Moto


"I write because by writing i find beauty.
To speak about terror or human cruelty is
to seek a way for beauty and justice.
To write is to go against.
All my novels, historical or not, are the way:
From the soul to the soul."

Friday, 21 February 2014

Mystic Passage

Swedish edition by BONNIERS
FIRST PASSAGE

Winter will find me naked
In a dilapidated room
With time welling up through the holes of the floors
Winter will find me stirring the ashes of my poetry
A handful of words -- like star or blood
Like I wander or oath -- like
Souls can smell -- I burn them to warm myself.

Winter will find me barefoot wandering
Up and down the one and only abyss
The soil is soft I sink into it
Mud from ancient stars
"I will get through," I say
Branches of the azure in my hands
And the tree officiates over the silver of the desert
Odor of the boundless void
My pained matter that I inhabited.

I raise my poetry before
Garment stained with blood
I burn it to warm myself.

And it rains and rains in my tattered room
Which sways a reward for fire
It rains full moon and ancient blood
Crystals laden with my centuries.

I bend over to look at myself in the most,
In the most deep well of cracked crystal
My face perplexed and mournful
And it rains and rains silver deserts on the sacred icon
My body is an odor of night's shudder
And the archangel standing in the window
Fashions a sensuous curve from God and Universe

I wrap myself in the boundless azure
To pass through.

Winter will find me dreaming
A rose sprouted on the storm
With paradise shifting like a mirage
and Time still prophetic
liberating the stars from my flesh.

Winter will find me in the desert
Marching like a revelation
And Age, the Exterminator, melts like
A scented candle
With the seven flames kindled in my body
Sites of nascent whiteness
With a frgrance of burnt pine-needle for recognition
A rose that prays forgotten
At the edge of the storm

I walk no longer
I sink down like a prophetic dream.

Poetry: Mystic Passage

Ο χειμώνας θα με βρει γυμνή
σ' ένα ερειπωμένο δωμάτιο
με τον χρόνο να αναβλύζει από τα τρύπια πατώματα
ο χειμώνας θα με βρει να σκαλίζω τη στάχτη από την ποίησή μου
μια φούχτα λέξεις όπως
άστρο ή αίμα
όπως οδοιπορώ ή όρκος
όπως 'αι ψυχαί οσμώνται'
τις καίω να ζεσταθώ"