| ...................................................... |
| ...................................................... |
| ...................................................... |
| ...................................................... |
| ...................................................... |
| ................................m................... |
 |
| home |
| photos |
| info |
| contact |
| poetry |
| news |
 |
 |
| Prologue All of those things I can't say that they don't remind me of that frozen vast valley, ending at the white snow peaks, with all those birds looking alike, all of them in the same stance, perplexed. Only the cold and them. I can't say that they don't remind me of the time I passed outside the bookstore, and in its window I saw the poster with the penguins in the valley, and another close up of a family of them, the father, the mother and their baby. It was playing that classical piece which could be the best accompaniment for the stillness of the time. And when I saw you later you told me that you often watched that program with the same birds, late at night on the television, with the same piece of music playing in the background. I remember, I saw you a few years later, and in my mind had come that boat in that frame, that letter and how sad you were when I left on a trip for a few days. The bus, how many miles to the army base, you took to come and see me, and how sad you were at the way I behaved -cold- when you met me. The day I came home, suspicions about everybody... How nice we were -only- together... I saw your hands through the corner of my eye and I thought that maybe finally we had reached the era of "a few years after". A few years before! Knowing that very few books can fit into a home library and those are mainly the classic ones, at that time I had collected all those poems and I still wanted to publish them under the name �Inspirational moments of introduction�. Finally that happened, but only under the name �A few years before�. That book was based on flower halos and feathers on our heads, carnivals and witches, toys and balloons, question marks and reactions, dreams and passion, patience and insistence. |
| It was dedicated to people who are alone or stay by themselves because they can't do anything else. The most representative poems are in this book as well. Since then I have collected a lot of other material, written pages and pictures to make other books, including this one. This new, more complete book written as the years passed by and in all places around the world, without any national, religious, political positioning or service to any specific one of them, is trying to be consolation and company to all of those lonely people, to make them understand that they are not the only ones with these kind of problems. The poems have all been written over a long period of time; times when I was alone in the military sentry box, on an island or in my home, coming back alone at night. It is dedicated to all victims of the world that loneliness as a result of civilisation found them one day weak. I have only one hidden wish for this book; I want it to be read to some people who are not educated and do not know how to read or are unable for any reason, health or any other problem, to do so. Those people know only to hear and see with their heart and maybe they need it more. Examine a pack of animals. What are they doing? Nothing. It is really true. Only us, we are the "clever" and the "active" ones that must continuously do something. I thought for a few years before, that break of time and I also thought for a few years after. I was twenty-eight years old then, and I felt like I was in the middle of my life. I remembered we had shared together our best years, with difficulty, helping each other, nicely as both of us deserved it. Both of us spending endless, full hours together -full of tension always, passion, companionship, jealousy, love and again love, happiness, carefreeness ...and so on- Later on, I also remembered our fights, our games,both our weaknesses for |
 |
 |