(my bitterorange lane)
MATΣΗ ΧΑΤΖΗΛΑΖΑΡΟΥ 7 χ 3
Matsie Chatjilazaros
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF LOVE
The poem writes the poet
Maurice Blanchard
Listen to love’s turmoil
now that it is superfluous
well may I set it here in words only
for me love still has flesh
and bones and skin
how are the gardenia’s petals
bruised brown
when our hands crumple them roughly
such is the trace of love’s wounds
I write with a choking throat
with a high fever
terrible is the amputation
of a life without its companion
only memories refresh me
the caresses of my youth
press my eyelids one by one
love is a whole house with corridors
with rooms full of mirrors
they send one another reflections
of secret pursuits in tenderness
the lights full ablaze
clinging everywhere this ivy love
encircling and covering whatever body
strange the rustle of the foliage
ever green and so thick
whims how diverse they may be
proud animal oh love and so strong
that he cannot discern the blow
he deals from the one he receives
I say proud animal love and yet I hear
An echo like a Magnificant
love’s raptures
love’s love
illuminated by hundreds of singularities
this azure star which sparkled amorous
for me until alas the day
alas it declined in the train carrige
on a morning dream I saw
outside stairs with an iron rail
winding up from my bed
superfluous love how did you manage
to lurk among these steps
full of large tins with beloved plants
jasmine roses basil
papyrus and sunflowers
a light wind blew carrying
marvellous golden butterflies
which hummed sadly and bitterrly
next appeared a hedgehog but
he turned into a ball full of spines
and how could one play with him
when we were drinking coffee in Liopessi
cloud words appeared
thay rode astride the Hymettus
often thay spread and delicately
covered the deep-cut pass
love why could you not
hold my burning hand
I want to tell of hiding places
of love at times when each
was a hungry desire for the other
we would descend the dry ravine
full of white and mauve odorous lygaria
yes then we loved lying on the earth
yet everywhere we found
dirty papers disembowelled mattresses
rusty bed springs overthrown
thick rubber tires deeply hacked
but love recognised only
that which belonged to him
the great humilities
manoeuvres of the siege
baskets full of tawdry rags
have been used for clouths so that love
who takes all should feel unique
gloriously attired in his ornaments
maybe he will bind a black tiger’s hide
round his naked waist
to stand straight
he unfolds his muscles a noble feline
love is the great subjugator
a poem of love crossed the sky
at sunset
stretches of sea and islands
orange clouds with
dazzling silver linings
the sun on its way
yet participating
then disappears
just as love goes out
in its ecstasy
calm afternoon in the Attica light
live-oak and other bushes
red or dark yellow
olive trees with small wrinkled olives fallen
dried pine needles which prick
when I try to uproot cyclamens
a little further away
discover on the rosemary
a praying mantis
with the coquettish triangular head
hands modestly folded
waiting there so patiently
for her male her prey
her meal
see what may be occasionally
the vicissitudes of coupling
its wild facetiousness
