The Peregrine Muse

Poetry of Dimitris Palazis

They changed the year

A lot hangs

on the irony of microphones

sleepless butterflies

from wasted dreams

I cannot find friends anymore...
They've changed

The seats are empty
with the heads of memories
like ghosts


Nature Morte

I saw you in my dream

speaking to me of that

which you never told me

And it galloped
and the piercing cold of wind
tasted bitter

into my lips when I woke
and from my lips dropped...



Door of the Sea

How many pieces

high in the sky

are sinking into blue


filling people

independent and invisible

And how much ice
shakes boats
on the scale of death
turning pages
to the door of the sea!


A Supervision Moment

 Tonight I will step

with one sandal

and guess

if I limp!

from all sides
empty and silent

you mobilize a knife
without a face
for just a moment
of supervision.


Fugitives of the times

Fugitives of my times

wearing red necklaces

they rob, my heart


Cloudy hours

are searching the pirates’

holy graves



 I traveled,

when people traveled...

 I was a donor of dreams
those years

bent over me
but they didn't find anything

 In my mouth
hidden with saliva
were verses folded

 Really odious
to remove words
from the surgical table

 Whatever I made
under the light of a lamp
escaped from formula



In the Grey Railings

 You've promised to me

steps of the sea

 Allegorical words
for the marks of a horizon

 You squeezed near me
making promises

 What will be revealed
in a speechless time?



In the Flying of Gulls

My voice, you empty my soul

no one remaining

to see my teardrops

my empty hands

greeting the gulls

my ceasing

forgotten by love

From far away the wind
and his waves
came to quench the thirst for life
like before the moon left

And all change...
in the flying of gulls

Inner Island

Deserted animal the man!

Nestles into the island
of the inner world
unsplit and despairing

He holds half of the map
He hides the other

One margin is perishable
with a supposed beginning

The other slips...

If perhaps
something inappropriate
occupies the island
like the lair of a wolf
don't say to me:

 The island is corrupt!

Party of Oblivion

The past is a scale...

 From its tightened lips
pleasures rattle death
search for a place

 And a lot of corpses
pass unknowingly
from the vaccines of the city

 Play bets
while other speak
bent to the window

 Party of oblivion

 In the depths a figure
puts waste straight

 Provokes the eye

 The spectators behind

 None believes
In the necks of the pedestrians

 Almost no one
runs through
the distance of centuries


Sometimes His Mouth Existed

Some nights
the shirt burns
the street shouts:

I cannot
a person

I look at his shoes...

Both raise a man up
when paving-stone roads rip
their sticking voices

A man
whose mouth sometimes existed



Who asked for my corpse
in the cold rain?
who said:

  A tree hangs
its shoes
are moving by themselves

  In the streets
a whistling
burns my lips

that nothing of salvation
has appeared
since you came


So Little

Dreams less than dreams

Men less than men

Why are all so little

in this land?

Tell me, my dear, tell me!

Lady with legs-reels

with parts spread in order

like an experiment

Tell me, my dear, tell me!

Use any word you like

I am here to listen

the murmur of your skin

like an iron sheet being torn

Tell me, my dear, tell me!

Why is everything so little

in this land?

A ruinous castle...

A ruinous castle is my soul

knights and mistresses

pass by the ruins

The dust

spares the mind

that swirls the spectres

The sun

burrows his head

under the stones

heating the fingertips

Beetles stress the life thread

The mystic shivering

of the dead grass

wipes out the memories

(they flame up, sometimes

stronger in the glowing sun)

The ruinous castle,

the smell of sea,


burst singing in the mind's masts:

"A ruinous castle

is my soul."

Like An Old Town's Plans

Like an old town's plans

a leaf shows up in your mouth

charmed by the horizon

The blue was purified

Men came

like prophets with stone-teeth

white hair:


few and bright

alabaster boxes

hiding toys inside

from the burning sun

I don't trust silence anymore

dreams don't heal me

In the blue

-so purified-

leaves were spread all over your body

like an old town's plans

Soul of the Big City


are like funny caps

(tortured by people)


my healthy thoughts

The shop windows

big mouths

ready to swallow my soul

Bright tin snake creeps

dusty breath into my body

I see so many souls

flying like fogs

in the dark air

slowly suffering the torture

of light bodies

Their faces

distorted moons

changing over time

Oh, soul of the big city night!

You blow me up to youth

on a skyscraper terrace

staring from all sides

at the secret sins that weaken

grown up

from body depths

Hymns in praise

on the ruin of a cloud

making circles to belong

punched by the sun into my eyes

Dimitris Palazis lives in Athens, Greece. A selection of his poetry from various writing periods, translated by him into English, is published here. Three hard copy collections have recently been published in Greece: The Red Room (2009), Fugitives of Times (2006) and Eftalia Island (2005).