Wednesday, 7 June 2017

Agios Marcos

I love this small village and at one time thought about buying a house here. When I talked about it with an English woman who was married to a Corfiot she said, 'don't, it's slipping down the hill.' Many of the houses are deserted. I last looked around in the spring of 2003 when I took this photo.
It prompted the following poem.


Two kilometres lie between the village on the hill
and the coastal strip where they strip
and turn and burn acres of flesh a worrying pink
colour-matched to the inflatables on display
outside the tourist shops.
In the village soft pink flowers against pink walls.
Over-ripe lemons lie rotting on the ground.
An insect hums.
Only a current of air moves through these empty homes
and an orange butterfly.
Shutters collapse,
paint peels.
The bare bones of old stonework glimpsed
through fig and walnut, peach and almond trees.
Silence has fallen like enchantment
on this village on the hill
and it is still
only two kilometres from the coastal strip.

On this trip nothing much had changed, this doorway had been  repainted, a few more houses are occupied, but the gates to the church yard were locked, presumably because the bell tower is no longer safe, and the houses that remain unoccupied are in an ever more fragile state.

I think it's a beautiful place.


  1. You might be creating your own adventure if you did decide to buy there. Places can speak to you. It sounds like this one has.

    1. The dream isn't shared by my other half, he sees only commitment and potential problems, so this one is going to remain only a dream!