Spiros K. Karamountzos 

Spiros K. Karamountzos is a famous Greek poet and author. He was born in Karya, a village in Argolida. He was a teacher of the elementary education. Now he is retired.

He is a member of the “Greek Writers Society”, of the “International Writers Association” (I.W.A.) and of the “World Poets Society” (W.P.S.).

His poems have been translated into English, Chinese, Russian and have appeared in national and foreign Anthologies. His writing has received awards from national and international poetry competitions.

He has published the books “WORDS of KARYA” with memories of his village, “KNOWLEDGE LEND WINGS TO INSPIRATION – Spiros Karamountzos is interviewed by  Zacharoula Gaitanaki” (2011) and the collections of poetry: “HALCYONS” (2000), “STROKES OF THE BOW” (2004), “DEWDROPS” (2006), “SHEDDING OF LEAVES”(2006), “SUNFLOWERS” (2010), “LOOKING FOR A POET” (2013) and “POET’S GARDEN” (2013).

e-mail: spiros_karamountzos@yahoo.gr

Selected poems by Spiros K. Karamountzos ---------

POET’S  GARDEN

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

and marjoram

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.

Blessed poet,

now and for ever,

your garden is in flower,

your mind creates.

THINGS OF THE PAST

                High up in the sky I look the cloud

and I ask it about you

but it weeps

when it speaks  about the past.

SECURITY

                Don’t tread well on wood 

and don’t make a new friend

before you are sure enough

with your mind and your eyes.

THE  TARGET

                I try to sing

the great of the “modest”

and in time that I beat

I always step on the ground.

SHEDDING OF LEAVES

                Mind’s shedding of leaves

in the hour of nightfall,

signs of the sky

to tell you: Go on !

       LOVE

As long as the small

hanging oil lamp sheds a light

on the altar of love,

children and the young

can’t have a pale face.

  DEWDROPS of LOVE

Chalice

you can brim over

only with love.

                        Beat, my heart,

only if you are in love.

The fragrance of life.

Your love 

is anchorage

for all my life.

At nights, I go for a stroll

on dream-streets

with my star.

                        Your love is for me

Japanese allspices

before sundown.

                        Bell’s ring

for me and you.

Let’s kiss.

                        Love’s words.

Balsam for hearts

in pain.

With your silence

and the sweetness of your eyes,

you told me everything.

                        Endearments.

                        Sweetness and spooning

sweet-sounding words.

                        Moonlit

night  walking 

and love’s oaths.

                        A fragrant rose  

full of dewdrops.

A gift of love.

I dreamt that you allegedly

come back.

Amen, my love.

Day by day

I want you most.

It’s a good sign.

With minor repairs  

a house doesn’t cement.

It needs love.

My flower vase

with your cyclamens.

This is much the best.

Give joy

with your smile

that it is a jewel for you.

                        The stallion of poetry

gallops in the mind.

Unbridled.  

English translation by Zacharoula Gaitanaki