Cape Tenaron by Katerina Iliopoulou
Each tree receives the wind’s gust differently
Cape Tenaron
by Katerina Iliopoulou, translated by Jackson Watson
Here the days don’t dissolve in air
they fall into the water
shaping their own shell
a sheen of separation.
A hawk flies over summer’s body
diving again, again
feeding and drunk from the fall.
There’s nothing here
but manic wind alone and stones
and sea
a senseless promise
sharpens our lust with the moon’s blade.
When I arrived here, in the landscape of endings,
the wind entered my mouth with so much rage
as if I were its only vessel
until all my words vanished.
Each tree receives the wind’s gust differently
some suffer, others—again—resist
(I’ve met a palm tree that birthed the wind,
then sent it in every direction)
others shiver all over and change colors.
I, of course, am not a tree
I sat down and wore the wind’s coat
I stooped my head and looked at the ground
through its cracks, thyme’s roots
& their hieroglyphics
struggled to enter the light.
Then the words came back.
First Published in Poem-a-Day by Academy of American Poets (September 2, 2025)
The poem feels like someone arriving at a place so stark and elemental that it strips them down to whatever is essential. Iliopoulou turns Cape Tenaron into more than a landscape it becomes a force that acts on the speaker, a place where days don’t drift away but fall heavily into the sea, where the wind has a personality strong enough to steal your words. The images are harsh and beautiful at the same time: a hawk drunk on its own dives, stones and sea sharpening desire under the moon. What feels most human is the moment the speaker admits that the wind rushed into her mouth with such fury it emptied her out. The trees become a quiet metaphor for how differently we all endure the same pressures some bending, some resisting, some trembling. And when she finally lowers her head and notices the thyme roots like tiny hieroglyphs fighting for light, it feels like she’s learning to listen again. The return of her words comes not from force, but from paying attention to the world at her feet.
I'm in love with this poem, every line, and a remarkable translation to me. I didn't know Cape Tainaron, so I checked it out--the southern most tip of Greece considered the Gates of Hades. I'm going to sleep with this poem, but looking up. Thank you so much ONLY POEMS.