98

, ' , , , ' .

97

, , , ( ) ', () , .

96

' ' , , '.

95
..

, , . ( ) ; ; , ' . . ; ;

, , ' .

94

(UNTITLED)

93

92

, .

91

' ' ', , ', .

(2007)

88

87

...

you close your eyes and your ears and all the sounds look blurry and thoughts like torrents collapse and push you down rain and pull from the ground when you awake in a dream a touch brings the ebb you choose safety and return to wonder what happens when you close your eyes and your ears and all the sounds

86
I

, ' ( ) ' .

85

. , , , , , , , , ' .

84
WHAT IF?

If a friend of yours said that a friend's friend is your friend's enemy's friend, would you trust yourself?

83

( )

(2008)

80

79
MIST?

rakkaus tuli pienist aluista puuttuvaisuuden ja yltkyllisyyden vlilt kskemtt. (sinitiainen sanoi kerran minulle rakkaus on makea hyhm srkyville kuiskauksille. ollaan hiljaa.)

78
Q&A

the question always is, was it entirely dark? the question always is, were you listening carefully enough? the question is not whether you want to ask it. the question is, are you going to answer it?

77
MYESH

I once saw a snowfake melt right in front of me The vastness that it is the realisation of something turning into something else A fash of beauty strikes relentlessly at each snowy footstep into the cemetery of the comedy that life is.

(2009)

74
TRULY

like waves on a mountaintop and birches casting their shadows on starfsh like a chestnut in a cloud or a smile in a moleskine (in G major's pocket) where is it, the question that I'm asking when I don't know who it is that asks it?

73

(UNTITLED)

his arms around her sun is warm, birds are singing she said not a word.

72
SHH

empty words fall on pages, gently, like petals of snowfakes on probation, trying not to wake up the slightest whisper.

71

to be felt in your entirety by strokes, kisses and breaths of wonder, of telling, of the interstices of meanings the hidden gems that guard his lies herein rests my lonely love lonely for you lonely for only one a diminishing distance

but a distance.

70

(UNTITLED)

a one-winged love a one a winged a somehow related opportunity sex fourishing between such and the beauty of the body of love a regardless proposition attempting to subvert fuck off, what do you know?

resting on whispers and dying dying. give us another, will you I need this, I really I need this right now no, fuck you, you know shit

69

3:15 A.M.

a kiss prelude to an ecstasy of colour

of splendid moments.

68
A PINCH OF SELF

to be exposed against the limits of is nudity of mind of sex of sexism

the wind

one by one to fall, to fall and then point to me show me, goddamnit what is your face before you spoke to speak, to be exposed and to expose your face it's not a sound not a fate scribbled in dogmas let me show you peppercorns on a cob crying for the loss of blue, a mute butterfy clapping with its eyelids or, perhaps, a trife argument ficking through memories of salt oh the permanence of a blink in a moment of seeing an inch of sentiment thrown in for good measure to protect our serious sense of being (a life-long lullaby to the selfessness of things.)

67
'

' '.

66
E

'

65
ALMOST

the plausibility of failing to grasp the importance of the smallest divisions of one's life, an intimacy with one's state of denial of the pleasures of dance eluding the sheer truth of things no one is talented in living.

64

roast pork loin stilton cheese pasta did I mention bread? muffins bread donuts an unbelievable amount of donuts bread cookies soup bread bread? sushi yeah, more sushi toilet paper (used) (I touched it) (ew) fsh kindness duck breast fllets fowers smiles and a poem .

63
THINGS I'VE FOUND IN A BIN

bread about a million croissants (give or take a thousand) some cheese ploughman's sandwiches some BLT sandwiches a few falafel and houmous tortilla wraps sushi more sushi soup bananas a Turk apples potatoes a chocolate cake two sweet peppers a rotten egg three pizzas bread bread (again) more bread bread? yes lots of it a book another one a tramp another one chicken curry organic pears greek yoghurt a dead body ice-cream (I wish..) Italy

62

to feel the burden of a birdsong you no longer enjoy and cry cry

for the loss of love

(scream is non-vibrato) ce n'est pas jolie c'est beau.

61
DECAPITATION

running to the beach in the still of the night (half-stirred thoughts and a lonesomeness to remain) frail at the strength of tears to be swept away by the smallest wind

and then moments, when the realisation of the reality of gradually renders you

things

meaningless

60

and death comes in the form of tears in the eyes of the people who love you.

(along deserted roads life never lies never really hides from you the necessity of loss.)

59
OF DEATH AND LIFE

unfamiliar ceilings the sky openings for a soul must we know that we will die?

to force the sea grow still in the prospect of saving one wave (a trough without a crest)

all perishes

58

turns into mud and as I kick and shout and spit you're still looking for the fowers; you were playing a losing game time to go back inside and stop giving shit back to the world it's time to wipe the dust off your face; grab responsibility by its hair and claim it yours

and as you cry and stab yourself with blame try and crack a smile and know the burden of hating the man

you once loved.

57
PITY

once I knew I loved you because of the way you smelt my hair

I knew I had found in you a million ways of touching bliss

a thousand clichs

our every kiss every stroke our every sunday morning (and every lie)

you say how beautiful but I'm not there to listen

the ground beneath me

56
COMPLETION

the essence of completing is one of escapism of emotions well-adjusted to the fnite reality of things

an unavoidable skepticism shadowing the night's little pleasures.

55
THE MELODY AT NIGHT WITH YOU

inconspicuously exhibiting

one's sensitivity to love

the foolishness with which one admits falling in love and a passion to accompany

the melody of her kiss.

54
IT'S MY LIFE

an escalated moment of existence your lips against the sound which softly caresses the mountains whispering frail existences to lose yourself in the still of the night

(her kiss) and its imminent end.

53

(UNTITLED)

(' )

52

(.)

51

()

50

friendship collaboration listening

(love)

community (ownership?)

connectivity

context performance

refection (light) experience possibilities

beginnings.

49
THE VAGUENESS OF THE WEEK after a summer school in Iceland

anticipation structure frustration insecurity

potential

confdence

conversation

learning leading integrity

engagement

(2010)

46
BIRDSONG

oh! look at the birds, listen they never complain when it is raining.

45
THE MEANING OF SILENCE

don't fall asleep (whispers melting on your ears

as you drift away gently from those moments

where lips were made for kissing.)

44
RUN

communication appears, sometimes, amidst abandoned conversations

fowering atop what seems like an endless little wave of you of me

and when we have nothing left to say

we sing it.

43
CLARITY

the satisfaction one gains from deliberately silencing freeing oneself from the torrents of colour of light of sound and of busy thoughts

to let go and appreciate being in its fullness those few moments, even

a gentle

little home-coming.

42
TO WINK

to feel the pleasures of a shared existence a moment to say who are you

that isn't we

an immoral act

of little smiles.

41
YOU

there is nothing but the now and we are it the moment, as it is realised is gone

the inability to put in words

an understanding of the length of now

life is full of beauty

live it.

40
A POET

the frst musician a privy fool of rhythm a wild understanding of the power of sound a manipulator slowly tribal scars memories of hardened skin dissonant to the unfolding of sweet melodies a melody the frst one a bird through man in need of a song despair in disguise begone the evening unveils an ugly reality in its fully glory that melody a primeval death of a music to emerge is to exist (come into being) a being the physicality of the sound and its brutal impact on life (a musics) the world.

39

the sound of dying memories of Masks and little things

of rain of stars we can't quite see

the untimely manifestation of shadows left by pebbles on pebbles

when a pebble lifts a pebble.

38
LIFE'S A BEACH

lifting a pebble one may be surprised to fnd another pebble and a pebble is a pebble and it's there it's a pebble and there's another pebble a small pebble a big pebble a pebble that is wet a pebble next to it (the smallest pebble) also wet and you lift it

and inside it you once fnd a fower

and you listen to it

37

(the distance) which separates me from myself

(the mountain.)

36
JUST A MOMENT

a little mythology once spoke of my being a mountain

pull

and thoughts like torrents

collapse and I the mountain lay there

the sounds like a stream I see from a distance

a distance

35

(UNTITLED)
an end

to a beginning.

34

by leaving thoughts behind

here

now.

33
CONTACT

sitting in a park one may be allowed to discover (gently)

the reasons why we live

or even that we live and that to laugh and shout and move and play to touch to love are but expression marks in a sentence of being

a phrase to be understood

32

this page intentionally left blank.

31
TODAY

spring walked into my room half-naked and she looked at me (like a muse loves her poet) she never said a word

but I'd like to think she was just about to say the true names of fowers the names of clouds or, perhaps, if it was a single word

for her to say astalavista (baby.)

30
YEAH, DUH?

chess is not just about making a legal move. life is not just about .

29

so I

can

now

be.

28

the same cheek I once kissed forever

but watch my words love is now

is

the feeting sensation of a perhaps-thought fying out of the window leaving behind a tingling body and freeing, perhaps a little space

27

with such stillness and you move you touch what used to be a falling leaf

(the last falling leaf) the end of a whisper of time

love is now

( a word was when you read it )

and like a little stream it runs down your cheek

26
HAVING A WORD

a word is a word and it points to something that isn't a word a word is a word (the only word to be a word) for love is not a word it's the little kisses that like a gentle breeze caress your eyes

a smile that once whispered and said everything by moving oh so little

the same smile that flls your breath

25
MAKE-BELIEVE

if the world was a whisper (in French) and the sound of waves the sand if a pebble was a mother then I would love a thousand roses every time you kissed goodbye and every time I fall in love with you you are beautiful because of a rose I can't smell because the clouds turned from grey into blue and I heard you say nothing (in French.)

24

are you?

23

in a poet's palm

leaves unanswered letters

don't stop

life comes in its fnest hour (hummingbird; afterglow) from far beyond chrysanthemums and november fog

and it's here

22
DO YOU BELIEVE IN DREAMS?

who needs forever

when you have a moment to be a sea

of sensations here

to spend one more night on earth

who needs to be in love when there are endlessly different stars

fallen

21

a million hugs in the sound

of the ocean waves

(when you wiggle that box

back and forth.)

20
GIFTS

take the ocean and put it in a box

but don't tell me

and I'll know

that when you smell a rose when you blow a bit on life's embers

you'll think of me

and I will always be there

19

to the ocean as nothing is, dug in and everlasting endlessness the branches of yarrow, preserved in the leaves of a bible footfall, leaf-fall, silence stitching the grass with desire to sound me out, to comfort me with nothing to isolate this waking form the dark the hum of an idling machine emerging from the cold learning to live as a guest in the house he inherits the laughter of women; the music of midsummer's eve a guttering fame, that nothing will ever extinguish in lines of salt that might be infnite the laughter of women; the music of midsummer mornings a fre burning out on the rocks, that blind continuum to the currents beyond unbinding his logic, proposing some ancient joy better than all he has lost, and beyond his keeping: and dusted with nothing becoming fngers, eyelids, shoulders, hair.

18
RE-WRITING BURNSIDE based on material from John Burnside's Gift Songs

a wavelength of owls, where everything is static taken for a song to continue alone by something we ought to remember and the grace notes of terror and waking through clinker and ash, to recover a heartbeat the part-song of cicadas in our picturesque yard of heroin and myrrh before sinking again loyal to his burden while it was passing bright in the here and now, unencumbered that something might between the river and a sky of bone with a love beyond measure and unable to run the here and now that reaches from the light, to close, or open frst light and damson blue ad infnitum and the night light, burning turned to a farmer's sky

17

NOTHING BUT A ZODIAC OF THE MIND'S PHANTASMS

after Italo Calvino's Le citt invisibili

it seems like nothing ever was nothing ever is; what we would like everything to be is absent not frustration, but a form of spiritual dissonance or absolute decay the end is always near, we feel it in our memories of empty rooms narrow visions of how far the darkness extends on a cold late-summer's night. to reach for the stars' glimmer in an act of undefnable grace like setting a slipknot free ensuring the discord that arises somewhere between how far the stars and how short your fngers remains in your memories of a room once full a need for completion that seeps to the rest of what you used to call home.

16

the moment a sense of a broken glass and specks of dawns reminding you of tomorrow.

15

THAT OLD after Dinah Shore

FEELING

lovable losers making their last attempts at smiling wryly as the fear of the empty room steadily takes over the music the sound of feet on the creaky wooden foor lonely losers reflling their glasses knowingly committing an act of incongruence (the glass that stays unfnished tonight) a momentary reminiscence of an emptiness yet to arise memories of vague shapes familiar imprints on a morning sofa the sound of the last person closing the door leaving behind a moment

14
ATTEMPTS

reaching the end of a poem might feel like the imprint soon to be left by a beautiful woman on your lap (allowing to show a bit of what clothes attempt to hide) it might feel like the tension between her walking away and you holding tight or pondering whether you just heard a goshawk seeking a mate or dinner even, perhaps, the feeling that remains when returning home you fnd out that someone came and left and you weren't there.

13
SWIM

stillness of mind if it exists must be found in late summer lakes almost like a line of poetry hitting you as the cold water shocks your skin making you see how your existence is but a ripple on the fabric of life.

12
TIME LOST

fables of one's own shadows usually begin with a dying memory on a sinking ship and an ancient knot so strong elegantly tying your words, making them whispers (whispers melting on silence like soft snow foating on an almost forgotten, unmapped brook) and it's those few early autumn days, when it might rain (and it might not) that the leaves, on the ground, discover the sacredness of falling (of touching an unnamed rock)

and as spontaneously as a pond refects the geese as silently as your memories die behind you walk alone out of the forest (a forsaken solitude the trail of a shadow's story.)

11

being the space

around you

and a spoonful of the moment's ebb and fow of the stuff that is time changing course

hit my senses with a beauty almost too small for a word

I once tried to capture in text

of the moment a feeting beauty and failed because the words wouldn't

move.

10
VERBATIM

I said dance

I meant the noun you took the verb (of course) and you danced it you moved and that was not a word but you breathing

allowing, with your gestures embracing touching the space around you

9
THIS ONE

This is a poem to live in the essence

of solitude of dreams of clouds in skies.

(2011)

5
THE LOST ART OF CONVERSATION

losing a fear of emptiness

and upon returning to the dusty reality of being one has traversed already the longest road to seeing the blunt knife and the uncarved rock the unbleached sophistication of hearing beauty

in those almost silent mornings of snowfall choreography.

4
NATURE'S CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

retracing one's steps on fresh snow admiring the glimmering beauty of snowfakes gliding earthwards unhurried outlining crudely the branches of a thousand pines to feel the sun's warmth in the crispy dry air of an arctic february and know that it's there (always)

to be in the presence of earth galore a feeting sensation of grounding in the wilderness within.

WINTER-SPRING

The sound of rain now, so soft on the snow almost like silence.

(2012)

Zen, yes.
JAY GRIFFITHS, Wild

CONT
2012
winter-spring 3 nature's christmas lights 4 the lost art of conversation 5

2011
this one 9 verbatim 10 time lost 12 swim 13 attempts 14 That Old Feeling 15 nothing but a zodiac of the mind's phantasms 17 re-writing Burnside 18 gifts 20 do you believe in dreams 22 makebelieve 25 having a word 26 yeah, duh? 30 today 31 32 contact 33 (untitled) 35 just a moment 36 life's a beach 38 a poet 40 you 41 to wink 42 clarity 43 run 44 the meaning of silence 45 birdsong 46

ENTS
2010
the vagueness of the week 49 53 it's my life 54 the melody at night with you 55 completion 56 pity 57 of death and life 59 decapitation 61 things I've found in a bin 63 almost 65 66 a pinch of self 68 3:15 a.m. 69 (untitled) 70 shh 72 (untitled) 73 truly 74

2009
myesh 77 q&a 78 mist? 79

2008
83 what if? 84 85 86 87 - 91 92 93 (untitled) 94 95 96 98

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

looking back is a selection of poetic writings between the summers of 2007 and 2012. They are arranged chronologically backwards, starting with the most recent moving towards the oldest. The format of the book refects the context in which they were written; most of these writings were frst jotted down in a pocket moleskine which was used from right to left, to accommodate my being lefthanded. The reverse print, therefore, aims at recreating in their reading the spirit in which they were written. Furthermore, in reading from end to start (with regards to literary conventions in the west) one feels like they are literally reading backwards, looking into the writings. This collection of poetry is dedicated to Miguel Monteiro Sena, for inspiring me to keep writing by teaching me once that in a world where everything moves so fast, the ability to sometimes stop and leave everything behind for a few seconds should be praised. These poems were written in such brief moments when I left everything behind. Laonikos Psimikakis-Chalkokondylis Kuru, Finland 2012

CONTEMPORARY POETRY Laonikos Psimikakis-Chalkokondylis : looking back a selection of poetry

2012 Laonikos Psimikakis-Chalkokondylis Tsakalof 38-40, Athens, 106 73, Greece http://www.laonikos.com Cover photo by Laonikos. Permission is granted to copy, distribute and/or modify this document under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License (or later) by Creative Commons. A copy of the license can be found online: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ In plain terms, this means that anyone, anywhere, and for any reason can use, copy, modify, adapt, and distribute the content as long as attribution is given to the source.

looking back
a selection of poetry