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Just think, so young but to myself, at once, I promised to appear, as always, brave. Do you remember, that I dreamt of travels and I had a dividers and a map and always I was preparing to leave and always my mum said: In March…. Give all the friends greetings and if it happens that you meet Eleni tell her that I have left on a freighter and that she should no longer wait for me. Play the wind with your tongue and go.

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In some places they called you Judith, in some others Maria. A snake and a moray eel are tearing each other apart on the rock. With the red moonlight on you. Full of seaweed and blossom, an amphibian fate. Riding a horse with no saddle and no bridle, for the first time, in a cave in Altamira. The seagull leaps to blind the dolphin. Why are you looking at me? Shall I remind you of where you saw me? On the sand, I had blinded you upside down, that night when they founded the pyramids.

With a sick light on you.

You are thirsty for gold. Take, search, count. Here, next to you, I am staying still for years until you turn to Fate, Death and Stone. In the sweet dawn the drowned man kissed you and when you wake, the bell tolling twice, you will be drowned. With every caress, one more drop falls, a drop of blood from the scar of the old wound from China.

Tell me, where, did you drown it, one night in London or in the oily waters of some other harbour? The seamen of the deep have woken to beat the drumroll and come to do your hair for you, forever. Sharpen those swords of words, the ones I like, and come back with the seals, into the caves. Three days the nails kept breaking, three days they kept nailing you fast, and you, with your hands clenched tight into fists, for the last time, and in vain, you cast your spells at the typhoon which drives us onto the last shore, where the wreckers wait.

Hunted by fate, you travelled towards Switzerland, the pure-white but grieving; always on deck, in a chaise-longue, skin yellow for that dreadful but all too well-known reason.

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Your people uneasily fussed around you; indifferent, you gazed out to sea. All they said raised only a bitter laugh, for you knew your journey would lead to the land of the dead. Later I saw you in Marseilles, lost, without looking back, as you left. And I, who loved only the watery waste — you were someone I could have loved. The purple of Titian and permanganate. I forgot all about the ramshackle beds with their dirty sheets used a hundred times, for your body that banished the fear of death.

I denied what I loved for your bitter lips: the trembling I felt as I climbed the mast, the compass, my watch, the course on the map, for a small, elusive shell from the sea. The pain of the fisherman, loneliness of the sailor, the broken bow of a boat gone aground. The faded tattoos I took such pride in, for you, who weighed anchor, a fully-rigged schooner. How can I hold you, intractable child?

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The Collected Poems of Nikos Kavadias

A wire cut in two and how can I splice it? Miserable wretch, the sea hates betrayal.

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Polygyros came down and became a harbor, a dark, narrow harbour without any lights, tonight when the Jews and Muslims embraced and the Canary Islands sailed the ocean. Two meters of sail, wheel left. I always carry tightly under my belt a small african steel dagger — like those that blacks are used to playing with — that I bought from an old merchant in Algiers. I remember, as if it were now, the old shopkeeper, who looked like an old oil painting by Goya, standing next to long swords and tattered uniforms, saying in a hoarse voice the following words :.

Don Basilio murdered Donna Julia with it, his beautiful wife, because she was unfaithful.

Εθνικό Κέντρο Βιβλίου / Nikos Kavadias ()

Conte Antonio, one night, his wretched brother was slyly murdering with this here dagger. A black his young lover out of jealousy and some Italian sailor a Greek boatswain. From hand to hand it passed and into mine. Many things my eyes have seen, but this one makes me quiver. As long as you want it, take it.

A tribute to poet Nikos Kavvadias | Elena Hadjiafxendi & Andreas Papapetrou | June 8th, 2018

A small dagger I have tightly in my belt, that a whim made me make it my own; and because I hate no one in the world to kill, I am afraid lest some day I turn it against myself …. The seagull jumps to blind the dolphin- Why are you looking at me? Shall I remind you of where you saw me? It was on the sand, I had twisted you upside down, the night when they were founding the pyramids.

We had walked together on the Chinese Wall, The sailors from Ur were next to you, fixing the slipway, You were among the bare swords at the Granicus battle, pouring oil into the deep wounds of the Macedonian.

With a sick light shining on you, You are thirsty for gold. Take, search, count. Here, next to you, I am staying still for years, until you turn to fate, death and stone. I remember, as if it were now, the old shopkeeper, who looked like an old oil painting by Goya, standing next to long swords and tattered uniforms, saying in a hoarse voice the following words : "This here dagger that you want to buy legend has surrounded with eery stories, and everyone knows that those who owned it at some time, each has murdered one close to him. Don Basilio murdered Donna Julia with it, his beautiful wife, because she was unfaithful.

Conte Antonio, one night, his wretched brother was slyly murdering with this here dagger.


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A black his young lover out of jealousy and some Italian sailor a Greek boatswain. From hand to hand it passed and into mine. Many things my eyes have seen, but this one makes me quiver. Come close and look at it, it has an anchor and a crest, it's light, why take it, it's not even a quarter, but I would advise you to buy something else. As long as you want it, take it. A small dagger I have tightly in my belt, that a whim made me make it my own; and because I hate no one in the world to kill, I am afraid some day I'll turn it against myself.

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  1. Screen education : from film appreciation to media studies.
  2. Nikos Kavadias: Life at Sea and Poems Set to Music.
  3. Oh no, there's been an error.
  4. Navigation.
  5. Discovering Hidden Temporal Patterns in Behavior and Interaction: T-Pattern Detection and Analysis with THEME™.
  6. The Collected Poems of Nikos Kavadias (The Modern Greek Literature Library).
  7. From Babylon.