However, there are also bright breaks, capricious moods seasoned with humor. And sometimes nostalgia for the island comes again, and let it make a long journey: “… I grew up on an island, / Which had a breath of wind as an orchestra, / Vineyards, olive groves and wheat fields as decoration. , / I left two centuries late for one // other continent, beyond the borders of another / world, and I was late to return – but / in fact I never left, and I did not return.

His voice, in warmth, wrong and right, sweet and bitter, a grimace poem, pain and tears, like those of those who “when leaving at night, left their dog behind / because where they left they will not return, / the dog does not even eats, does not drink and does not sleep, but only // waits for the departed to return. “A dog / forgotten / that barks / monk / and turns his master / or second presence / or bone” (Seferis).

Readers can only share his poetic vigilance, his “wildness” and his hope, to see “the roots / which will not drown in blackness, but will illuminate us / with their primordial light, roots that I can discern / approach through densely almost tomorrow.”

* Ms. Antula Daniel is a literary and theater critic.