THE LIGHT
As the years go by
the judges who condemn you multiply;
as the years go by and you speak with fewer voices,
you see the sun with different eyes;
you know that those who stayed behind, deceived you,
the flesh’s delirium, the beautiful dance
that ends in nakedness.
Like when at night you turn in the empty road
suddenly you see the eyes of an animal shine
that have already vanished, thus you feel your own eyes.
you look at the sun, then you are lost in the dark;
the Doric chiton
that your fingers touched and it swayed like the mountains,
is a marble in the light, but its head lies in darkness.
And those who abandoned the stadium to take up arms
and struck the voluntary marathon runner
and he saw the contour of the track full of blood
the world empty like the moon
and the victory gardens wither;
you see them in the sun, behind the sun.
And the boys who dived from the bowsprits go like spindles still waving
naked bodies immersed in black light
with a coin between the teeth, still swimming,
as the sun weaves with golden thread
sails and wet woods and pelagic colors;
even now they descend slanting
toward the sea floor pebbles
the white lecythus.
The light, angelic and black laughter of the waves in the highways of sea
teary laughter,
the old suppliant sees you
as he goes to straddle the invisible flagstones
light mirrored in his blood
that gave birth to Eteocles and Polynikes.
The day, angelic and black; the brackish taste of woman
poisoning the prisoner springs out from the wave
a fresh branch adorned with drops.
Sing, little Antigone, sing, sing…
I don’t speak to you of the past, I speak of love;
adorn your hair with the sun’s thorns,
dark girl; the heart of Scorpio has set,
the tyrant has vanished from inside the man,
and all the daughters of the sea, Nereids, Graeae
run toward the gleam of the rising goddess;
whoever has never fallen in love, will fall in love,
in the light; and you are
in a big house with many windows open
running from room to room, not knowing where to look first,
because the pine trees will vanish,
and the mirrored mountains and bird chirpings
the sea will empty, fragmented glass, from north and south
your eyes will empty from the light of day
how all the cicadas turn silent at the same time.
Poros, ‘Galini’, 31 October 1946
Libros Libertad 