The Skies Are Ours!
Nurtured with Isidore Ducasse and Nikolas Kalas, with Guy Debord and George Makris, with Orson Welles and with Markos Vamvakaris, we too can't help but want our Poetry to be read by a fourteen-year-old girl, we can't help but to feel that each of us is a Manhattan Plakiot, we cannot but belong to the People's Elite, we cannot but be aware that we have been spent in the battles and we will never pick up our lives piece by piece.
Nourished with cellulose, vinyl, and paper, with the punches of Richard Widmark, as elegant as our other teacher, Nikos Carousos, and with the hoarse gaze of Humphrey Bogart, we can't help but constantly weave not only successive but also repeated conspiracies against non-poetic reality, against non-romantic reality, against non-real reality.
Nurtured with William Seward Burroughs and Nikos Gavriel Pentzikis, we know that death is far away while our friends are near.
Nurtured with Tom Waits and Andreas Empirikos and Andreas Breton and Marcel Duchamp (D'ailleurs, c'est toujours les autres qui meurent – don't forget, friends!) and Manos Hadjidakis and Raymond Chandler and Alexis Akrithakis and James Joyce and Giannis Kounellis and Sotiria Bellou and Thomas Pynchon and Nikos Eggonopoulos and Malcolm Lowry and Ioannis Sebastianos Bach and Samuel Beckett and Theresa Russell and Patricia Highsmith and George Sarandaris, Children of the Night and Princes of Tolerance, Lads of Adventure, to slip in and out of the seasons and decades, of Time Smugglers and poets at will, we let our moods mingle, we too become a Gang of Five, the Ulamos of the increasingly popular Fr/Fr/Fr – Fraxia Franz Franca (Caruso: "We are still in the prehistory of humor"), a sometimes rock and sometimes jazz band that plays rebetika in Lemons of Heaven, which does nothing but decorate the stadium with fireworks and set music to slogans of future rebels.
Fed up with the age-old tavern chant The Five Fies, Friend Bring Friends Eat Away, and with the metaphorical and Vespers Stone That Rolls Never Grass, we gathered in verandahs and in damp chambers, spread on our monastic table unripe grapes and said that, in times of closure and numbness, we sing with openness to the enigma, and become companions and sympathizers, co-conspirators, and co-conspirators, cohabiting again in the shack itself, and bestowing upon you this potlatch, our Free Fall and Free Flight!
George, Giannakopoulos, Martinou, Babasakis, Reynolds
Athens, Theros of 2010
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