Nine poems by Veroniki Dalakoura, translated by John Taylor, published in The Fortnightly Review. One of the poems:
For That Love
WHAT a pity for that love
it tiptoed into the sea
as evil pimples were growing
from the healing armada and snatching away
the sign of a laughable good.
Stand outside the door:
my heart is cutting up the body
the clock hands of idiotic hours
stick in the mind
and like wave riders moving slowly
lovers speak savagely to each other.
He quickly moved on to the wide-open house
where rust and chains are stacked
and out of fear—not sorrow—
Chance accepts rogues through its opened-up sides.
© translation John Taylor