First they came...

First they came for the communists
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.
Then they came for the socialists

and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.

Then they came for the Catholics
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Catholic.

Then they came for me

and there was no one left to speak for me.

 

Martin Niemoller

Calendar of an Invisible April , by Odysseas Elytis

FRIDAY, 10

The wind was whistling continuously,
it was getting darker, and that distant voice was
incessantly reaching my ears :
"an entire life... an entire life"...

On the opposite wall, the shadows of the
trees were playing cinema

FRIDAY, 10 b

It seems that somewhere people are celebrating;
although there are no houses or human beings
I can listen to guitars and other laughters which
are not nearby
Maybe far away, within the ashes of heavens
Andromeda, the Bear, or the Virgin...

I wonder; is loneliness the same, all over the
worlds ?

FRIDAY, 10c

Late midnight my room is moving in the
neighborhood shining like an emerald.
Someone searches it, but truth eludes him
constantly.
How to imagine that it is placed lower

Much lower
That death too, has its own Red Sea.

Ithaca, by Constantinos Kavafis

As you set out on the way to Ithaca
hope that the road is a long one,
filled with adventures,
filled with understanding.

The Laestrygonians and the Cyclopes,
Poseidon in his anger: do not fear them,
you’ll never come across them on your way
as long as your mind stays aloft, and a choice
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Laestrygonians and the Cyclopes,
savage Poseidon; you’ll not encounter them
unless you carry them within your soul,
unless your soul sets them up before you.

Hope that the road is a long one.
Many may the summer mornings be
when—with what pleasure, with what joy—
you first put in to harbors new to your eyes;
may you stop at Phoenician trading posts
and there acquire fine goods:
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and heady perfumes of every kind:
as many heady perfumes as you can.
To many Egyptian cities may you go
so you may learn, and go on learning, from their sages.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind;
to reach her is your destiny.
But do not rush your journey in the least.
Better that it last for many years;
that you drop anchor at the island an old man,
rich with all you’ve gotten on the way,
not expecting Ithaca to make you rich.

Ithaca gave to you the beautiful journey;
without her you’d not have set upon the road.
But she has nothing left to give you any more.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca did not deceive you.
As wise as you’ll have become, with so much experience,
you’ll have understood, by then, what these Ithacas mean.

The isles of Greece, Lord Byron

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung
where grew the arts of war and peace
where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet
but all, except their sun, is set...

The mountains look on Marathon
and Marathon looks on the sea;
and musing there an hour alone
I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
for standing on the Persians' grave
I could not deem myself a slave.

Athens inspires Nick Cave

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds -Lighting Bolts-published 22 February 2013

Two lightning bolts were delivered to my room
They were gifts from Zeus
I rock the bolts in a bassinet of pine
People ask me how I am
I say I am all right
I'm fine!
I push the lightning bolt in a pram
Till the sun goes down & it gets dark
The girls from Jubilee Street hang out their windows
And they wave & ask me how I am tonight
I say I am good
I'm all right!

In Athens all the youths are crying from the gas
I am by the hotel room working on a tan
People come up and ask me who I am
I say if you don't know
Don't ask
Zeus laughs but it's the gas
He asks me how I am
I say Zeus don't ask
My lightning bolts are jolts of joy
They are joy boys from Zeus
I fed them porridge in their booster seats of knowledge
And in the cradle of democracy the pigeons are wearing gas masks

My lightning bolts play in the elevators
They slide down the hotel banister
And Zeus throws a gas canister
And it spins around the pool
As pigeons wearing respirators
Steal the lightning bolts
Zeus wants them back
O my bolts of joy
O my darling little boys
They are lost to us
And people
They are never coming back
At night I watch them sleep
And cry years of tears
And it's not the gas
People ask me how we are
We are I say mostly lost