Chapters
of a Biography
1.
How can I persuade you, after so many years
filled with catastrophes and light,
that we never left this place,
that always the same black snow fell on our fields,
that instead of water we drank the truth of ages.
2.
The circling of the falcon –
all afternoon we patiently drew its circles.
First music lessons:
pine needles taking notes in the air.
3.
Like a sea without its sky
The huge glass eye of the unknown.
4.
Memory: whatever the wind desires.
5.
They were the sap that failed to become fruit
the icons that couldn’t contain the spirit
our names illuminated the tombs
in nightmares, in disasters A.D.
marching tunes in strange tongues
the life that could never become ours
marble feet wingless torsos
so that I could bring earth, water, a cigarette
to help you through the night.
6.
Allegories of the stars our strength.
7.
Here we learnt to write, in the cracks
in the sand of the back, the kiss’s chasms
on the inner side of spasms
the dump approach of lips –
we have no choice other than
these syllables of the Ionians
bloodying the mouth.
8.
The solidity of fire,
the fickleness of consciousness.
9.
At midday the wind banging a wooden door open and shut
“the civil war passed this way” you said to me
right hand in your pocket, fingers missing
and the soldier’s cap full of holes from the winters
teeth worms.
10.
The inner calm of hills,
the hands of the dead defending their space
even if ashes our houses await us
spring, the music of meteors and white birds
the bones silvery in the river bed.
11.
The prudence of fallen leaves a princilpe of wisdom.
12.
In time we learnt to distinguish our voice
from the voices of animals, which became one with the danger
in caves, which were sated with blood in the underground arcades,
the unjust hand rising
and falling on our house
(which is my voice and which is the voice of the animal?)
on the foreheads drops of rain, traces of the gods,
so as not to lose the signs.
13.
Eros: privilege of the tongue.
14.
The grass covered the voices of the birds
« this time nobody will recognize us » Circe whispered
15.
The sound of the heels was becoming water
a dog quietly was freezing at the end of the street
the window showed resurrection of the dead
the rest were invisible
but we agreed that belonged to us.
Author’s
Bionote:
*George Veis was born in
Athens in 1955. He studied Law at the University of Athens and International
and Public Affairs at the Columbia University of New York. Since 1980, he has
worked for the Diplomatic Service of the Foreign Ministry. He served, among
others, as Ambassador in Sudan, Indonesia and Permanent Representative
Ambassador at Unesco. Selections from his work have appeared in translation in
Romania, China, Italy, Spain, Germany, England, Slovenia, Japan, Indonesia and
the USA. He has translated works of Jorge Luis Borges, Galway Kinnell, John
Luther Long, André Barelly - Ado Kyrou, Li Bai and Raymond Chandler and
regularly writes reviews and critical articles on poetry. His memoirs “Asia,
Asia (Chinese and other observations)” won a National Book award (2000). His
collection of poetry “Worlds’ details” won an Academy of Athens award (2008).
The Department of Philology of the University or Athens awarded him an Honorary
Doctorate in 2024. Other distinctions: 1984 – The Key of the City of Reading,
Pennsylvania, USA, 1989 – Andreas Kalvos Award (Queens College, City University
of New York) for his support as Consul of Greece, 2008-Golden medal of the Two
Niles from the Government of the Sudan, 2010 - State Literary Award for his
book “From Tokyo to Khartoum”, 2012 - Grant Commander of the Greek Order of the
Phoenix, 2014 - Poetry Award, Academy of Athens- Petros Charis Foundation,
2016-State Literary Award for his book "Everywhere".
How can I persuade you, after so many years
filled with catastrophes and light,
that we never left this place,
that always the same black snow fell on our fields,
that instead of water we drank the truth of ages.
The circling of the falcon –
all afternoon we patiently drew its circles.
First music lessons:
pine needles taking notes in the air.
Like a sea without its sky
The huge glass eye of the unknown.
Memory: whatever the wind desires.
They were the sap that failed to become fruit
the icons that couldn’t contain the spirit
our names illuminated the tombs
in nightmares, in disasters A.D.
marching tunes in strange tongues
the life that could never become ours
marble feet wingless torsos
so that I could bring earth, water, a cigarette
to help you through the night.
Allegories of the stars our strength.
Here we learnt to write, in the cracks
in the sand of the back, the kiss’s chasms
on the inner side of spasms
the dump approach of lips –
we have no choice other than
these syllables of the Ionians
bloodying the mouth.
The solidity of fire,
the fickleness of consciousness.
At midday the wind banging a wooden door open and shut
“the civil war passed this way” you said to me
right hand in your pocket, fingers missing
and the soldier’s cap full of holes from the winters
teeth worms.
The inner calm of hills,
the hands of the dead defending their space
even if ashes our houses await us
spring, the music of meteors and white birds
the bones silvery in the river bed.
The prudence of fallen leaves a princilpe of wisdom.
In time we learnt to distinguish our voice
from the voices of animals, which became one with the danger
in caves, which were sated with blood in the underground arcades,
the unjust hand rising
and falling on our house
(which is my voice and which is the voice of the animal?)
on the foreheads drops of rain, traces of the gods,
so as not to lose the signs.
Eros: privilege of the tongue.
The grass covered the voices of the birds
« this time nobody will recognize us » Circe whispered
The sound of the heels was becoming water
a dog quietly was freezing at the end of the street
the window showed resurrection of the dead
the rest were invisible
but we agreed that belonged to us.