The annual Greek Australian Literary Journal, ANTIPODES

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The annual Greek Australian Literary Journal, ANTIPODES is one of the most aesthetically pleasing periodicals as you can find anywhere in the world. It is not only a delight to the eye with its fabulous covers and art, but it also does not let you down with its literary content which, of course, is its first priority. Poetry, short stories, essays, translations, book reviews, and more, in both Greek and English grace its pages. The editorial team led by the indefatigable Cathy Alexopoulos (OAM) has managed to tread that fine line of encouraging young and emerging writers whilst at the same time holding strong to its tradition of publishing some of the nation’s finest writers. In recent years this has included notable international authors. This award winning magazine the child of the Greek-Australian Cultural League was first published in 1974. It is the “longest published, bi-lingual periodical circulating in Australia.” It has been rightly described as an “important archival and reference depository.” I have personally over the course of a number of years been very pleased to have seen a selection of my own work appear in its volumes.

There is Prayer and there is Music

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There are bottomless horrors in the world. This is a reality we cannot turn our eyes away from. No just theodicy, as it has been posited by our great spiritual thinkers, can ignore the “problem of evil.” It is not beauty which will save the world for sometimes there is no beauty to speak of (and it is only rarely I would dare disagree with Dostoevsky). But here I do. If the world is to be saved, it is not even through love in the first instance, for self-sacrificial love as history has indicated to us, is beyond the capacity of most human beings. If the world is to be saved at all, it will be as a result of compassion. That is, to suffer with the other. And this in itself is oftentimes hard enough, yet it is not an impossible grace. Dig deep enough, you will find it there, in the hearts of most people. Then there are those days when words alone cannot describe the overwhelming suffering and utter devastation we might witness during the course of our lives. Great writers and painters such as Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, or Primo Levi, and Francisco Goya, or Theodore Gericault, can come close to capturing and describing this anti-spirit of ruination. In simple terms, Nihilism. Things can be so enormously terrifying, particularly during times of war and violence, that the definition of humanity itself might take us into another anguish. During such hours it could seem we are awake to an unending nightmare or have been thrown into another reality of apocalyptic dimensions. During such times of great mourning and moral questioning, there is common prayer which belongs to every compassionate heart impossible to silence and there is music that can reach deep into the soul to remind us of our humanness:

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: “May those who love you be secure. May there be peace within your walls and security within your citadels.” (Ps. 122:6-7)

“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956) 

“Angel’s Glance” (2002) Another Two Poems

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Thank you for enjoying the previous poems and for your kind words which lifted my spirits. With this in mind I am happy to share with you another two poems, “A Simple Metaphor” and “Of Flowers and Candles” also published in Southerly, in this instance by Noel Rowe.[1] Noel left us far too early having passed away at the age of 56 (1951-2007). He was held in such high esteem by his peers and colleagues that amongst other things in 2015 Vagabond Press set up the “Noel Rowe Poetry Award”. He was co-editor of Southerly with David Brooks from 1999 to 2007.[2] Les Murray respected Noel deeply and even though Rowe had left his priestly orders years earlier, in our correspondence Les would still refer to him as Fr. Noel. It meant a lot to me that Noel would write and ask that I contribute to “Angel’s Glance” (62/3, 2002). Needless to say, I was humbled and delighted in equal measure. The great Australian poets I have found, and I am surely blessed to be able to call a small number of these dear friends, have a giant and compassionate heart. Not every poet is gifted with this charisma. So we should treasure those which have come to a deeper understanding of their time-honoured craft, poiesis [“to make”]. The great ones bring to us vital posts as did the ancient messengers along the Royal Road. From the foreword to this special volume:

“I had intended to call this issue “Holy Smoke” as a way of gesturing towards issues of humour and negativity. That was before I read Angela Rockel’s “Meeting the Angel” (thanks to Elizabeth McMahon for helping obtain the piece). Now I am going to call it “Angel’s Glance” and hope it catches you.” (Noel Rowe, 2002)

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noel_Rowe

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southerly_(journal)

I am delighted to be able to share these two poems with you

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I am delighted to be able to share these two poems with you which hold a special place in my small anthology. To begin with they are associated with two very dear friends who have revealed both in their actions and charity that they have come to a deeper understanding of what it means to be a poet. That is to ‘make’, or to ‘create’ [Gk. poiein]. And so it gave me much joy to have these two symbolic poems of mine received by beloved friends, Les Murray[1] and David Brooks.[2] And Australia, I have to say, has been blessed with a good number of such enlightened poetic souls. Both poems were published in Southerly. The first, Piata Romana, Bucharest, is significant to me for it was written in Bucharest, Romania, in 2011 mid-August around the time of my 50th birthday.[3] The second, From Paphos on a Showery Morning,  is also important to me for two reasons.[4] First, it was written in Paphos, Cyprus, the birthplace of my father; and it was in all likelihood the final poem that Les would request for Quadrant before his passing away.[5] I am grateful indeed to Murray and Brooks, beautiful presences not only in the context of my own life, but internationally as witnesses to the possibilities of great literature.


[1] https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/les-murray

[2] https://davidbrooks.net.au/

[3] Southerly, Volume 74/2 in Australian Dreams 1, (2014), 229.

[4] Southerly, Volume 77/3 in Mixed Messages, (2017), 171.

[5] Les made this request in private correspondence only a few months before he passed April 29th 2019. No doubt he would have had a great chuckle at the juxtaposition of Murray and Astaire! The poem was not republished as that was the last time I would hear from my beloved friend of close to twenty years.

From a letter to a clergyman friend

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From a letter to a clergyman friend [edited]:

Sent August 11th, 2022

  

“I have called upon You, for You will hear me, O God; Incline Your ear to me, and hear my speech.” (Ps. 17:6)

 “There is always something left to love.” (One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez)

 

I have been preaching to the rocks and to the beach pebbles for a long time now… some of these I hold tight to bring back home to continue where I might have left off… and also to the Pacific Ocean I will call out with its evensong in the background; and in more recent times to our beautiful dog, Mishka, I preach from the Book of Jonah, on our long walks beneath Illawarra’s (“pleasant place”) moon. A good word is never lost. There is more than one way to plant a seed. Like the designations of compassion. These days I am too old to despair, as I once did at the things taken away from me, to find myself teetering on the edge of the unthinkable. And I am also way too informed to hold out any hope for the “sublime porte”. Despite my professed brokenness, I try my best in the knowledge that I will at least leave something useful behind. Even if only for a small group of dear, dear friends and for my beloved students who have so affectionately embraced me.