It takes someone who accepts that there is a substantial space between God and man, in my opinion, to understand entirely the Melisende’s poetry, both the poetry in itself as well as compared to other contemporary Greek poetry.

Melisende begins from herself, talks about herself, and reaches with herself to a certain point. I mean that herself as an individual, that self that, as it was born it will also die, is never forgotten by the poet (at least in her work until “Γυρισμό του ασώτου”); the symbolism she often uses, is rather a way to extend to the areas of imagination, man’s agony, who seeks to transform faith to Human into faith to God, despite the technique dictated by a certain sense of beauty.

Melisende fisrt sees, and then believes; this is the path of Life-art expressed in her poetry. Initially she sees with “the eyes of her soul”, if someone ascribes to her this vision first, the other one, the perceptible one, that brings us close to the perceptible object, if someone suggests that in any good poem of hers perception comes before vision, and that thus the speeled over verses vision is not something entirely primary, entirely inborn, it means that he does not understand such a poetry, it means that he is not convinced by the only poetry coming from vision.

Initialy she see with the “eyes of the soul”, and then believes, or better say, then wants to believe, because in order to believe, in my opinion, she needs the vision to last, to last for as long as the time she will be making the act imposed by faith; but thie time has the same length with our lives, a vision in the case of a living being can never be compared with its life in terms of time; at this point is where the drama of the poet starts, the drama that climaxes in the «Γυρισμό του ασώτου». When the vision ceases, the poet does not remain empty, she is not absent from life spontaneously, she does silence, she doesn’t want and cannot erase, even for a small time that substance of hers that seeks indulgence in another form, as it seeks the deep breath in the universe; the world of senses, the world of physical wear thus reconquers her with its appeal; then, she becomes a sinner, condemned by people but loved by angels.

<...> Κάθε φορά που αμάρταινα μισάνοιγε μια πόρτα
με βλέπαν οι άνθρωποι άσχημη κ’ οι άγγελοι, μόνο, ωραία

(Φλεγόμενη βάτος, «Εξιλέωση»)]

Melisende often speaks with attitude, being a person of integrity, and thus being able to look at others and nature with a feeling that, although it doesn’t involve love, it is as wide; a feeling that helps as guess what the generating power of love would be, if we happened to experience it. The moral climax of Melisende’s poetry occurs when it glorifies humbleness originating from absolute to the extent of exhaustion awareness of sin. Humbleness in Melisende does not come straight from believing in God (after reading the poems, we can conclude that it the poet might not even have such faith), but from becoming aware of the blame, of the fact that we did not sympathize the suffering of the lowest fellow men; it originates in the deepest empathy for man, from such an empathy for man, the the name of “God” comes from an otherworldly naivety in the mout of the poet.

Melisende’s poetry does not incline towards a readable form, such as the poetry of other Greek poets, for instance that of Kavafi or Drivas. In a poem by Melisende you cannot be abstracted for a moment from a specific concern of the poet and gaze at a shape, a rythm, in the poem; if you do that, you miss the poet’s inspiration, you miss anything of interest this poet has to offer, her agony, her vision.

Her sonnets, successful or not, are deprived as sonnets of anything belonging exclusively to her; and you would never use as an example (provided that you do value sonnet’s technique), a sonnet written by Melisende, as you could do for a sonnet by Mavilis or Gryparis. Triolets are more of her style, it matches her mood better, it is coser to the song that can unstrainedly come out of her veins; but triolets as well are also something extremely tight that cannot serve as the only way forward in her state of worry, her mood to speak and being heard. Below I present perhaps the most integral of her triolets, which shows that the poet can complete what she is starting should she wishes to.

ΣΥΜΠΟΣΙΟ

Μες στις μεγάλες στράτες, ντάλα μεσημέρι
Στρώνουν οι μάγισσες κι οι στρίγγλες το σοφρά τους
Τρώνε γουστέρες, σημιαμίδια, ψόφιους γάτους

Μες στις μεγάλες στράτες, ντάλα μεσημέρι

Δίνουν κατάρες, μούντζες, σ’ όποιον δεν το ξέρει
Κι ανύποπτος πατήσει μες στα φαγητά τους
-Μες στις μεγάλες στράτες, ντάλα μεσημέρι-
στρώνουν οι μάγισσες κι οι στρίγγλες το σοφρά τους.

(Φλεγόμενη βάτος)

But these moments are few. So far, Melisende has not created a form conforming to her inspiration, something like a skeleton that might be interesting even as a bare skeleton, without flesh covering it.

Melisende does not compose, she sings, sings, without changing the tone of her voice, with the same voice as when she talks; perhaps because her greatest desire is dancing, ans she considers unessential any other rhythm, any care for another rhythm because, as she told as once, she considers philosophy a type of dancing as well. Perhaps she sees life, poetry and philosophy like dancing; and where and when she acts freely, does not make any distinctions; isn’t this an attempt to introduce metre everywhere? Is it perhaps the only way that makes her feel integrity and ready to strech towards infinity?

The sky and the earth are always there for Melisende, like a miracle; the sky in her poetry is sometimes occupied by numerous gods who however do not share the serenity of the gods of Greek antiquity; then in the light, according to the poet:

<...> άγγελοι υπάρχουν ζήτουλες και θεοί χωρίς φωληά

(Φλεγόμενη βάτος, «Τραγωδία»)

πότε είναι ο τόπος ενός μόνον Θεού, και τότε η ποιήτρια νιώθει τον εαυτό της˙

Εξόριστη των ουρανών δίχως καμμιά πατρίδα <...>

(Φλεγόμενη βάτος, «Απελπισία»)

In Melisende's poetry God resembles after all the “space of all mankind’s possibilities” as noted by Kierkegaard.

When Melisende talks about sin, she is not all that precise (precise in his territory).