The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

…she died of consumption, God rest her soul. Flynn was well up in his teens by then and already working in McGuigan’s quarry. But he grew up with a chip on his shoulder as big as a boulder and a fierce hatred of the English that he’s nurtured for years.”
“He needs to learn the lesson of forgiveness,” Padraig remarked.
“Forgiveness is a rare commodity in Ireland, Padraig,” Mother Ross said. “Irishmen never forgive and never forget. That’s their nature.” She paused, staring into the hearth. Then she asked, “What about Caitlin?”
“What about Caitlin?” Padraig repeated with more feeling than he meant to show.
Mother Ross looked suspiciously at Padraig, but gave him no inkling of the thoughts that rushed through her mind. “Is Caitlin ready to be married in church?”
“She is now, yes,” Padraig replied with a touch of petulance.
“Finn didn’t know, did he?”
Padraig walked across to the door and leaned against the wall beside it. His shoulder and his broken ribs were painful. “Oh Finn knew all right,” he said, but his face had an uncomfortable, guilty look.
Mother Ross made no comment. She felt that Padraig and Caitlin together had indecently betrayed the man who had been closest to both of them. And yet she could not see how anyone but Finn MacLir himself could live outside the Church. She was happy for Caitlin, but disappointed at the same time. “Then they won’t have to wait long before they can be married.”
“They have only to name the day.”
Neither Mother Ross nor Padraig spoke, and they were still silent when voices and footsteps were heard outside, and doors opened both in the front and the back of the house.
“I still think we should have buried his wine alongside of him,” someone said.
“Yes, think how happy he’d be if he woke up one night and found it there beside him.”
“He wouldn’t want to get out.”
“Not till the bottle was empty at any rate.”
“Bottle be damned; he drank it by the barrelful.”
“What an old sot he was.”
“Ay, but you don’t find his likes below every hedge.”
“I’ve heard many a woman between Iceland and the Isle of Wight say the same thing about him.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

The Qliphoth

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In any case, she suspects that in recent months he became bored with the
whole techno consumerist thing, because she no longer heard the all-night jingle
of marathon game-play with Doom Wizards of Gorm, he abandoned his
painful experiments with sampling and sequencing old guitar riffs, he now longer
nagged her for a loan to buy a faster modem or a bigger hard drive. And
he’d play the drawling media philosopher over breakfast, displaying a growing
impatience with the digitised world-picture. “The trouble, you see, with Virtual
Reality, Pauline, is that it will all be designed in Tokyo. You’re going to
walk around in a Japanese executive’s dream helmet . . .” She’d ignored such
performances—typical of his late night TV manner, which she’d found so irritating
when she was trying to cope first thing in the morning with lesson plans
and job applications, an overdraft and and mental overdrive. But discs and cartridges
are littered all over the table, the floor, the bed, as if he’d tossed them
away in disdain, packages of memory that had somehow failed him.
His books are stacked on the sagging shelves behind the bed. Many were
actually hers, donated to help him with A levels, like all those Pelicans on sociology
and history. Of course, he never opened them. And he’d only done half
the literature coursework properly, and then perversely he’d concentrated on
a few obscure corners, like symbolism in Yeats, while flippantly trashing
George Eliot or Jane Austen in random bursts of invective, not for any clearcut
ideological reason. Lucas wouldn’t read systematically, he’d rather drift
around CND jumble sales trawling for dog-eared things like Colin Wilson’s
The Outsider or those poems of mad skinny Patti Smith, or coffee-table books
on Salvador Dali.. Here’s Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges. ‘These metaphysical
detective stories take the reader through the forking gardens of Time and
Space!’ Forking hell . . .
She sprawls across the bed for a closer look, across crumpled paper tissues,
yellowing vests, that horrible black shirt with eagles on the buttons, his broken
sunglasses . . . She never bought an ex-library copy of The Rosicrucian Mysteries.
Or The Ufo Encyclopedia. And what’s this disintegrating edition of Morning
of the Magicians doing in her flat? A signed copy. ‘Nick Beardsley, London,
1966’. She can hardly bear to touch it.
‘The black tide of occultism.’ That’s what old Daddy Freud called this yuck
stuff. This is a residu, a glistening slug-trail excreted by Nick, and it looks as if
it’s sticking to Lucas. She’d thought she’d got rid of all Nick’s ticky-tacky rubbish.
And here she goes again, hurling it across the room, any moment now
she’ll find some more lurid trash. They’re all the same, stupid schoolboy men.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508

Prairie Roots

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excerpt

…farmer’s crops in preparation for a lean winter. We would spot
coyotes loping across fields or chasing down field mice. The magpies
became even noisier and the crows would start bunching as
they began their preparations for the long flight south.
But most impressive was the sight of waterfowl as they flew
overhead, the geese in their perfect formations, noisily announcing
their over-flights, and the ducks, less organized but in even
greater numbers than the geese. They came by the thousands, and
when low, we clearly heard the flutter of their wings.
School classes lasted forever and it was difficult to get serious
about homework when there was serious activity waiting for us
outdoors. We would hurry home to see if threshing had started
and to head out to the threshing site and watch the activity. After
the harvest, the days quickly shortened and the fall season intensified,
with the cold rains of mid-autumn inexorably turning into
the snows that would blanket the earth for the next six months.
The first morning after a major snowfall was an exciting time,
with new winter clothes donned and new pathways made to
school. We would be careful about these first paths, taking
shortcuts but also keeping to areas sheltered from cold north
winds. These paths were followed all winter and we would walk
single file, occasionally backwards if strong head winds were
blowing. The school was directly east of our home and we often
walked facing a rising sun which, pleasant as it was, had no
warmth radiating from it and frequently had a pair of sundogs,
the harbinger of even colder and stormier weather to come. We
noted all such phenomena and asked our parents about them after
school.
After major storms the winds cleared the softer snow away,
leaving the packed snow of the paths exposed and raised in the
open fields and pastures. Elsewhere, through woodlots, the new
snows covered the paths and we made new trails to follow. After
major storms the banks of hard packed snow at the edges of
woodlots, where the wind swirled and piled the snow, would
tempt us to climb and explore before moving on towards school.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562900

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897920

Redemption

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A few days later, Demetre and Hermes departed for Athens. As
they got in the taxi for the trip to the port of Souda, Hermes Dragakis
looked at the village, at the square with the puddles where children
played. When the taxi drove farther away, he turned and looked again
from afar and suddenly had an inexplicable fear for his people. He
was leaving behind a part of his soul, here, in this village where he
was born, with all the rocks and ruggedness, the simple people, the
brandy and mushrooms, and Uncle Gerry’s openhearted warmth.
Hermes promised himself that one day he would return to stay
longer; to live with them, to be reborn among them, just as every
living being is reborn. Then again, this fear overtook his heart, and
he turned to look at Demetre, who was absorbed in his own thoughts.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4172538#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763858

Twelve Narratives of the Gypsy

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Before we existed the Earth
lived, before it spread its
plains it was alive with its
knowledge and wisdom;
in the primeval days water
and fire fought many
wars over the soft body
of this earth, and the two
enemy elements made
peace and lived together
and the world shone its joy
and purpose; you, oh
harmony, and the seed of
the great father stirred in
the womb of the endless sea
which gave birth to us too
and when the verdure of
the forests glowed with life
the world assumed a joyous,
unimaginable beauty. And
when man walked upon
the Earth his mind
shone like a new sun
that fogged the heavens.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D3LP7NW6

Titos Patrikios – Selected Poems

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After the Demonstration

Protect yourselves from the panic that
spreads soon after blood stains the asphalt
protect yourselves from the club of the cop
the accusation of the informer
from the indifferent crowd
who will fill the streets again
protect yourselves from the spring, the following summer
the travel arrangements and personal reveries
from the two future husbands
who argue where the dead people were laid
protect yourselves from the poets
who steal verses from graves of the unknown.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562972

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08L1TJNNF

In Turbulent Times

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excerpt

‘Susan, that’s unkind.’ Clifford considered Susan rather trying at times.
‘It’s also unkind of you two to get on to shop-talk when we’re out enjoying ourselves,’ Susan countered. ‘Ask her to join us. Let’s give her a good time.’
‘Maybe I will in a moment.’ Clifford took a thoughtful sip of his brandy.
‘I suppose Liam’s looking after the children,’ said Fiona.
‘Or Nora’s mother is,’ Clifford suggested.
‘You mean that pretty girl has children already?’ John could not conceal his surprise.
‘Two of them,’ Fiona answered. ‘A boy and a girl.’
‘She didn’t waste any time,’ Ian remarked.
‘They’re young, of course,’ said Fiona. ‘Four years and two and a half, I believe.’
‘Don’t look now, Ian Anderson,’ said John, ‘but Clifford has just gone to get you a woman: a dark beauty of black, remorseless tragedy.’
‘You’re drunk, John Simpson,’ Susan said. ‘How many sneakies did you have at the bar?’
‘Listen to her, Ian,’ John said. ‘Not a month married and she’s nagging the hell out of me already. Are you sure you really want a wife?’
‘Very sure,’ Ian replied firmly.
‘I don’t imagine that you would be nagging Julian, Catriona,’ John said, ‘when you are only a month into your marriage.’
‘I’d wait for two months,’ said Catriona. Like Ian’s, her voice too was richly seasoned with Fiona’s lost ‘oats and haggis.’
‘You’d better watch that one, Julian,’ John warned light-heartedly.
‘What Clifford didn’t tell you,’ Fiona began, leaning forward to speak in confidence, ‘is that he delivered that young lady—at her birth, I mean—when he was barely two months into his internship. It was a very difficult placenta previa delivery that required a C-section under the most primitive conditions. He almost lost the mother and the baby too.’
‘Good old Clifford,’ said John. ‘A born surgeon and one of the best we have in the country.’
‘But the sad result of Clifford’s first major surgery,’ Fiona said, ‘is that the mother was left unable to bear children. Clifford blames himself for that. Unfairly, I think. Given his age and inexperience at the time, he did well to save the lives of both the mother and her baby. But he rarely talks about it. He has received both high commendation and strong condemnation from the local doctors in the area.’

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Introspection

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Delta

I walked to the far ends of the world and
talked to the northern and southern races
about elegance and freedom
that enhanced
the ultimate perfectness
for self-discovery
and acceptance and
they all laughed at my face
such a selfish man I was
that they called me names
foolish and a laughingstock
of my days and when
I stood guard
at the western borders
I was taken as a lunatic
like all other defenders
of our ancient traditions
which appeared through cracks
of my mind
past, forgotten days
and discarded months
to unforgettable years when I talked
to the dead soldiers and
became merciless when
I stood at the far ends of the world
as time was allotted
only once and only once
I had the chance to
turn injustice into justice.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763777

Straits and Turns

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excerpt

THE CUSTOMER

“Drive…”
Costa started the engine.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Drive,” the man repeated.
The same word echoed in the small space of the car when the customer burped an out-of-this-world stench of half-digested food, alcohol, and body odour, which brought a sudden and before-its-time asphyxia. Costa started driving around the block trying to locate a police car, which was never around when needed. Then he turned towards Howe Street, as if a revelation, Costa’s mind ran to where the solution to his problem was. Surely, he turned at the first corner and started heading south on Granville Bridge while the reflections of headlights on the wet asphalt blinded him; however, that was the least of his concerns, and although half asleep and inebriated, he raised his head occasionally and peeked out of the window. Again, he burped, adding to the driver’s breathing issues. Costa lit a cigarette; the smoke was better smelling than his foul mouth, and wishing to reaffirm where they were going, he asked again:

https://draft2digital.com/book/4250839#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763866

Wellspring of Love

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Jeff straightened up and took a deep breath. “Maybe you’d better
go in now,” he said hoarsely. “She was asking for you earlier. She’s in
room one.”
Tyne patted his hand and got to her feet. “I’ll let you know what
Dr. Dunston says, Dad.”
A brief nod was the only sign that he heard her. She turned away
and headed for the corridor leading to the two private rooms in the
building. She was not surprised her aunt had been put into a private
ward; after all, no one deserved it more. Millie Harper had been a
tireless advocate and worker for the hospital since before it had been
on the drawing board. Tyne remembered her own brief stint on her
aunt’s committee during the building year. She had come home from
Calgary to nurse her dad back to health following his stroke, and
Millie had recruited her for the Building & Furnishing committee.
Since then Millie had been a fixture on the board of the Emblem
hospital, at times serving under Morley’s chairmanship.
Tyne stopped before the door which bore the room number and a
plaque with the name of the donor who had furnished it. She could
hear low voices which stopped when she tapped lightly. The door
opened to reveal her mother, an anxious look on her pale face.
“Oh, Tyne, come in. Dr. Dunston is here.” She stood aside to let
Tyne enter.
Grant Dunston raised his head. “Hello, Tyne.” Then he turned
his attention back to Millie Harper who lay quietly in the bed, her
eyes closed.
Tyne was conscious of two disturbing thoughts, the first that Dr.
Dunston had seldom greeted her in any other way than with his usual
cheery, “Hi, sis.” Her second thought was that the woman in the bed,
frail and ashen-faced, was hardly recognizable as her beloved aunt.
Her heart in her throat, Tyne made her way to the bedside and
gently took hold of the cool hand that lay motionless on top of the
covers. Millie opened her eyes and a flicker of a smile made her lips
twitch.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562917

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327