Δημοσίευσε την εργασία σου.

by Dialect.gr
22 minutes
Δημοσίευσε την εργασία σου.

PUBLICIZE YOUR WORK!

 

We encourage our students to share their thoughts and feelings through writing in the blog which will be in our site soon. You can write about experiences that made you happy, that worried, or moved you in any way. You can write prose or even a short poem. To introduce this communication path I have uploaded a poem I wrote last year. We will be by your side for help and support.

 

Greenwich Mean Time

When you are born, I am your gift or curse.

I stamp you centenarian, middle aged or toddler.

When you are born, I hide in you.

Sleeping in your primordial cell,

in your unique ladder of pairs twenty three.

No river is so long as me

my essence infinite, a never ending line.

Millions upon millions are my slave sons,

of diamonds, of gold , of steel, of plastic.

Round your wrist you surely carry one.

 

The busy make me,

the ambitious plan me,

the opportunists speculate in my lapse,

the reckless, their candles burn at both ends,

the wise respect me,

the silly waste me. Yet, I am valuable.

 

I mark your breakfast and your brunch,

Your wake and your wink,

Your celebrated time

of birth

of graduation

of marriage

of childbirth

of death.

The poet burns the oil lamp with me.

In the warm cot the baby lies,

In the operation room, my frozen tick tock for some,

While burning connubial bedroom moments for others.

And the manual forehead dripping sweat

invariably my faster pace pleads.

 

Around the sphere, hammered against high towers,

my popular slave sons are kings.

In Prague is one, my astronomical.

He shows the universe in the medieval manner.

The Czech, the European, the Babylonian

aspect of me he tells, on three specific plates.

In Yokohama, Cosmo Clock,

In Sicily, Messina Clock,

In Munich, Rathaus Clockenspiel,

In Mecca, Royal Clock.

In Albion’s capital, a thirteen-ton bell gongs the hour and the half.

An omnipresent lesser God, a voyeurist, a rogue

my Big Ben saw Clarissa Dalloway pass.

The Long Now is my next one to be.

Inside a Texan mountainous belly he will settle

to tick for ten thousand years.

One new melody for every chime ring

for ten thousand years.

Millions of melodies will be played.

Millions of melodies will go unheard

along the valley of bristlecone pines.

 

These are of late.

I used to have more.

Sticks and bones hunter gatherers placed to keep track of me.

The shadowy Stonehedge megaliths were mine.

Obelisks and ancient Greek clepsydrae

 and sundials and pendulums for me.

The navigator’s compass was mine too.

I have always been rich. No complaints.

 

Though these works of men I praise,

Nature holds the most accurate count of me.

For lilies sprout in their due time,

punctually gentle anemonies winter cold defy and

daffodills to end Wordsworth’s pensiveness.

As in man so in nature time is innate

to bring birth, maturity and death.

 

Since time immemorial, it’s me

man counts and values more than gold.

For I am his means, the meaning, his convention absurd.

Uncouth and brutish, I am

with those like females belating to conceive.

They call me mean and I don’t pretend I am not.

 

Hail Horace, hurry, their conscience to wake.

Carpe Diem,

Carpe Diem,

Carpe Mortem.

 

December 4th, 2019. 

Athena Giannakou.