© All rights reserved to Artemis Chrysostomidou

PUBLICATIONS

DOGS DON'T BARK IN FRANCE | SCULPTURE
by Artemis Chrysostomidou
National Prize of Best New Literature
Publisher: To Rodakio
Athens, October 2018
ISBN: 139786185248413
Number of pages: 112
Dimensions: 21x14

SCULPTURE

After the war,

the eyes of the ancient statues

should have tears carved all over them.

With no pretense of sorrow ever touching them,

whereas beauty is deeply hurt.

NO LACK OF GLORY
So many words 
that we don’t know and never won’t;
An everyday try to learn some more 
in order to fill our present with sympathy. 
Forgive me my love, 
I’m limited by my lack. 
No lack of Glory!

GARE DE L’EST

We are the obviation of the creation’s rhythm;

So much unrecognized beauty

And the sky discloses gray over our bodies.

Trees in array. Armies of aligned trees.

A man among the logs photographs the trains.

A symphonic orchestra of naked deciduous trees

Un, deux, trois

The valleys are filled with violins.

Simone Weil, what is the maximum speed of an image?

I hear the sounds of the universe

How can I convey the outside-inside,

the joys and the anguishes of the world

«Where is He? In His absence»

Bien sûr!

THE METAPHYSICS OF SCULPTURE

Nothing more to seize than the defeat of the material.

Every body is an alternate reality.

A silent composition of eternity.

The Creation, the freedom of proofless.

½

Half human gaze, half Parthenon,

half Tour Eiffel, half upper eyelids.

He didn’t make a stop before all the great painters.

What will make him stop now?

In the big train stations people will keep coming and going.

People in love with Resurrection,

with fever and huge steps that go by unnoticed in the crowds.

Grey sky will always unites them secretly. 

UNE ROBE ABRI 

Les oiseaux se cachent dans les plis sculptés de sa robe.

Une robe abri.

Elle sent l’odeur de la liberté, oh!

La proclamation de la volupté!

Une robe abri.

THE VISUAL SINKING OF MEDIEVAL MAN

She didn’t’ t want to be a face stuck on a wall,

but a bust among plants.

There is an entire space of interpretation within her.

The image becomes fully dimensional,

having the visual depth of medieval man.

The beautiful life of the Skies dives into her eyes.

Grief unites us. Joy is an eremite.

It’s late. No, it’s not.

We will meet in other epochs as well.


DEMOCRACY

Democracy?

Dead will always have the majority.

 
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