Sunday, December 10, 2017


Of the innumerable 
Times you have 

Fallen prey 
To your own 

Indifference to the world 
Around you, you should 

Have noticed by now 
How it is 

These recurrent lapses 
Of your “better” 

Self reveal 
Their selves 

Through the manner 
In which they move 

Across your smug sleeping 
Visage come the first 

Light of day—though 
You can’t see it, you do 

Sense there’s something 
Out there trying 

To work it- 
Self out through you 

From under a skin so 
Thick it can’t 

Tell the difference 
Between night and day.



  1. Wow. This is magnificent, Vassilis. "There's something / Out there trying // To work it- / Self out through you...." This mystery is something many of us feel and, like you, are unwilling to name. Naming may be the wrong response, after all. All we can do is turn people's attention in its direction, which you do beautifully here.

  2. Thanks again, Joseph! BTW, speaking of "naming", do you remember a Henry Reed poem called "Naming of Parts"? Just curious.

  3. This is another fabulous Zambaras poem! I am reminded of Z poems from decades ago that also concern light, such as this one from AURAL:

    As if the light

    answer enough
    just to live

    by, asking it.

    And this poem, from THE INTRICATE EVASIONS OF AS, is also relevant to a frequent Zambaras concern of being fully alive:

    Nightingales near
    the river.

    No superfluous noise.

    -- Of course one Zambaras virtue is no superfluous syllable, much less word. "Quotidian" is another poem that merits a completely upper case BRAVO!

    1. Thanks so much, John, for the comments; one more comment on this particular poem from another reader and I shall have to bring up what Henri Michaux told Seferis when the two met briefly in Athens many years ago! Our mutual friend, Bob Arnold, had a blog entry last year about that meeting concerning the poet's audience and it's worth taking another look just to put the question of "audience" in its proper perspective. Here's the link.


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