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| ©m.cassapidis |
25 November 2015
23 November 2015
28 September 2015
27 September 2015
24 September 2015
22 September 2015
19 September 2015
18 September 2015
16 September 2015
24 July 2015
18 July 2015
The Sound of Trees/ ο ήχος των δέντρων
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| ©m.cassapidis, 2015 |
...
My
feet tug at the floor
And
my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes
when I watch trees sway,
From
the window or the door.
I
shall set forth for somewhere,
I
shall make the reckless choice
Some
day when they are in voice
And
tossing so as to scare
The
white clouds over them on.
...
from 'The Sound of Trees' by Robert Frost
4 July 2015
summer afternoon/απόγευμα καλοκαιριού
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| ©m.cassapidis |
The Gifts
Miltos Sachtouris
Today I wore a
warm red blood
Today people loved me
A woman smiled at me
A girl gave me a sea shell
A boy gave me a hammer
Today I kneel on the sidewalk
and nail the naked white feet of the passerby
to the pavement tiles
they are all in tears
but no one is frightened
all remain in the places to which I had come in time
they are all in tears
but they gaze at the celestial advertisements
at a beggar who sells hot cross buns
in the sky
Two men whisper
what is he doing is he nailing our hearts?
Yes he is nailing our hearts
Well then he is a poet
Translated by Kimon Friar
17 April 2015
is the image the object?
What Voice Is That?
Suddenly
we hear a voice.
Far away, up above.
It is a space stiff, arrogant hands
will never be able to touch.
A radiance
snow and white nights can never get near to.
In the gloomy soul
it has been planted, dazzling.
It is a shining metal thread
someone plucks from the heart.
Only a god
could open its lips on this
dismal night.
Only a god
could make people stuck fast in sickness
feel moved.
Light:
those who have lost their legs
will all pursue it, gliding away
while those who cannot see the lamplight
reach out their hands
joining with it to become a sparkling ray.
What voice is it
what is the name of this god of song
who gently stirs the pain.
Wang Xiaoni
the light- bringers...:Celan
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| m.cassapidis,2015 |
The bright stones
The bright
stones ride through the air, bright
white, the light-
bringers.
They want to
not sink, not fall,
not collide. They rise
up,
like slender
dog roses they break open,
they float
toward you, my gentle one,
you, my true one—
Celan
Look around: see how things all come alive—Celan
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| m.cassapidis, 2015 |
Speak You Too
Speak you too,
speak as the last,
say out your say.
Speak—
But don’t split off No from Yes.
Give your say this meaning too:
give it the shadow.
Give it shadow enough,
give it as much
as you see spread round you from
midnight to midday and midnight.
Look around:
see how things all come alive—
By death! Alive!
Speaks true who speaks shadows
Celan
11 April 2015
9 April 2015
13 February 2015
9 February 2015
Φεβρουάριος/February
For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.
Vincent van Gogh
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| ©m.cassapidis, 2015 |
21 January 2015
7 January 2015
6 January 2015
2 January 2015
falling wave
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| ©m.cassapidis, 2014 |
The falling wave,
arch of identity, shattering feathers,
is only spume when it clears,
and returns to its source, unconsumed.
From: Pablo Neruda, ‘Canto General’
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