Kostas Karyotakis

(1896-1928 / Greece)

Kostas Karyotakis Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
1. Strophes 9/17/2010
2. Posthumous Fame 9/17/2010
3. Destruction 9/17/2010
4. A Clerk 9/17/2010
5. Critique 9/17/2010
6. They Betrayed Virtue And The Last Came First... 9/17/2010
7. My Verses 9/17/2010
8. March Mournful And Vertical 9/17/2010
9. Return 9/17/2010
10. Bitter Oranges 9/17/2010
11. A Story 9/17/2010
12. Tombs 9/17/2010
13. Nobility 9/17/2010
14. A Tree 9/17/2010
15. Imaginary Suicides 9/17/2010
16. In The Garden The Chrysanthemums Were Dying... 9/17/2010
17. Preveza 9/17/2010
18. We Are Some Disjointed Guitars... 9/17/2010
19. Athens 9/17/2010
20. Ζωές (Lives) 9/17/2010
21. Νοσταλγία (Nostalgia) 9/17/2010
22. Ballade To The Forgotten Poets Of The Ages 9/17/2010

Comments about Kostas Karyotakis

  • Felix De Villiers Felix De Villiers (1/7/2014 3:19:00 AM)

    I find the poems of Kostas very moving. The is a feeling of underlying despair in them but it is covered by a veil of bitter-sweet melancholy. I have read quite a few of them but will read them all soon. Thanks to Facebbok the has come back to see the light of day.

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Best Poem of Kostas Karyotakis

Ballade To The Forgotten Poets Of The Ages

Detested by both men and gods,
like nobles who have bitterly decayed,
the Verlaines wither; wealth remains
to them, of rich and silvery rhyme.
With 'Les Chatiments' the Hugos are intoxicated
by their terrible Olympian revenge.
But I shall write a sorrowful
ballade to the forgotten poets.

Though the Poes have lived in misery,
and though the Baudelaires have suffered living deaths,
they ve all been granted Immortality.
Yet no-one now remembers,
and the deepest darkness has completely buried,
every poetaster who produced limp poetry.
But I make as an ...

Read the full of Ballade To The Forgotten Poets Of The Ages

A Clerk

The hours have faded me, found once again
leaning across the thankless table.
(The sun slips through the window in the wall that
faces me, and plays.)

Doubled up, I grope for breath
in the dust of all my papers.
(Life pulses sweetly and its thousand voices rise
from the freedom of the street.)

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