Κωνσταντίνος Καβάφης, "Απολείπειν ο θεός Aντώνιον"

Σαν έξαφνα, ώρα μεσάνυχτ’, ακουσθεί
αόρατος θίασος να περνά
με μουσικές εξαίσιες, με φωνές—
την τύχη σου που ενδίδει πια, τα έργα σου
που απέτυχαν, τα σχέδια της ζωής σου
που βγήκαν όλα πλάνες, μη ανωφέλετα θρηνήσεις.
Σαν έτοιμος από καιρό, σα θαρραλέος,
αποχαιρέτα την, την Aλεξάνδρεια που φεύγει.
Προ πάντων να μη γελασθείς, μην πεις πως ήταν
ένα όνειρο, πως απατήθηκεν η ακοή σου·
μάταιες ελπίδες τέτοιες μην καταδεχθείς.
Σαν έτοιμος από καιρό, σα θαρραλέος,
σαν που ταιριάζει σε που αξιώθηκες μια τέτοια πόλι,
πλησίασε σταθερά προς το παράθυρο,
κι άκουσε με συγκίνησιν, αλλ’ όχι
με των δειλών τα παρακάλια και παράπονα,
ως τελευταία απόλαυσι τους ήχους,
τα εξαίσια όργανα του μυστικού θιάσου,
κι αποχαιρέτα την, την Aλεξάνδρεια που χάνεις.

Dean Young, "Peach Farm"

I’m thinking it’s time to go back

to the peach farm or rather

the peach farm seems to be wanting me back

even though the work of picking, sorting,

the sticky perils and sudden swarms are done.

Okay, full disclosure, I’ve never

been on a peach farm, just glimpsed

from a car squat trees I assumed

were peach and knew a couple in school

who went off one summer, so they said,

to work on a peach farm. She was pregnant,

he didn’t have much intention, canvases

of crushed lightbulbs and screws in paste.

He’d gotten fired from the lunch counter

for putting too much meat

on the sandwiches of his friends

then ended up in Macy’s in New York

selling caviar and she went home

I think to Scranton, two more versions

of never hearing from someone again.

I’d like to say the most important fruits

are within but that’s the very sort of bullshit

one goes to the peach farm to avoid,

not just flight from quadratic equations,

waiting for the plumber,

finding out your insurance won’t pay.

Everyone wants out of the spider’s stomach.

Everyone wants to be part of some harvest

and stop coughing to death and cursing

at nothing and waking up nowhere near

an orchard. Look at these baskets,

bashed about, nearly ruined with good employ.

Often, after you’ve spent a day on a ladder,

you dream of angels, the one with the trumpet

and free subscriptions to the New Yorker

or the archer, the oink angel, angel

of ten dollar bills found in the dryer

or the one who welcomes you in work gloves

and says if you’re caught eating a single peach,

even windfall, you’ll be executed.

Then laughs. It’s okay, kiddo,

long as you’re here, you’re one of us.


__________

Source: Poetry (June 2012).

Θοδωρής Ρακόπουλος, "Οι γίγαντες πάντα χάσκουν αργά..."

Οι γίγαντες πάντα χάσκουν αργά

προφέροντας τις λέξεις με
ταχύτητες χιλιετηρίδος

Με αναλόγιο τριακόσιες εξήντα μοίρες
αστράφτει καθαρά ο ήχος στους ορίζοντες,
ίσα που σταματά εκατοστά πριν απ' τ' αυτιά σου.
____

John Ashbery, "Just Walking Around"

What name do I have for you?
Certainly there is not name for you
In the sense that the stars have names
That somehow fit them. Just walking around,

An object of curiosity to some,
But you are too preoccupied
By the secret smudge in the back of your soul
To say much and wander around,

Smiling to yourself and others.
It gets to be kind of lonely
But at the same time off-putting.
Counterproductive, as you realize once again

That the longest way is the most efficient way,
The one that looped among islands, and
You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.
And now that the end is near

The segments of the trip swing open like an orange.
There is light in there and mystery and food.
Come see it.
Come not for me but it.
But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.