Greek Poet      ILIAS   FOUKIS
Poetry is the voice of the Gods

Friday, December 30, 2016



As I did my tour of the World
there was this island on the other side of the Caribbean current
that when it saw all the travelers
without any gift
for great discoveries
it did not suffer any geographical reformation
but in a completely schematic sense
reminded me of Ithaca...

The Island was far enough away
to make me doubt for yet one more time
Penelope’s devotion...
that she may have once more dishonored Greece
philandering with those defeated at Troy
and amplifying their Fantasy
that they were vanquishing her body...
what I’m saying is the Greek army would have failed
in demeaning her Happiness
which might have brought down the Soul of Greece.

(And just so you know...
If something like that should
happen...then the Eternal Man
that Philosophy dreamed of in Athens
can be forgotten once and for all...)

Despite all that at such moments
it is not worth wasting Divine Breath
on such insignificant things
because that was the period on Olympus
where a disillusionment without precedent was perpetuated
regarding the failure of Universal Reason

when Women were found in its Essence.

And now when I see the Palms on the Island swaying
I remember the Islands of Greece
and when we set out for Troy
how simple-minded we were not understanding
that punishing mercilessly those desires
which endowed the youth of Troy with such brilliance
with those narrow visions and parochialism's of ours
we came up with a good recipe
for heartache and Universal Catastrophe.

And asking forgiveness for that Fire
I see behind the backs of the Caribbean
with a turbulent present of frightened people...
and whether it comes into the World or not
all the currents of Human Thought will be drowned
in dispute...
and finally when they want to leave
a dignified inscription
on the tombs of the drowned
the autonomy of Continent will be defamed.

I in particular would be repudiated
I would become anathema for all lives
and the fact that immediately after the destruction of Troy
I was sent by the Greeks
in quest of New and Virgin lands...
then when the World had a growing suspicion
that the only work that went well
with this People
was plundering.

Much later other travelers would come
loaded down with Ghosts
and Mythological notebooks...
in which would be written that there never had been
a brilliant period of superstition
and as soon as they set foot on the Island
the minute these Wise Elders
attacked Continent ...
they would confirm that their thoughts had come to an end
having squandered them on overcoming currents.

would be taken aback by this misfortune
and would go against the Thinkers
and indeed quite often... would beseech God
to lay waste to the islands.

Someone in any case would lose
and while I have a presentiment even now
about this terrible defeat
I would like to issue a warning
to Apollo...
that the Ancient Mythologies
will no longer have a role to play.

So because of that...
when we met on the Island
and saw that as soon as the masts
on the ship fell...
the masts of the Ghosts were raised
we then observed a moment of silence
commemorating the drowning of Aristotle in the currents
of the Euripus
which had not yet occurred....

Sunday, December 25, 2016



Good called on the tempests of Zeus 
to declare war 
against Evil.

Like a wild beast it rose up 
to kill evil 
and from the heights of the Heavens 
to exterminate it... 
to flatten it 
with the roar and power of thunderbolts.

Evil died...entered the ground 
the garbage of earth 
gave it a soul. 
It raised its head...stood up straight 
reentered the world in a driving rain.

Those were you see times of peace. 

Good lived on intoxicated 
wearing the laurels of triumph 
and the tuxedo of justice. 
It gave evil a pardon 
in the name of the coexistence of nations and ideas.

Wars and tempests were forgotten 
and the thunderbolts 
and as in the beginning 
lived together again in the name of peace 
so in a while war 
starts all over again from the beginning. 

Translation  by  PHILIP  RAMP

Tuesday, November 22, 2016



The dead
often quarrel among themselves
because in a world as large
as theirs
someone has to be dominant.

Fortunately they then immediately realize
that they have no soul
and allow themselves to be besieged
by the conviction
that it is pointless to quarrel
from within such standard tranquility.

This Biblical virtue
stands there like a kind of Sky
over their own World control and Holy
like a Paradise at the summit of Hell
which continues to govern them
without being enraptured
by the distant star
of the Second Coming.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Το κλεμμένο βιβλίο : Η διαθήκη ενός κατώτερου θεού Ποιημα απο την ΑΝΤΙΓΟΝΗ ΚΑΤΣΑΔΗΜΑ


Το κλεμμένο βιβλίο :
 Η διαθήκη ενός κατώτερου θεού  

Το κλεμμένο βιβλίο δε θα μάθω
Αν μυρίζει σαν τη θάλασσα
Ο ένοικος της πολυκατοικίας άφησε
Τα αποφάγια στην είσοδο ασφράγιστα
Ανοιχτός και άδειος ο φάκελος μένοντας μαζί
Με τα αποτυπώματα και τις ημέρες που απέμεναν .

Ως την επιστροφή μου από τη Μπιενάλε
Επέμενε ότι εδώ υπήρξε το κλεμμένο βιβλίο
Υπογεγραμμένο χωρίς την πρόθεση να διεκδικήσει δόξα
Με μια εξαφάνιση μέσα από τα κοινόχρηστα
Ή με μια ύποπτη διαφυγή από τις σκάλες .

Αποκλείεται τα ποιήματα από μόνα τους να το έσκασαν
Οι γραμμές υπακούν στους λαιμούς όπως οι γραβάτες
Δεν θα γίνονταν ποτέ ντάμες για λεπτοδείκτες
Παρά μόνο για λαιμούς ανθρώπων ή βιβλίων που ξέρουν
Από ταλαντώσεις, επιθέσεις, πεσίματα απότομα
Κάθε λεπτοδείκτης πρέπει να παχύνει
Για να ζητήσει τη χείρα μιας ποιητικής στροφής
Όντας ικανός να τη χορέψει σε ένα χάος
Προερχόμενο από ένα άλλο φάσμα μαγικό .

Κι ο κλέφτης του βιβλίου την ευθύνη αν δεν ξέρει
Ότι χρωστά μια βιβλιοκριτική στο μέλλον
Προορίζεται να εκπλαγεί από τις λέξεις των συμβάντων
Το κλεμμένο βιβλίο που βγάζει τα δόντια του τις νύχτες
Περιμένει να φάει πένες και μελάνια
Ένοικε της πολυκατοικίας μας .

Tuesday, November 15, 2016


I publish this poem today because yesterday was the anniversary of the "death" of the great Spanish writer Cervantes. It is he who created the myth of Don Quixote, the hero of holiness of mankind. My poem was intended to reconstruct Don Quixote's figure. I wanted to give him the true poetical and philosophical proportions, after the ill-treatment that the mediocre army had done over the last two hundred years. I believe I have achieved the goal. I have given Don Quixote the denied heaven and the promised homeland.


Since the urge came over me
I would like to show a film.

I will take the part of the world
and have the world
play the part of me.

But until the world
learns to play the role of Don Quixote
I will have at my disposal sufficient time...
for practically a second human History
during which...
the involvement with Glory will surpass
the seriousness of the extension of empires.
And all that of course without the horses
and consequently...
without the exasperation
that the largest part of Glory
the World would come to appreciate on horseback.

The World has taken them
so they can play the role of Don Quixote together
and I see them in the enclosed mountains of La Mancha
the poor horses being beaten
who having the experience
of Don Quixote riding on their backs
provided a sufficient reason
for the naive souls of the Middle Ages to hope
that finally they had found the reason and the technique
of the Ancient Legends
for making their way to Troy.

And subsequently
I cannot fall quite so low
as to play the role of the World.

It`s just I`m in a rush with this opportunity I've been given
by this position far
from the preparations for the tempests of that period
whereby I might be a true Don Quixote
who levels a heavy charge
against the Spanish Monarchy
for its impersonal compact with all the World
influenced by Fantasy
immediately after the notification
of my own plans
for the creation of a second Human History.

But that one like all the others
proved to be a phantom
which the Spanish might have shared with the World
if only their souls
would have been weighted down by the Line

''...Τhose hopeless returns to La Mancha.''
But they have never returned
because no one is waiting for them
and the greatest scandal is that
no one ever had the hope
there might be somewhere to go
from Spain and the World.

And this seems so bitter and tragic to me
that my reason consumed by so many tasks
will now occupy itself
with the crude similarity between the Eras...
because they blame me for any chance ambiguity
in the philosophical essence of History
and that this has occurred because I
have made off with the authenticity of the Eras.

Well for your information
the exact opposite is what actually happened.
The Eras themselves were like lighted candles
at the terminus of murky imperial Fate
during that time when along with the last recollections
they were deprived of reason
and they waited on a wind to keep them in life.

Just as it should have, it happened
and the Winds came to abandon that world
but I who was a bit more than merely a World
never took care to be a Wind.

I merely found myself opposite them like a storm
threatening the Idols
of their egocentric feelings
which fled with the cynical dexterity of Abel
from the debased terrain of the Earth
the moment when Humankind
entered without even itself knowing it
the dogmatic Paintings of the White Saints.

I have never been face to face
with all those strange figures
which provoke such displeasure in me
but if I should come face to face
I have the despairing impression
that holding out the Cross to thwart an assault
by the supposedly Satanic Don Quixote
in order not to defy the sentiments of the World
that I so loved...
that they will then force me to decisively withdraw
which would always be the end of tragedy
in agreement with the naive World.

While I would say
despite the fact I am certain that
that no one will hear me
that this is the Beginning of Tragedy.

Later comes the colonization of the Divine Dialectic
which will choke the sensibility of the Earth in corruption
for those people who continue to be mortal
and despite the fact I gave La Mancha the right
to govern things in the Abyss
in what concerns this despair
of...non resurrection.
But this pitiless tragicalness
will not prevent this deluded world
from constantly praising the Saints.

And indeed I could say that
despite the fact this Quixotian madness
remains the only manifesto
concerning human insurrections
the fact that this manifesto has been discredited
makes me say that
it is the Era of Saints.

And now immersed in this full Mediterranean moon
where from all points something
is blowing which reminds me that although
I have fallen into the grip of deep age
reckoning on the writing of my memories
I feel like crying without even wanting myself
to surrender to Christian Charity
and I will not be able to be prodigal
in the use of Sarcasm
so I can let it be understood
that my work will be excoriated
especially when it is judged
by the naive people of Spain and the World.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016




Καθώς τελειώσαμε ονειροπολώντας
αυτό σήμαινε  πώς είχε τελειώσει 
η τοποθέτηση των σημαδιών στη Γη
και τώρα ήταν η κατάλληλη στιγμή
για να κατεβαίνουμε προς τα κάτω
στην αναζήτηση των χρυσών πραγμάτων. 

Σύμφωνα με τις προβλέψεις των Ονείρων
στο πρώτο στρώμα θα βρίσκαμε την Τύχη
που με βάση τις συστάσεις των Μάγων του Παραδείσου...
θα ήταν λαμπερή
και λυτρωμένη
απ' όλους τούς αναστεναγμούς της Γης. 

Αφού θα είχαμε την τύχη στα χέρια μας
υπήρχαν πολλές πιθανότητες στο δεύτερο στρώμα
σύμφωνα με κάποιον τυφλά πιστό
Αρχαίο Αστρολογικό  Θρύλο 
να συναντήσουμε την 'Αγάπη. 

Και αφού η Γη θα μας είχε αγαπήσει
επιτέλους, στο τρίτο στρώμα,
όπως μαρτυρούσε
η διδασκαλική Πνοή των θεμελιωτών της Γένεσης,
όλες οι πιθανότητες  οδηγούσαν στην Ευτυχία. 

Για να πιστέψετε πόσο σοβαροί ήμασταν
σε αυτή την Αναζήτηση της Ευτυχίας στα βάθη της Γης
αρκεί να σας πω ότι για να είμαστε απόλυτα σίγουροι
το σχέδιο διευκρίνιζε  ότι οι ερευνητές
έπρεπε να είναι πολύ προσεκτικοί
γιατί η μυστηριώδης μας Γη
κρατούσε μέσα της τσέπες πυρός
που θα μπορούσαν να κάψουν
τα χρυσά μας πράγματα. 

— Μην ανησυχείτε... μας παρηγόρησε ένας.
Η αγαπημένη μας Γη
κρατάει μέσα της  και ρεύματα 
υδάτων για να σβήσουμε σε περίπτωση κινδύνου...
τις επικίνδυνες  φωτιές. 

Κι έτσι λίγο-λίγο
από το Ονειρο στο παίδεμα
από το παίδεμα στο άγχος
επιτέλους η Γη άνοιξε. 

Πιστεύω καταλαβαίνετε... 
Ήμασταν σίγουροι ότι επιτέλους
είχαμε μπροστά  μας
(παρόλο που δεν το επιθυμούσε
κανένα από  τα γραπτά του Κόσμου)
μια άσπρη μέρα. 

Δυστυχώς όμως
η Γη που εξακολουθούσε να είναι δική μας
δεν μας επιφύλασσε τίποτα το ιδιαίτερο
αφού για τον εαυτό της
εκείνη δεν είχε ονειρευτεί κανένα μέλλον
και για την ύπαρξη χρυσών πραγμάτων
ούτε καν της έπεφτε λόγος. 

Και μάλιστα
ακριβώς από αυτή τη δική της αδιαφορία
το νερό που ήταν το ελαφρότερο όλων
έχει ανεβεί ψηλά
και οι ελπίδες  μας αναπόφευκτα φλογερές
από το πρώτο στρώμα.



The Greek poet ILIAS FOUKIS , was born on 16 August 1969 in Epirus in northwestern Greece. Began to write poetry since 1988 when he was student in the Lyceum. Published volume of poetry THE TESTAMENT OF A LESSER GOD , which has been translated into ten languages including English, French, Italian, Spanish, Swedish,Norwegian,Serbian, Portuguese, etc.. Has won literary awards - OSCAR DE DOS OURO VENCEDORES, Brazil 2012 - MASSIMO D'AZEGLIO, Italy, 2012, 2013 - CITA DEL GALATEO, Italy in 2013. MASSIMO D'AZEGLIO 2016. His poem titled YOUNG GREEK SOLITARY was included in Poetry Anthology - U.S. Library of Congress. Works and lives in Athens. 


Of all the dreams on the background of which
calamity and fatalism have reigned
I still am unable to forget that one
with which I began my Tour of the World
at the geographical point where Love was born
and broke off at the point
where humans came to hate one another.

In a completely natural way
I began to hunt down Hate
but after a while this comfort turned into confusion
since I had just read
the Dialectic of Moses
and I had to appease my own spectres
regarding the anxiety which had then gripped Moses
as to the essence of History
which if you judge by the winds
as they caress the windows of Jerusalem
doesn't seem to be tragic at all.

But it seems to me that Moses
as the wind scattered his thoughts through the Desert
may have acted in haste.

The windows of Jerusalem
have looked out on Idols alone.

Those which did not pose any threat to the City
but just as they were not dangerous
they were also uncorrectable
and thus could disturb the conscience of Citizens
regarding the morals of Heroes
which on the heels of the enslavement of human souls
began to spread the cloud of doubt
so in the end not one person was liberated.

And so great was the misunderstanding
of this People that it nearly became a bosom friend of God
until the autumnal nakedness of Mt. Sinai
was decked out in the crusade of this entire People
which went to be punished converting into dust
the Happiness which Fate had ordained for it.

All the wilderness left behind was enough
to confirm what had once
been but a spectre...

As soon as it was delivered from the intoxication
of the divine temperament
the visionaries of the Dialectic
which was baptized by the hot Wind and the Soul
saw that Heaven was nowhere to be found.

Around them could be seen only milling Humans...
not to say Rome...
cold logic.

But that was enough for us to pull away
from you and Earth.

In another world by now
I had absolutely no chance of determining
whether Jerusalem had moved to Hell or
to Paradise
just as Jerusalem had no way of knowing
that with Hate stretching before me
my eye would be drawn to Heaven
just as my body to Earth
and would continue to be beset by visions
to bring before the empty eyes of this World
the unfortunate past of White Idealism.

That is why hope is not to be found
as everything has become terribly blurred
and I'm afraid the most dreadful thing of all will soon rule.

Holy Scripture has begun to stagger about the Earth
refusing to stride in step with the worldly walk
going back to the time the Steps of this World
first became imperial
and night was getting ready to fall on that World
so that all of these games of absolutely no seriousness
all of these doubts and conjectures
would be arranged like Black Legends
on the banks of the Jordan river.

Thus the following day
only one thing would come true
from the Dream I saw.

Its flow cannot be contained
in mere undulation without mysteries
signs and shadows of the life beyond.

And that has dispassionate aims...specific...
so the only thing that can be faced in this World
will be the Punished People
which as I meant to tell you above
will pervade History
having before it the Desert
there in its eternal place
seeking explanations for the return of Idealism
from the Jordan river...
and if I'm not mistaken
not even that one has the right to return
quite the same as all other beings
who do not belong to any God.

Translation by  PHILIP RAMP

Saturday, October 22, 2016



Lo zero
questo cerchio nero
            con un vuoto desolato
numero che non serve
a contare niente
mi spaventa a morte
perché la sua forma
è quella di questo Pianeta.

Traduzione   MAURIZIO DE  ROSA