F After the death of authority we waited for the king’s celebrations messengers of the lost war and the orders of the slaughtered on these sunken mountains we waited for the vow of youth forgotten along with the adventure of the roads we carry the light and the spade of the eighth day entrusted in us by the bitterness of God. With the silence of memory that consumes us wrapped like an ivy over our bodies with the music of love spent along the bands of stench with the full of holes prayer of the Esfigmeni monks.
Alexander Jannaeus and Alexandra Successful and completely satisfied, the King Alexander Iannaios and his wife Queen Alexandra go by, announced by music with plenty of grandeur and luxury, passing through the streets of Jerusalem. The work started by the great Judas Maccabeus and his four famous brothers, which was carried on afterward amid many dangers and many obstacles have been overcome superbly. Now nothing improper remains. All submission to the arrogant monarchs of Antioch has ceased. Look, King Alexander Jannaeus, and his wife Queen Alexandra are equal to the Seleucids in every way. Good Jews, pure Jews, above all faithful Jews. But, as the circumstances demand it, also proficient in the Greek language, and closely associated with the Greeks, and the Hellenized as equals, though, let that be known. Indeed, it has succeeded superbly, succeeded most surprisingly, the work that began with the great Judas Maccabeus and his four famous brothers.
In the prologue of the first edition the editor said that it was brought to Zakynthos by Cretan refugees a er the fall of their island to the Turks; and these same Cretans made it known to the islanders, since it was written in their own Cretan dialect. In that edition the name of the poet was clearly stated as Vitsentzos Kornaros from Sitia Crete. is declaration bears witness to the authenticity of the poem, its origin and its idiomatic Cretan dialect. All other following editions have this same declaration or a similar annotation. erefore, everyone today believes that Erotokritos is a Cretan poem wri en by Vitsentzos Kornaros from the eastern Cretan city of Sitia. His father was Iakovos and his brother, the Venetian-Cretan author Andrew Kornaros. Vitsentzos, was born in 1553 and died in 1613 or 1614. Based on this we believe Erotokritos was wri en between 1590 and 1610, although there are other suggestions depending on the reviewer and his sources. The first person who seriously referred to Erotokritos was the English author Leake who makes sure to inform us, with no substantial proof of any kind that the book was written two hundred years before 1810; and further on in his comments he states it was written around 1600.
He was making his way to the bar when a stranger blocked his advance. – What you want? the man said. One eye had been inexpertly sewn shut. Dis a private establishment, pilgrim. Redman’s muscles twitched. He enjoyed a good row, it was a Yukon sport, but on his first night out? Besides, the fellow had shoulders broad as a linebacker. His fists were the size of five-pin bowling balls. – You best turn around, mon. Redman feigned resignation, retreated a few steps — but then pushed into the crowd. Convinced he’d lost Cyclops, he slipped into a vacant seat and ordered a beer. A few drinks later a girl approached his table and began dancing. Her plump black thighs glistened with perspiration. She had breasts and lips women like Marge would pay to replicate. Her hair was a tangle of dreadlocks. Ace jumped to his feet and began to move. Boom-boom-ba-boom . . . Oh, yeah. The girl led him deeper into the crush of dancers. And then he was being nudged into the washroom, its only exit blocked. The girl was waved away. – What I tell you, mon, huh? Dis place not for your kind. There were machetes and at least one pistol tucked into a waistband. All attached to four very large and fierce Caribes. The Cyclops appeared to be their leader. – You a crazy motha, know that, pilgrim? The heat and the booze had caught up to Redman. He was out of gas and the odds were against him. So he approached the man with one eye squeezed shut and played his only hand. His name, he said, was Johnny Cool, and you bet he needed a job. It seemed most able-bodied men on the island did. He was in the lobby sucking on sugar cane when Redman stepped from the elevator the next morning. – The dancer, she yours? he asked. – Dey all mine. – Have her checked out. I’ll want to see the certificate.
…where all the things that are common in your life don’t exist. Imagine a place where the only things that do exist are things that are uncommon to you. You will be in a state of sensory deprivation and sensory overload at the same time. There are no trees. There are no cities. There is nothing – but there are vast numbers of insects so pray that the wind blows. There is almost no night. The size of the horizon is so immense that the prairies by comparison are claustrophobic. It will just eat away at you and you’ll have to go through the experience of feeling a bit wobbly and perhaps teary and that’s fine. I would be worried if you didn’t have an emotional moment or two. You would have to be completely insensitive.” In the weeks leading to the departure day, dozens of incidents demanded his attention. First on the list was the long-planned show at the Ontario Legislature buildings, which was a great success. The Premier steered Ken from group to group, demanding that Ken tell the stories that explained the paintings – even relating some himself that he had heard so often he had committed them to memory. Then Ehor Boyanowsky, his voice almost incoherent with excitement, called him. Ken must fly out to Vancouver right away for an emergency meeting of the Steelhead Society. There were problems with the dam project in Quebec. He drove into town to deliver a painting to London Life on Avenue Road, on the day of his flight. When he got back into his car, a large cheque in hand, he heard Peter Gzowski, radio’s “Mister Canada”, interviewing John Fraser, who was now Speaker of the House. The interview had almost ended. “So, Mr. Speaker,” Gzowski said. “Your life seems to be completely taken up by your office.” “Well, it is,” Fraser, replied. “I know you’re a fanatical fly-fisherman,” Gzowski said. “Do you ever get to do that?” “As a matter of fact, yes,” Fraser said. “This afternoon I’m getting on an airplane to go to Vancouver and I’m going to meet my good friend Ken Kirkby, the painter, and I am going to be honoured at the Steelhead Society dinner. I couldn’t imagine being in finer company. I’m just delighted. So yes, we are actually going to steal some time – but don’t tell anybody – and we’re going to have a few meetings to talk about some problems, which I’m sure we’ll resolve, and then we’re going to go fishing. And the people putting this on have some surprises for us too.” Ken chuckled. So, that was why Boyanowski had insisted he fly to Vancouver. He knew that Ken would never have pulled himself away from Isumataq for a mere fishing trip. When Ehor greeted him in the baggage area, with an immense bear hug, Ken told him that the jig was up. Ehor shrugged. “I wondered if you might be listening to Gzowski’s program.
…in dogs: some of these stones, usually smooth and round most times dissolve over time, and some other kind of stones were jagged and usually they remained in the body for a long time, and this was the kind Elvis had in his bladder. “What do you suggest we do?” He asked the vet. “Surgery,” the vet answered. Cold sweat overtook both as they recalled that Elvis was hit by a car when he was only a year and a half, and that resulted in surgery to join two parts of the right side of his pelvis that were broken. The surgeon used two platinum plates and nine screws to mend the pet’s broken bone, and it took the young animal two months to heal and feel good. The idea of another surgery didn’t sit well with them. “Is there any chance the stone might dissolve?” he asked as if begging for a positive result. “I wouldn’t say this,” the vet insisted. “There is a procedure of using a laser to pulverize kidney stones for people; is this done to animals?” He asked the vet. “Not here; I believe there is a company down south and one in Winnipeg that performs such procedures, but the logistics of doing it there are against you, you know, travelling, US funds, etc.” “I see” “What we could do,” the vet underlined, “is to put him on a sodium diet which will force him to drink more often and with the excess consumption of water the stone might be neutralized for a while.” “Perhaps this is a better option,” they both agreed. And they put the dog on that special diet. They bought the proper food and drove home. However, when they talked about it later and searched the internet for ideas, they decided to get a second opinion. They located another local vet and called him. The next day, the new vet examined Elvis and recommended a scan. They agreed. When the scan results were known, he called them for a consultation. Something made both feel uneasy. True enough, after his initial comments, the vet referred to some calcification, revealed by the scan, and lined the wall of the dog’s penis that led to his urethra.
Where do poets go at night? Why they saunter with bloodied hands? Why they go up on roofs and scream? Why they have a bandage over their hearts? Why the letters they painfully incise in paper, with pen, or pencil leave light traces of blood? Why does the swan quiver, white and virginal, spreads its wings and writes its last verse?
…flashy little palomino filly, she finished in second. Tanya was beaten by young Cody whose grey stallion left everyone in awe. Cody and the stallion put together a run that many a horseman would remember years later. To say that it was flawless may be an overstatement, but it certainly was as good as they get. “Hey, nothing wrong with second place,” Joel thought as he heard Cody’s score being announced. Reserve World Champion sounded good to him. The pretty little palomino filly had done it all. She had shown the world what she could do, and so had her rider. Twenty horses and riders entered the ring for the presentation ceremonies. As they were called forward to receive their awards, Joel kept waiting to hear his name. Sitting side by side, astride their horses, Joel and Tanya kept looking at each other every time someone’s name was called. Finally, the announcer called the fourth place finisher, and it wasn’t Joel. He knew that the buckskin had a good run, but he obviously didn’t know exactly how good it was. And then, there was only the three of them. Joel, Tanya, and Cody. When Joel was called forward to receive his third-place ribbon he couldn’t help but cry with excitement, but no more so than when his young friend Tanya was called to be awarded the title of Reserve World Champion. As they watched Cody receive the World Championship title and start a victory lap of the arena astride his handsome grey stallion, Joel and Tanya directed their horses for the gate and to the holding area. With Cody celebrating his success, Joel leaned over to Tanya and said, “You did a great job with the little filly.” “Thank you Joel. I appreciate that.” Cody exited the arena and walked the grey towards Tanya. Turning the buckskin to meet up with Cindy, Joel whispered two words to Tanya, “She’s yours.” Joel acknowledged plenty of congratulatory words as he approached Cindy. Leaning forward in the saddle, he gave her a big kiss as she wrapped her arms around him. Dismounting to stand next to her, he looked Cindy deep in the eyes and said…
Rordan waited for an answer but none came. Ula merely smiled to see his thumb caress the top of her hand. Suddenly aware of what he was doing, Rordan withdrew his hand. “My problem was with my father,” Rordan said. “He used to get the local bullies after me just to toughen me up. Then when I wouldn’t fight with them, he’d beat me with a cudgel. I finally ran away and travelled with a surgeon to the south of France. I learned a lot from the Saracen doctors in Córdoba but I refused to become a Mohommedan and had to leave Spain or be made a slave. The only way I could return to Éirinn was to travel with soldiers, so the very life I wished to avoid was forced on me. Still, like you, I survived.” It was through singing that they came to a mutual understanding and respect. Ula had a beautiful voice and their harmonies echoed through the wooded hills. Sometimes they made up songs where Rordan would sing the first part and Ula would complete the phrase: Thank you birds … for your beautiful songs Thank you sun … for your warming smile Thank you trees … for your perfume in the air Thank you breeze … for blowing through my hair Thank you God … for bringing us together Rordan longed to tell Ula of his growing love for her but couldn’t bring himself to do so. What if she rejected him and thought him strange like Finten and the Brothers did? He didn’t want to lose their newfound friendship. Ula also had her own feelings of love but, for the same reason, couldn’t share them with Rordan. After four frigid months at the hunting camp, the band moved back to their home by the sea, convinced at last that the devil ship would not return. Upon arrival in the village, the community of Natives gathered to build a special lodge for the White Devils who had become Friends of the First Light People. Through the coldest days, when muted conversations and irritating coughs grated through the smoky lodges of the hunting camp, Brother Rordan had sat apart, whittling a piece of deer breastbone with a small flint blade. Now he presented a Celtic cross to Father Finten. For the first time the young poet could remember, his mentor offered genuine praise and appreciation, acknowledging this expression of his art. Finten raised his eyebrows, smiled, and took and blessed the cross. “This is truly beautiful, Brother. I think your cross should stand above the entrance to our lodge, that all may see the symbol and be reminded of our crucified Saviour.” The cross became a meaningful emblem, not only to the Brothers, but also to everyone in the village. When Bjorn and Ari expressed interest, Finten talked about Christ. The two Norsemen had been exposed to Christian teachings as children but had understood little. Finten was careful not to overstep the bonds of friendship by aggressive preaching. White Eagle and the First Light people had their own interpretation of the sacred symbol and likened it to the medicine wheel, which represented the sacred number four. White Eagle explained that there are four directions and four winds…
Modesty I don’t want anyone to feel the beauty I hide inside me no one can come near it without hurting it. I have a bloomed lily inside me without any shadow on its face it has never longed for lust nor ever anyone has kissed it. I have inside me a rose that balances on its own flame and as a holocaust it keeps silent and blesses. I have inside me an ambivalent daisy with its ever agreeing heart that sways in its loneliness and adorns its own beauty and I have other symbols flowers and others that intoxicate yet the most delicate ones bloom only in their imagination. The beauty I hide inside me no one ever will feel if one hurts it a fool he’d be and he won’t even regret it.
Manolis Aligizakis 