Academy Street
to Michalis
Ganas
As he walked down Academy Street, he didn’t feel
the yellow acacia floret that came
and settled in his hair. He didn’t realize
that people stepped aside for him to pass,
his way clear - green, too,
the next pedestrian light. He was unaware
of a host of erotic glances,
of smiles never returned, of faces
warmly beckoning with optimism,
Confidence, and kindness. Only when
he entered the lift did he blush with shame,
as he saw in the mirror the yellow floret
caught on his tie; and he smiled,
he, Tuesday’s honoured guest,
invested with the order of everydayness.
(From “Learning to Breathe”, 1990)
(Translated from the Greek by Yannis Goumas)
The Isle of Chios
16
Pain starts once we forget
the wound. There’s no outlet
for the bullet. Its opening has
healed and closed.
Pain is locked in.
You cannot spot it
in organs, tissues and cells.
Nothing gives it away.
Dispersed and uncaught,
it stands out like joy. Pain,
my love, grows when
great, joy that enthrals.
Only he who has truly loved
can fall in love again.
(From “The Isle of Chios”, 2002)
(Translated from the Greek by Yannis Goumas)
Food
Line
I
set the table for one.
For myself. Turned the teevee on.
Sat down. In order to save capitalism
sacrifices are required from all of us.
The phone rang. You asked
if you could come.
You could. I turned off the teevee.
Got up. Capitalism
is hemorrhaging and is dying. I said.
I changed the tablecloth.
I set the table for two.
(from
“Food Line”, 2014)
(Translated by Jack Hirschman & Aggelos Sakis)
Author’s
Bionote:
the yellow acacia floret that came
and settled in his hair. He didn’t realize
that people stepped aside for him to pass,
his way clear - green, too,
the next pedestrian light. He was unaware
of a host of erotic glances,
of smiles never returned, of faces
warmly beckoning with optimism,
Confidence, and kindness. Only when
he entered the lift did he blush with shame,
as he saw in the mirror the yellow floret
caught on his tie; and he smiled,
he, Tuesday’s honoured guest,
the wound. There’s no outlet
for the bullet. Its opening has
healed and closed.
You cannot spot it
in organs, tissues and cells.
Dispersed and uncaught,
it stands out like joy. Pain,
my love, grows when
great, joy that enthrals.
can fall in love again.
For myself. Turned the teevee on.
Sat down. In order to save capitalism
sacrifices are required from all of us.
The phone rang. You asked
if you could come.
You could. I turned off the teevee.
Got up. Capitalism
is hemorrhaging and is dying. I said.
I changed the tablecloth.
I set the table for two.
*Sotirios Pastakas - a poet, translator, essayist, prose writer, radio producer, anthologist, and experiential writing teacher - was born in 1954 in Larissa, Greece, where he currently lives. He studied Medicine in Rome and worked as a psychiatrist in Athens for 30 years. He has published more than 50 books and founded four online magazines as well as the Panthessalian Poetry Festival. His work has been translated into 20 languages and has been presented at international poetry festivals in cities such as San Francisco, Rome, Smyrna, Cairo, and Sarajevo. Poetry collections of his have been released in Italy, the USA, and Spain, and in 2016, he was honored in Italy with the NordSud prize. In 2019, he donated his library to the Rapsani Municipal Library. He has been a member of the Hellenic Authors' Society since 1994, and in 2023, he was awarded the "Makis Lachanas" prize for his overall contribution to Greek poetry.