Nikos Engonopoulos | The Clavicords of Silence
Nikos Engonopoulos, 'Composition' (1960) ... and everything remains silent, and silence is good only if it holds joy within. Otherwise I fear it ... LEE the seeds of werewolves strain the rudders of the horizon they thrust illuminated flutes amid the blood-stained dresses hanging from the leafy branches of trees they drown crows in the mirrors they seek the justice and mercy of children but I lay red flowers in her hair I rise all naked in crimson gardens I lose myself inside dark caves whose depths shroud sewing-machines and yellow fish that talk like flowers and perhaps I am that werewolf of lightning the one they call – when darkness falls – the “man as parenthesis” in the bellows of snares in the shrouds of the pathway at some nightly hour when a bird di...