four-square upon the circle of the stage short and sturdy she could be a workman called out on a job unknowable behind the tinted glasses we can tell that she’s about to sing when one gold tooth gleams in the moonlight like steam out of a mbriki* floats her voice out of a coffee darkness sometimes bitter sometimes sweet but always strong as well-forged bronze and up through tiers of seats in arcs of stone up to the hushed rapt constellations

"Sotiria Bellou (Σωτηρία Μπέλλου)"

First in a projected series of poems on the great rembetes. I've started with the only one whom I've seen live.

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