And Impossible



/ poetry


Ánd Impossible


                                                to Giorgos Heimonas


Think not

Think nothing

Just look at your hand — cut off at the wrist-


A lone girl with sweeping hair is gathering flowers in a meadow

Her name is Lilith and she’s singing


When you crave for something you don’t mind if it’s true

Each of us lived the death of another

Each of us died the life of another

Happily stalling for time

He had told me so:

«there’s a swan trapped in the well

I can hear it

Its words are taut veins snapping

Blood makes room for more blood

There’s no other method but you it seems

With few costly shapes

Nothing should enchant you but depictions recognisable and general

Landscapes that roll and open

nature’s religion is its very existence

The eternal, self-evident Present»


A cobweb

Cannot seal

The weeping that opened the world

Is more important that the snare itself

In and out of the game whoever can

Is saved for a while

The best are caught first

And disappear

The others nestle in a cocoon

They learn where the world is happening

On the cold surfaces of niches

And you too

All books end on your lips

And begin when the kiss is over

But you aren’t enough; I want to touch you

And it’s impossible


 The night’s chemistry returned the words

To the narrator

The girl disappeared and he was left alone

He, both hero and narrator

Who can only act and not suffer

I order words from the body’s stock

To name — to erase — to rediscover things

Unfiltered and unknit

I create a shape and the shape in turn creates me

It breathes inside me when I think of it

And instantly I know that my intellect is accidental

A wrong chord

«We ‘re all transient,» says the blind man to the mad king

And he replies

«How far is the end if you can’t see

The middle of the void, that blood-oozing pupil

While you’ re learning the void attenuates and widens

Life’s a tiny door

And behind it is a crimson thorn with a silvery bug atop

I live in endless grief

And impossible»


He got up

And walked to the window

Outside it was raining


Someone entered my soul tonight

He was a caster of demons

With sad eyes, plaintive eyes

He was afraid of the sea

He was brilliant but naive — always in a hurry

This time business

Is no easy matter;

How heavy has been anguish since the beginning of time

Tons and tons and a gram of rising bubbles

I give up — as one, useless-

Someone, somewhere, is listening to me

For him

Yes, for him

Who doesn’t exist

I give up


the dead are many — their bodies lying in the skating rink-

Their souls leave cracks on the ice

And above are mirrored the punishing skates

But you are well versed in this art

You, both narrator and hero, and you write

You know how it is when we’re not in this world


And impossible

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