Eight and six

Sharing a sonnet, by Steve Yeates
EIGHT AND SIX

Finally gone quiet
number eight
for too long 
a carnivorous violin

A horizontal lament
almost never-ending
Eight now stands in silence
and respects the poem’s pause

Nanna Pawla has spoken
through numbers
I will play them in the lotto
in around eight days’ time

Six, six, six
No, not what you think
nor the opposite
Never give anyone
this responsibility
Let angels be angels
naturally

Six
there is no rush to speak
nor to pretend to begin
Forty days and nights of noise
still echo in the black car
that I will soon park 
at the border

Expect me in a catmobile
with books, tables and chairs
But not where you are
too many rave parties
and too many temptations
for the cat
and his birdsong

Six
take your time
and take your time again
You can be three twos,
two threes, 
even five and one
(Leave four and two
to the English)

To complete the circle
and the golden rectangle
is a natural, 
evitable choice

Don’t choose just yet
Nanna Pawla is speaking
through numbers
and it’s hard to listen
when the motorini pass
with all their hormones

Remember the missing map
between Luxembourg
and Palestine?
I will have it soon
across the water

Three dawns in one morning
are still possible
ένα, δύο, τρία
εσύ, εγώ, εμείς
Three words, two feathers
si tu veux

Still possible
on a beach
on an island
of pilgrims
and Mozarabic figs

But whose?
they say in Greek
Eh eh eh
listen again
oh translator
to the sound

We are not Hero and Leander
nor cruiser and submarine
You can trust the waves
on radio or sea

Ejja
έλα
come
let’s make Francesco happy
and prove to the fig trees
that Plato was right

May your palm shine
in the night

Take your time
I still need to park my car
across the water
at the border
then follow Saint Michael’s line
south-east
by land and sea

Goodbye noisy summer
Stay quiet, violin
Now let us autumn together
at least for one night
and a day

Artemis and Apollo await
Number eight does not
yet he trusts the silence
if you trust mine

Magic, oh magic
please let yourself be

(If I am wrong,
the magic is still there)



---

Image: Sharing a sonnet, by Steve Yeates
Last podcast till after the Athens Poetry Festival (21-24 Sept). A poem that just wrote itself. With a little help from a Greek Surrealist poet, admirer of Apollinaire. — Image: Sharing a sonnet, by Steve Yeates — On or after the 25th, this podcast series will change its name to La maktaba di Don Pablo. We’ll still be on the road, but at the same time home.

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