτο το κεφαλι, τα χερια βαθια στις τσεπες.
σε λιγο οι δρομοι σκεπασμενοι
θα'ναι κι' αυτοι, απροσπεραστοι.
σου πιανω το χερι σφιχτα, και τρεχουμε
να προλαβουμε το τραινο μην και τα
γκριζα παλι γινουν φανερα και δεν μπορουμε
να τα κρυψουμε γρηγορα.
κι' εσυ στην αγκαλια σου με κρατας,
ψιθυριζοντας λεξεις στοργικες,
καθως κοιταζοντας απ' το παραθυρο
φευγαλεες εικονες μιας ανοιξης παλιας

Bitterly cold again today,
snow flakes white and playful are falling,
toying with us as we hurry through the city,
heads down, hands deep in our pockets.
Soon the roads will be covered in snow, impassable.
Holding your hand tightly we run to catch the train
before everything turns gray and we cannot hide anymore.
And you, you hold me in your arms,
whispering tender words as I look out the window
fleeting images of a spring gone by.