new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
love this Vassilis.the pull of discomfort to make one realizethey are alive.~robert
Ah, yesI thought I was the only one who felt the hellish trees...
This superb poem etches itself into the memory banks forever (that is, two weeks at the outside... my own private forever).The thing is, Vassilis, it's all very well to be kept awake by the wind in the cypresses, but being kept awake by the fact that there's no hope -- something else again.You write with the risk and courage that always attends the speech of the true man who has nothing to be ashamed of.It's so consoling, the thought you got back to your home land, no matter the difficulties, anxieties, doubts.Here in the dying Empire it's nothing but deception from the top down, hard times for the earnest and whopping medical bills for the helpless, maimed by society, and bigger bills to come. But perhaps that's just the the collective karmic breath. Blowing through the lower branches of the Seqouia sempivirens as a cleansing wind not from any promise of happiness but from the true gods of this continent, the gods of vengeance and death.
Thank you, dear friends, for listening carefully and getting back to me. As for Tom's thoughts on my returning to my motherland, I have no regrets on leaving behind my second homeland--the US. What really bothers me is that Tom’s final paragraph (with slight emendations) could also very well describe the current sick situation in Greece. I thought I’d left all that behind when I came back here, but lo-and-behold here I am, crying out in the wilderness-- "Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician [anywhere]?”