Panayotis Ioannidis was born in 1967 in Athens, where he now lives. He has published three poetry books: The lifesaver, 2008; Uncovered, 2013; Poland, 2016 (all by Kastaniotis Editions, Athens); a fourth, Rhinoceros, is forthcoming. He is also one of the seven authors of the collective essay book, A conversation about poetry now (FRMK, Athens 2018).
His poems have appeared in two English-language anthologies (T. Chiotis, Futures, Penned in the Margins, London 2015; K. Van Dyck, Austerity Measures, Penguin, London 2016); NYRB Books, New York, 2017), two German ones (M. Topali, Dichtung mit Biss, Romiossini Edition, Berlin 2018; W. Knithaki & A. Kasnitz, Kleine Tiere zum Schlachten, Parasiten Presse, Koln 2017), and several (Greek, English, Swedish, and Turkish) journals.
He is poetry editor for the Greek monthly “The Books’ Journal” and the English-language arts site “Und.Athens”, as well as a member of the editorial board of the biannual journal for poetry, theory and the visual arts, “FRMK”. He also curates the monthly poetry readings, “Words (can) do it”; translates English-language poetry (S. Heaney, R. Creeley, T. Gunn, D. Harsent, a.o.).; and teaches poetry as creative writing to children (e.g. in collaboration with the Onassis Foundation’s Cavafy Archive) and adults (e.g. at the British Council, Athens).
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First time this spring I held two candles
at Good Friday’s Epitaph procession
I not quite a believer
Still, since three years ago
I always light two candles
in the tiniest chapels
Since we say the soul falters
I light them up tenaciously naive
and with the expectation of the faithful
Then we say – gone
But I will not ever forget
how your face lit up austere
one night when seeing me
blow out a candle flame
You take its soul away. Never
blow it out. Always
with wetted fingers touch the wick
– inside your palm
gather the flame
don’t scatter it away
Since then I’m always careful
without explaining even though I’m teased
for such an odd attention. It is worth
wetting the fingers
tenderly holding the flame
it is worth the effort
the slight risk that your hand
cowardly, hesitant, may get burnt
that a soul may burn you
as it –temporarily– retreats
But before dozing yesterday I forgot
blew out the flame – the wall
got splashed above the second pillow
with melted candle wax
Nothing then could comfort me – as if
it were a human being – and I were to blame
from The lifesaver
translated by Panayotis Ioannidis and Stefanos Basigkal
© Kastaniotis Editions, Panayotis Ioannidis, and Stefanos Basigkal
Also published in “Poetry London” 82, 2015; reproduced on the “Poets.Gr” platform
EXCURSION
Sleep in the countryside
sun waking –
dreams, laden lemon trees
At the cold inlet
we fill our pockets with pebbles
But beauty returns
where it always was
from Uncovered
translated by Adrianne Kalfopoulou
© Kastaniotis Editions, Panayotis Ioannidis, and Adrianne Kalfopoulou
THE NEXT DAY
Dressed in black she comes out on the balcony
above the rubbish
of yesterday’s feast
The wind blows wildly unsettling tables not yet laid for dinner
but leaves her hair unruffled
– drawn back so tightly
and held there by time
She steps slowly
from balustrade to wall, then wall to balustrade
while weightless tourists below
glide by the scenery
– water, colours, light
Life passes
Reaches black then goes on
from Uncovered
translated by Elaine Feinstein
© Kastaniotis Editions, Panayotis Ioannidis, and Elaine Feinstein
JULY 2009 / 1992
What are Bach’s cantatas doing in midsummer?
On the other CD, the singing waters
of Alhambra’s fountains
cool me still
and remind me of the high noon when I sat
on the lace of twin balconies
first on one, then the other
the long water between them, a mirror
The heat was unbearable, July of ’92 in Andalusia.
Alicia when we ventured out at night
in vain would fan Sevilla’s air
what else could a girl do
from evergreen Avila
where she’d find refuge soon
whilst I would criss-cross for one more month
up and down Europe
changing trains
at night
Two Finnish students found themselves
the guests of honour at a Marrakesh wedding
Bruno was sadder still
though swimming now in money in sodden Brussels
The Turkish young antique dealer
and two jade rings in Amsterdam
(I would offer one in a few months’ time
–a useless amulet– to the Yosemite poet)
Bruges and Gand
Zeno’s and young Marguerite’s –
flooded in sun, the Agnus Dei
only appeared
twice a day
And Nina Simone
would remind me of Bach
on the attic’s turntable
from Poland
translated by Panayotis Ioannidis
© Kastaniotis Editions and Panayotis Ioannidis
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