In this mausoleum of words
\nevery page guards
\nan uncertain memory,
\na dusty immortality<\/p>\n
Sometimes
\nin hours unpredictible
\na stranger leafs slowly through the emptiness
\nand from the bottom of the pages
\na frozen music
\nstarts crackling<\/p>\n
Translated by Sapphire\/Ramona Lofton<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Contradictions<\/strong><\/p>\n The lips of the summer The sea’s look Cities deeprooted The saliva of the night Lissom watches Of an unbroken smile The gift that was given to you The defeat that needed The drought of my thought The sudden shiver Translated by Sapphire\/Ramona Lofton<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Praeludium<\/strong><\/p>\n At the threshold of night You and only you know, If all this I do not wish, To defend your porous face And like an armed beauty Translated by George Trialonis<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Other Side Of The Page<\/strong><\/p>\n Midday acrid, languid Falling on the grey Until suddenly the gaze spreads out and opens And from the banks of the breast timidly Who’s the guard, who’s the God And when I wake uninvolved and immaterial And neither voices nor silences nor gamboling Only shadows and bits of words Translated by Philip Ramp<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sometimes By Kostas Koutsourelis<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":119,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[484,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-26840","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-maintenant","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26840","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/119"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=26840"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26840\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=26840"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=26840"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=26840"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\non the snow<\/p>\n
\nwhich dries<\/p>\n
\nblown by the wind<\/p>\n
\non the neck of the day<\/p>\n
\nhandicapped years<\/p>\n
\nthe ruinous image<\/p>\n
\nand does not belong to you<\/p>\n
\nthe victory<\/p>\n
\nand the swamps of your body <\/p>\n
\nof the old nightmare<\/p>\n
\nI pilot words through sacred lights
\nAnd shadows ancestral.
\nThere’s nothing left for me to do
\nBut turn in full sail, yet slow,
\nBloodless but purple,
\nTo your arms again.<\/p>\n
\nBeing page white,
\nThat should I wish this fight
\nWith you to win \u2013 and not like
\nSo many others hide, a deserter,
\nIn the crevices of your body,
\nOr fall prey to your famished embrace,
\nIndeed, a shameful successor
\nOf a divine dominion\u2026 <\/p>\n
\nNow is the time<\/p>\n
\nWith sounds and vocals for strongholds<\/p>\n
\nShine in ink all over.<\/p>\n
\nThe keys strike and hiss
\nDragging arrows and wounds to the page<\/p>\n
\nWith blow faint and disagreeable
\nThe phrases breath breathlessly<\/p>\n
\nBeyond the coppices of time
\nSliding into an invisible bed<\/p>\n
\nThe fingers arouse the verses
\nThat a sleepless guard reads syllable by syllable<\/p>\n
\nThat is spinning our words, who is it dwells
\nOn the other side of the page<\/p>\n
\nIn the profusion of the hours, that endless
\nMoments passed my watch tells me<\/p>\n
\nAre now gathered in by hearing, the eyes
\nNow find no colors in what they see<\/p>\n
\nWhich arrived and were sowed in front of me
\nBy hands I no longer know<\/p>\n![\"koutsourelis-photo-2\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/07\/koutsourelis-photo-2.jpg\")
\nABOUT THE AUTHOR<\/strong>
\nKostas Koutsourelis<\/strong> is a Greek poet, translator and academic born in Athens in 1967. He has published two poetry books and translated eight, mainly of a literary and philosophical background. He has taught literary translation in the European Translation Centre and on the Postgraduate Programs of the Universities of Athens and Thessalonica.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![\"koutsourelis-photo-21\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/07\/koutsourelis-photo-21-150x150.jpg\")
In this mausoleum of words
\nevery page guards
\nan uncertain memory,
\na dusty immortality<\/p>\n
\nin hours unpredictible
\na stranger leafs slowly through the emptiness
\nand from the bottom of the pages
\na frozen music
\nstarts crackling<\/p>\n