LA FELICITA Poesia di ILIAS FUKIS

LA FELICITA

Chissà quante volte

saremmo felici!

Circondati dai monti com’eravamo

senza ricevere risposta da nessuno

in merito a questo stato d’Assedio sin dalla nascita

misurammo le dimensioni delle vallate

che erano anguste come le nostre passioni

nella speranza che contenessero il futuro

che il remoto Punto di inizio

conoscendo molto bene

gli scandali avvenuti 
nelle riforme della Genesi

come se volesse dirci 
che sarà sempre difficile

che esista il futuro…

ce lo aveva buttato dietro i monti.

Poiché la Nebbia sui monti giaceva

in modo Classico e Divino…

in modo alla lettera più grandioso dunque

dell’eccentrica presenza dell’erba

credemmo che conoscesse a memoria

il contenuto interno dei monti.

Poi chiamammo anche i Sogni…

erano pronti anche i pronostici

sulla realizzazione del fulgido processo

con molte probabilità che avesse un biblico fausto esito

lo spostamento del nostro Futuro.

È chiaro quello che vogliamo 
dire oppure no ?…

Eravamo in stato d’allarme per il Futuro…

Dovevamo assolutamente conquistarlo,
 il Futuro…

il quale, odoroso della passione mistica di Abele

alla stregua di una bella donna

chissà nelle braccia di chi intendeva abbandonarsi.

Cosa che infatti avvenne…

Contrariamente alle nostre aspettative

accadde un fatto insolito!…

La Nebbia ce la portò via il vento

per strapparla all’assedio

posto dalle stelle.

I Sogni ce li rubò l’Ora Estrema

a sua volta

assediata dai secoli.

Se non ricordo male

c’era un gran movimento.

I riti sacri elargivano benedizioni

tessevano elogi

concedevano prebende.

Il Tutto si svolgeva all’insegna dell’oracolo

di un Profeta invisibile

in quel remoto principio della Storia.

A noi invece restarono solo le speranze

le quali, a dirla tutta,

benché rese folli dalle Streghe

nel prevedere il nostro Futuro

avevano rivelato un talento straordinario.

E ormai erano pronte

ad attivarsi…

Ma della Felicità non si sa che cosa farsene.

I monti hanno perso la capacità

di spostarsi.

THE UNTOLDS OF ODYSSEUS. Poem by ILIAS FOUKIS

ODYSSEUS

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
Continent
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.


Continent
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....

IN TIMES OF PEACE Poem by ELIAS FOUKIS

IN TIMES OF PEACE

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

HELL Poem by ILIAS FOUKIS

HELL



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
calm...in 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.

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

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 .

DON QUIXOTE Poem by ILIAS FOUKIS

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.

DON      QUIXOTE

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.

ΟI ΑΝΑΖΗΤΗΣΕΙΣ Ποιημα απο τον ΗΛΙΑ ΦΟΥΚΗ

ΟI ΑΝΑΖΗΤΗΣΕΙΣ


 

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
έσβησαν
από το πρώτο στρώμα.