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The poetry of Stephanos Stephanides

Stephanos Stephanides

Modern Greek poetry is strange to the Anglicised west, but the Classics, which include ancient Greek poetry, are at the very foundations of modern literatures in English. The Renaissance brought Greek literature into England in the fourteenth century and it has had a lasting influence on the world of English since then. But that is only of distant historical interest where Greek poetry is concerned today.

Cyprus is an island situated in the Mediterranean Sea not far from the  ancient Greek archipelago, occupied by Greek and Turkish Cypriots, the home of a Greek culture and language – the north of the island is Turkish, following violent confrontation, especially in 1974. Today we present a sample of Greek Cypriot poetry – the work of Stephanos Stephanides, Professor of English and Comparative Literature from the University of Cyprus.

He was born in Cyprus but was taken by his father to the UK at eight years old. He returned to his native land in 1992 as one of the founding lecturers of the University of Cyprus. This was after an absence of more than 30 years and a very rich experience in the UK and in other parts of the world, including Guyana where he was a lecturer and Head of Modern Languages at the University of Guyana in the 1980s.

He is a poet, essayist, translator, critic, ethnographer and documentary filmmaker as well as an academic and researcher. Among his research interests has been the Kali Mai Puja in which he became interested while living in Guyana. The influence of that religion, including its worship of the goddess Kali, can be seen in a number of the poems, such as “Sacrifice” and “Haikus for Celal”. 

Stephanides is an admirer of Derek Walcott and has made reference to Walcott’s pronouncements on the kinship between the West Indian islands and the Greek Archipelago – the sea and the hundreds of islands. Cyprian Greek poetry reflects a deep consciousness of the islands and the sea, with their culture and their traditions, generating a very strong sense of place.

 

the old sea

between two islands

was once

 

my dwelling

till the horizon lifted

to let us through

 

so I still wonder

how to write thick poetry?

how to chant for a thin place?

 

Stephanos Stephanides

(from “Karpassia”)

 

                Sacrifice

thirsty for new hope

I stir through time spent ashes

and I see you Sister

appearing in a vision

bare arms anointed with turmeric

hands bloody skinning dead goat

stretching the heart’s skin

ancient drum forever beating new life

trophy of a new day

and i

I write my rhetoric

both executioner cutlass aloft and weeping goat

sometime flesh seeking spirit

now spirit seeking flesh

peep at you in the land of the living

as you extend the skin of my heart

 

                                (Guyana & Washington DC, 1988)

 

                Haikus for Celal

At ayiosTheodorus of Larnaca

I speak with Celal Kadir Celal

 

In the beginning before the beginning

Before some Cassandra sensed the pain of things to come

 

A twinship of incandescent mirrors

Images of Kali and Quetzacoatl

 

Walking through shadows of the dead

Furies shake voices and echoes in the dust

 

The river is silenced and the horseman rides away

Specters of sheep linger in the pen

 

Broken gestures claim the wild asparagus

Eyes that translate greens and oranges to words

 

Wild drill trails through dry riverscape

Rushing the aroma of the hidden tongue

 

At Ayius Theodoros of Lanarca

I speak with Celal Kadir Celal

 

A twinship of incandescent mirrors

Images of Kali and Quetzalcoatl

 

                Broken Heart

on a twilight pilgrimage

I cross Venetian ramparts

I journey inward

seeking a language of lament

a muffled murmuring of old heart

graffiti on old walls

our dreams are in the tombs

tombs are in our dreams

 

eyes blind and eager

jalouses hiding light of white courtyards

ghosts of mustachioed men striding wicker chairs

muddied destinies at the bottom of coffee cups

shadows of grandmothers in the memory of lemon-trees

arthritic hands still joining my quilt piece piece

 

shielding my body

stone uterus of weeping icons

Byzantine saints whose names I don’t recall

only a fragrance a memory of ancient smoking leaves

and wailing prayers of unseen hodjas to the north

 

warm countenance of youth in cold helmets

is the lifeline of this ailing heart

fluttering banners

that banish me from severed arteries

and I move outward through the city gates

while I dream of east and north

of apparitions of community

a communion

with sea citrus milk of sheep

and olive

in a dawning waning earth

fragile trophy of my quest

 

                                (Nicosia, 1993 (slightly revised 2000)

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