did not understand everything the sibyls told me but am susceptible to their words. I was an apprentice to Hermes, who taught me how to listen and interpret their utterances, and to hear their messages beyond the meanings of words, by turning my ear to the earth and my eyes to the stars and the skies, and to sense with my body the movements of the winds. But as I left the island in the Middle Sea too soon, the messages they passed on to me faded yet still echo inside me in enigmas and riddles of tongues I once spoke and now translate with new words as I learnt new riddles from the seers on the island of the northern sea. And with inversions and conversions of the years, their words would move around inside me so that the voices of the sibyls, Elengou and Marikkou, would echo in the voices of the English seers, Alan Alexander Milne and Wystan Hugh Auden — where the wind comes from, where the wind goes — It’s flying from somewhere As fast as it can, I couldn’t keep up with it, Nor if I ran. I did learn with time that the winds must come from somewhere when they blow, and that time will say nothing but I told you so.
Stephanides, Stephanos, Winds come from somewhere, Kunapipi, 33(1), 2011.