Poem-report: Greece

Writing poetry in the Hellenic region
Equals to discussing democracy
In Athens, its cradle then despotic tomb
The poem can’t survive in this rather cracy.

Greece however always belongs to pugnacious Achilles
Keeping the mythical beauty of its temples and islands:
The sea is as clear as the thin aquamarine
Which used to ornate Pallas’ bust, sibyl.

And what of Apollo, supreme oracle of Delphi
He is done delivering visions, no one calls out his name
The poet summons him, but he fails to arrive
What can he make of sanctity or lent?

The deity’s site looks as wild as it was then
Between an ochre mountain and a rising sun
The stray cats and dogs, worshipers of the past
Are the only believers who now crowd the p(a)lace.

Greece is pauper alas, and exploits its legends
To obtain some drachm from European folks:
Statues and vases, paintings and almonds
Everything is copied and sold–what a Herculean task!

What sad realization takes hold of the voyager
To follow the tracks of heroes, eager
Athens is filthy, and to heal her gray boyishness
The acropolis is yours for about thirty euros!

Men of our time have desacralized
What had been dreamt about when barely imagined
Glory only remains in what you can read of it
I almost couldn’t find some muses and their lyre.

Written in French in Athens, March 31, 2017
Translated in Lyon, April 19, 2017.