Τρίτη, 19 Ιουλίου 2011

Matsie Chatjilazaros --- MATΣΗ ΧΑΤΖΗΛΑΖΑΡΟΥ 7 χ 3




(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