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ISSN
1942-2067
Copyright © 2008 Pirene's Fountain.
All Rights Reserved.
Last updated:
October 2008 |
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Born in Greece- the land of Gods, Dimitris Varos has no choice but to feel the life of poetry. He sees people's behavior and nature's changes as emotions, always singing timeless songs. He lives in Athens with his wife and two children.
Mr. Varos has alternately been director and editor of many national dailies, such as Acropolis, Ethnos, Proti, Ethnos tis Kyriakis, Eleftheros Typos,Typos tis Kyriakis and now he is the director of the publishing company Technoekdotiki.. In his dreams he lives in his childhood places, the historic and beautiful Aegean islands like Chios, Samos and Lesvos that have taught him the measure of reason and the bounds of beauty.
Varos has published 5 books of poetry and a number of his poems have been set to music. Please check out our “Showcase” for more information on this talented artist.
Mind Games | The Pagan Dance | Local Strangers
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Mind Games
I am a waterfall in the desert.
A rain from a cloudless sky.
A well known but unborn child.
An insistent experience
that you never had.
I play mind games with your brain.
When you strike the keys
and remember the sea
I come as indefinable memory.
When you look at your watch
and the time has passed
you feel me like a fleeting hallucination.
I play mind games with your brain.
I’m nesting behind your eyes.
I’m ranging through your dreams.
You are finding me in all of your desires.
In all of those are absent from you.
I play mind games with your brain.
I stand in the places that you cannot reach.
I exist where you cannot touch upon.
But I am what you always waited for
I m what holds your life on.
I play mind games with your brain.
But I swear this is not fun.
I feel unbearable loneliness.
Because I do not have a body
And you, that you can, refuse me yours.
The Pagan Dance
Red fire glowing
in the sweet smelling night
giving off captive senses
and dismantled memories.
Timeless pictures
flickering in front of my eyes.
Pagan pipes and cymbals
rouse my ears.
On the drunk mountain of Parnon
the daughters of Achelous and Evrotas
set up a wild erotic dance.
Naked, scented and fired with desire
they call Hermes in their company.
Whatever I think
whatever I yearn
is under threat of punishment.
There are too many “prohibitions”
and I have a rebel in my mind.
Local Strangers
On this journey
I will not come with you.
I will stay here
sitting on eagle’s stone of Epos.
Wingless but illuminated
Surveying the orange trees of Kampos
and the red stone houses.
The gained ground of my ancestors
that become rosy-hued in the horizon
from Tsesme and beyond.
Chewing the mastic from Olympus
that is gathered by your hands.
Getting drunk
with Ariousios wine
from grapes stepped on by your legs.
I shall stay here.
To give you back your homeland
that for centuries now
you walk on as foreigners. |
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