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Poetry and Starlight Tower
My brother and I we were introduced to poetry at a very young age by our
mother who used us as her captive audience to recite her poems. My very
favorite poem today still remains the one that she taught us while still in
elementary school. The poem was "If" and she had translated it in Greek
because it was written by the British author Rudyard Kipling and we did
not know English at the time. I have used it as an inspirational guide all
through my life and introduced my children to it also at a young age.
IF you can keep your
head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
--Rudyard Kipling
For some
unexplainable to me reason, in times of extreme sorrow I have
found poetry to be a relief outlet which not only makes the pain
bearable but initiates an outpouring of long buried and
forgotten memories and putting them down on a piece of paper
works as soul catharsis healing and therapeutic which almost
instantaneously gives me the mental strength to be of assistance
to my fellow grieving relatives or friends. An example is the
untimely departure of my husband's uncle, Alex Dervenis. Uncle
Alex lived in Chicago where he had his wholesale butcher
business since the mid sixties. He also owned a condo in Palm
Harbor that used as vacation home and occasionally he would
visit us here at Starlight Tower and had fallen in love with our
building. When our relatives called to let us know that uncle
Alex had passed away, even though we knew that the end was near
the sock was unbelievable. I remember grabbing a writing pad and
a pencil, sitting down in the dinning room table and while the
tears kept flowing from my eyes I started writing my goodbye to
him. I kept going and going like a person possessed. I saw his
life unfolding in front of me and I wanted him to know how much
he had influenced our life's both my husband's and mine since
both of us had lost our fathers many years ago so in a sense we
were loosing our last father figure on this earth. To make a
long story short, the next day we flew to Chicago for the
funeral. When we arrived at the church and after paying our
condolences to the family we went at the coffin to say our last
goodbye to uncle Alex. As I bent down to kiss his forehead, in
my right palm I was clutching tightly the folded original
goodbye poem that I wrote for him the previous afternoon in my
home, so I reach and slide it under the vest of his suit. I
wanted him to have it for eternity and was no way in hell that I
will not give it to him. I told my aunt what I have just done
and I gave her a copy. She looked at it, squeezed my hand,
resumed to cry and between sobs told me that I should read it
for all to hear at the reception which I did. Upon finishing the
reading a thunderous applause exploded. I was flabbergasted. I
expected nothing but dead silence with everybody reflecting and
instead it was this unreal explosion of applause deserved for a
hit Broadway show. I didn't make it back to our table because
all of sudden I was surrounded by people I knew and people I
didn't know, and the priest and the relatives and all were
saying how successfully I had captured our uncle's life and my
poem was really more like an Hymn to his life. And the best part
of this story is that uncle Alex's poem resides framed in the
living rooms of all his children's houses and his own. I
am sorry I have not translated it for you but maybe some time in
the future. And I may add a few more of my poems, ha, ha,
ha....Have you written a poem? Send it to me to post it her.
Alex Dervenis, March 8, 2002
Antio Qeie Aleko
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Geia sou
Kurie Proedre,
kai Qeie
maV Aleko,
opou
mprosta sta matia mou
se ecw kai
se blepw.
Megalo to
camogelo
ki
aperanth kardia,
kai panta
sou maV elegeV:
"KalwV
ta, ta paidia".
Qumamai
pou se eidame
to Pasca
to perasmeno
m olh thn
oikogeneia
peritrugurismeno.
Hsouna
caroumenoV,
gelageV,
tragoudouseV,
ki ap thn
polu sou thn cara
sta
sunnefa petouseV.
EcoreyeV
kai Tsamiko
kai
Kalamatiano
ki emeiV
se kamarwname
pou
'serneV
ton coro.
Wraia
hmera htane,
panta Ja
thn Jumamai,
kai ti
kala perasame
kai olo na
gelame.
EdwseV to
paradeigma
arcizontaV
ton coro,
ki oloi s'
akolouJagame
mecri ton
pio mikro.
Ma etsi
ekaneV pantote
se olh sou
thn zwh,
hsouna
prwtoporoV,
eiceV polu
pugmh.
Konta sou
aisJanomaste
oloi
prostateumenoi,
kako den
Ja maV ebriske,
eimast'
agaphmenoi.
MegaloV
antraV, perhfanoV,
san ta
yhla bouna,
ergatikoV
kai timioV
katafeV polla.
Paradeigma
se eicame
na
pernoume kouragio
kai panta
sou maV elegeV:
"Mprabo
poulakia mou, mprabo".
Kai kati
allo na sou pw,
Qeie pou
den to xereiV,
giati
alhJeia einai men,
ma den to
perimeneiV.
Gia sena
pwV milagame
otan se
perigrafame
se filouV
kai gnwstouV
EllhneV ki'
AmerikanouV.
"DerbenhV"
shmainei "ArcontaV"
m"
olh thn shmasia,
kai
prosece tiV praxeiV sou
san einai
parousia.
Kai gia na
katalaboune
akomh pio
polu,
legame:
San ton "Nono"
pou
'coun'
oi Italoi.
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"Sach" kapioi ton legane,
pou htan'
sto Iran,
ma oloi
tote pernousane
ekei, polu
kala.
Sebasmo
kai eilhkrineia
agaph kai
kaJhkon
didaske me
tiV praxeiV tou
ma epratte
kai kat' oikon.
Panta na
ftashV hJeleV
konta tou
kai na meinhV,
na ton
akouV na sou mila,
m'
agaph panta na gela.
S'
eucaristoume Qeie mou
pou hsouna
mazu maV.
Na xerhV
oti Ja s"
ecoume
panta mes" thn yuch maV.
S'
eucaristoume Qeie mou
pou hrJeV
sthn zwh maV.
Na xerhV
pwV maV emaJeV
na Zoume
thn zwh maV.
S'
eucaristoume Qeie mou
pou hsouna
"Esu",
"DerbenhV"
me to onoma,
stekwmaste
prosoch.
Kai twra
sou uposcomaste,
emeiV me
thn seira maV,
pwV den Ja
se ntropiasoume,
oute kai
ta paidia maV.
Giati
paradeigma ecoume,
kai panta
Ja koitame
thn zwh
pou ezhseV
kai Ja
akolouJame.
Epanw sta
acnaria sou
o GiwrgoV
Ja badhsh,
ki"
olh h oikogeneia
Ja ton
akolouJhsh.
H Elenh ki'
h Reggina
me antreV
kai paidia
pou oloi
pono ecoune
twra mes" thn kardia.
Thn Manna
omwV ecoune,
dipla touV
konta touV
mazu touV
na moirazetai
ola ta
oneira touV.
Ki"
h Qeia Basw sthrigma
autouV ki" emaV Ja ech,
einai gerh
kai hrwaV
kai ola ta
antecei.
EpisiV
upocrewsi
ecei na
teleiwsh
to ergo
sou pou arciseV
kai den Ja
se prodwsh.
Geia sou
Qeie Aleko
kai magga
"Rafine"
Kalo
Taxidi na
'chV
Derbenh
Aleko, Patrine!
me agaph,
h
anhyia sou
Louiza
Dionusia Simou
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Chicago in Randolph Street in front of
Columbus Meat Market: from left to right George Dervenis,
Alex Dervenis, Evangelos Simos, Vaso Dervenis, Louisa
Simos, Demetra Simos |
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