A new month has begun. Five months later. She is still very quiet, very closed to herself in her room. Garia hasn’t been filling well the last few days so she packed and left for upstate to find some peace of mind and manage to continue her writings. She probably will announce her return once the rumors of him having a new lover will be a forgotten boat left alone somewhere in the dark ocean.
The floors are full of books.
On the left side of her bed she has placed mainly books of history and books of critical theory written in English. There is also one novel which she probably will never read. On the right side of the bed, next to the typewriter he gave to her, she has placed books of poetry; some written in English and some written in Greek.
Do you think that she can write and read in Greek without worrying about being away from home?
She had already finished reading the blue poetry book of Giannis Ritsos entitled “Late very late in the night” and she started reading the collected work of poetry by Odysseas Elytis.
Odysseas, what a blessed name by the Greek Gods. Will she ever reveal her connection with them?
She could spend a whole eternity; if she had one; reading the same poem written by Elytis. The poem from the “Sporades” collection with title “Eleni” in eglish “Helen”
Helen
With the first drop of rain the summer got killed
All the words that have given birth to starshinnings are now wet
All the words that had sole destination You!
Where to will we extend our hands now that the weather doesn’t care for us anymore
Where to will we leave our eyes now that the far away lines have sunk in the clouds
Now that your eyes are closed on our sights
And we are – as if the fog has passed within us-
Alone all alone surrounded by dead images of you
With the forehead on the window glass we long for the new pleasure
It is not death tthat will destroy us since You exist
Since there is elsewhere a wind to enjoy the whole of You
To dress you from a close distance same way that our hope dressed you from far away
Since it exists somewhere else than here
In full blossom a (hill) from your laugh to the sun
Confiding to him that we will meet again
No, is not death that we will have to face
But one tiny drop like this one of winter rain
A misty feeling
The smell of the wet mud inside our souls that have become more and more strangers
And if its not your hand in our hand
And if its not our blood in the veins of your dreams
The light in the sky
And the music inside us Ay! Sad
Moving energy of all these that still keep us in the world
It’s the wet air the hour of the fall the separation
The bitter support of the elbow in the memory
That makes its appearance when the night is about to separate us from the light
Behind the square window that sees towards the sadness
That cant see a thing
For it already became invisible music fire in the fireplace knock of the big clock on the wall
For it already became
Poem lyric parallel with another lyric with the rain tears and words
Words not like the other ones but those also with a sole destination: You!
I feel a sadness. I see her tears.
She closed the windows well to make sure there is no light coming in the room. Has to see one more time the light that was coming from his eyes every time he was looking at her the summer they started their love.
She hung up the frame of that photo she had hidden away all this time.
The photo she had taken of him seated; at the place he had made for them; holding his guitar looking at her.
This Sunday morning of Fall, his eyes are looking at her not the same way they did back in that summer they started their love but in her heart they were still looking only at: Her!
-Maria
