Poet’s garden is a small heaven on Earth
for inspiration, flowering and fruitfulness.
It is an extension of sun lounge,
a wide view into the open sea
and with open horizon eastwards.
A few fruit trees,
green laying out bushes
and many colorful fragrant flowers.
All they are his long personal choice.
Every tree with its symbolism.
Fir tree, almond tree, olive tree, apple tree,
walnut tree, fig tree, pomegranate tree and laurel.
A big climbing vine and other small vines
have a special place
in his garden and in his heart.
Currant, “fileri”, Muscat, sour grapes and siderites
are some of his favorite eatable variety of grapes.
But there is not a garden – orchard without flowers.
Climbing roses on fences, daisies,
chrysanthemums, cyclamens of field,
sunflowers, narcissus, hyacinths,
violets, dahlias, chamomile, poppies,
anemones, freesia, origan, tea and other.
Big and small earthen flower pots,
with basil, carnations, gardenias, geraniums
give other dimensions in the garden’s beauty.
They create not only a superabundance of aesthetics.
The garden tools (hoe, mattock, pick,
rake), the pruning hook, the saw
and the hedge clippers
in the hands of poet – gardener,
intervene masterly, with patience
and they shape the garden
on a daily and seasonal basis.
An annual frantic feast
of colors, sounds and fragrances.
Birdsongs, buzz of the bees
and many other insects,
babble of water, rustling of leaves,
a unique sight and a listening experience.
Season succeeds season,
with their distinguishing marks.
Early spring and dewdrops,
winter frosts and flakes of snow
and the poet experiences with his senses
the changes of nature.
Pensively, he is walking
with his head bent on the ground,
he goes to and fro.
He looks like swinging
in the space and time.
Often he stops, observes,
he smells a flower,
he tastes a fruit,
he chats with the trees
the butterflies and loquacious birds.
He dreams with open eyes
and he takes off for new creations,
according to the stimuli and the weather,
sometimes he lies in the sun
and shrinks in a place sheltered from the wind,
sometimes he comes back in a hurry
to his permanent and favorite chair,
under the deep shade, climbing vine
near to a stone fountain.
There, it awaits him the round, country, red table,
full of leaves, flowers, books, copybooks, pencils
and he is getting ready to write.
He drinks a swig of medium – sweet Greek coffee,
he makes some notes and rubs out some other.
He spends countless creative hours
in his garden
in this cool place,
cultivating, reading and writing.
now and for ever,
your garden is in flower,
your mind creates.
SPIROS KARAMOUNTZOS, IWA
(A poem from his collection of poetry “SUNFLOWERS”)
English translation by Zacharoula Gaitanaki, IWA.