A statue in Corfu Town
Strolling through Corfu Town looking for lunch,
Here’s something promising –
A pastel-coloured café, stylish –
And vegetarian! that’s unusual.
It makes up one side of a small plateia;
In which, centre stage, we see a life-size statue,
Also beyond the commonplace;
This bronze holds no heroic pose,
But crouches, or maybe genuflects?
No, it’s more casual, the young man’s hands
Hanging limply over each raised knee –
We later learn the sculptor based it
On a seaside snap.
We read the dedication.
“Kostas Georgakis, native of Corfu,
Died aged just twenty-two in Genoa;
Autopyrpolithiké ” –
Burned himself to death,
In terrible protest and despair
At Greece’s subjugation
By fascist colonels.
Disturbed by this lad’s sacrifice,
We pause until tears have eased,
And only then proceed
To enter the bright café,
Somehow emblematic
Of this modern Greece,
Free and democratic.
For Kostas Georgakis
Brother, though the city all around us burns,
And we must leave,
Let us force ourselves to linger
By this fresh grave,
In short and silent tribute to a darling friend
To us and Greece
Terribly provoked to render
His sacrifice.
Sister, as the city crumbles into ash
Like our dear friend,
Let us leave ourselves to linger
Until the end.
Brother, though the unequal battle here is lost
That evil won,
We must weaponise our anger
And carry on.