You can’t replace the whole forest with a wooden statuette on the table. The wind howls. The wind is looking for us. Its steps are heard even in our sleep, like the steps of the soldiers in the domed hallway of the baths when we took off our last garment and the orphan nakedness was left undefended; the silent confrontation, the awkward laughter opposite the certain one, the joyous curse and the curse that tries to be a curse the timid palm that still hesitates to hide — We were like children in the shrubs of steam we weren’t children so ambitious, ambitious we create our Sunday cloths out of nakedness. But now, there’s not any confrontation with you, or him, we’re all naked. We have to confront this wind. Have you lost your leg, my brother? Lean on me. When you lean on me, I lean on the world. We all lean on the world. The wind howls. How beautiful we all walk together in the wind. The sun will rise soon as we go over that mountain.
The Blind Man With The Oil Lamp It was dark, and I had taken the biggest decision of the century: I would save the world! But how? Thousands of thoughts pounded my mind when I heard footsteps; I opened the door and saw the blind man from the opposite room holding an oil lamp, and, walking in the hallway, he was ready to go down the stairs. “What does he need the oil lamp for?” I ask myself when suddenly the thought came to me: I had found the solution, “my brother,” I said to him, “God has sent you.” And we both eagerly commenced our duty.
About the Death of the Spanish Poet Federico Garcia Lorca on the 19th of August 1936 in the Ditch on Camino De La Fuente …una accion vil y disgraciado art and poetry don’t help us live art and poetry help us die absolute disdain fits all noises research comments over comments that often state the unemployed vain writers under mysterious and lewd conditions of the execution of the fateful Lorca by the fascists but finally: everyone knows that for a long time especially during these bad years they make it a habit of murdering poets
Eyebrows Time stays still on your eyelids colorless wave lapping on the shore chirp of the last bird unfolds musical notes onto my tympanums sea waves and windless emotion when the canvas turns bloody like the horizon at sundown crickets start their arias about lovemaking under the moon’s promises the tired sun searches for its bed and us two in the embrace of the evening try to turn our dream into reality
Despite all the atrocities the Indian children have experienced the system couldn’t change them, couldn’t mould them to their ways. Why these kids can’t become like the proselytizing Anglos? What keeps them and sustains them and they remain Indians? How these savages know how to maintain their beliefs and way of life despite the efforts of the occupiers and proselytizing church fathers? The only answer lies in the natural abilities of these savages to never compromise their beliefs and rights which is the only way they can maintain their sense of goal and purpose in life. And so they take the hits and strikes and punishments while they maintain their composure and their rigidity knowing well in their hearts that what goes around comes around. Truly this has kept them alive and strong and optimistic that one day things might turn to their favor. Suddenly a thought came to Anton, an epiphany one could say: he could go and take up studies as his father would like him to do. Yes that could be his future, a higher diploma and a new career. A university in the East would serve well in that respect and Mary could feel good to go with him. Yes, a new beginning. He couldn’t wait until he asked Mary what her feelings would be for something like that. ❧ Marcus and Lucas got very angry upon learning about last night’s incident and the light punishment Mr. Wilson received from Father Jerome. George was very angry too, so was Anton, but both Anton and George knew the law had to be abided and vigilante solutions weren’t the best under the circumstances. So they only hoped that the RCMP would charge the teacher and the case would end up in a court of law where he would be sentenced properly. However these explanations weren’t at all satisfactory to the two Indian youths who would like to see the guilty man…
them in soap and water and set the table with them. She had stoked up the fire in the range to prepare a casserole of scalloped potatoes and warm up the pork shoulder Mrs. Thompson had cooked during the week. Yesterday, with the intention of making a pie, the two women had gone out to the bushes north of the farm to pick Saskatoon berries. But when they came to make the pastry they could not find any lard in the house, so there would be fresh berries with sugar and thick cream for dessert. When Ben came in he looked surprised to see no meal laid out on the kitchen table. But he did not wear his usual scowl when something upset him. Taking this as a good sign – and in a moment of coquettishness – Sarah took him by the hand and led him to the front room. He did not withdraw from this first gesture of intimacy they had shared. A faint smile crossed his face when he saw what she had done with the table. “Long time since we had a tablecloth and nice dishes in this house,” he said. She hoped he would change back into the suit he had worn for the wedding but he sat down at the table in his overalls. Because she promised herself she would not start off their married life by nagging, she let it go. But she still wore her white dress. Removing her apron, she tossed it over a chair and sat down across from him. He appeared to enjoy the meal but he ate in silence, as usual. Sarah longed to talk about the wedding ceremony, but fear of invoking his anger towards the townspeople in general, and Mr. Andrews in particular, made her hold her tongue. Ben had been less than complimentary about the station agent as they drove away from the church, saying in a loud voice, “Interfering old bastard.” Sarah had quickly rolled up the truck window. She tried to think of a safe topic of conversation, and finally decided to ask about his family. “You told me your mother died three years ago, Ben, but what about your father? When did you lose him?” “He died when I was seven years old. Killed in the first war.” “Oh, how terrible for you.” “Didn’t bother me none. I hardly knew him. All I remember is that he was tall and skinny. He left when I was four…
Oh, your hair that you comb spreads around us a forest of lemon trees. We said: ‘what does he need it in the stones and salinity that choke our lives?’ Yet secretly we felt gratitude as our defeated glance moved along the inaccessible uphill until it vanished in your glowing hair. And, at night, when your hair sprang out of your white pillow and flooded your naked shoulders we felt it in our lessened loneliness.
PRAYER OF THE HUMBLE Lord, evening comes again, and I beseech You. No soul have I harmed other than my own, and those who have harmed me are my own beloved. I have accepted my own share of bitterness and others’ too. Joy deserted me, yet still I wait, knowing that to hope is sin. I love the fear of the night like happiness, though none knock at my door, only the wind. I seek no glory, humble in everything I’ve done. The rain’s song heard at dusk I have enjoyed, to children I have given laughter and petting to the dogs, the farmers I have welcomed returning from their toil. Now nothing more have I to give or to retain, nor do I expect reward: who could hope for that? Oh Lord, grace me with my death, I pray. Thank you for the plains and mountains that I’ve seen
“Coffee, soup and ham sandwiches,” she announced as she laid the tray down on the table in front of them. She handed a paper napkin and a bowl of soup to Tyne. “Now eat. I don’t plan to take any of this back to the cafeteria.” Tyne grinned at her aunt, and told herself she would do her best to comply. Their lunch finished, they waited for Moe to come from the ward to tell them they could go in again. When Tyne looked at her watch, she realized that little more than an hour had passed. Then suddenly Moe, in her crisp white uniform, appeared at the door. “Okay kiddo, you can see Bobby again. He’s rousing, and his vital signs are stabilizing.” Tyne jumped to her feet and turned to her aunt. But Millie shook her head. “You go ahead, Tyne. I’ll see him tomorrow. He doesn’t know me well, and he doesn’t need to see a strange face staring at him when he wakes up. And take your time, dear. I’m fine here.” Tyne reached down to pat Aunt Millie’s hand before she followed Moe through the door and towards the childrens’ ward. “How about Ronald? Has he settled? He was upset when I saw him.” Moe opened the door and motioned Tyne to go ahead of her. “He had a sleep, and he ate something when he woke up. He’s going to be all right … except for the frostbitten parts. Those are still a question mark, I’m afraid.” Tyne stepped through the door, but stopped when she saw Dr. Bryce Baldwin speaking to a white-clad nun near Bobby’s bed. Moe left her side and walked towards them, and the three of them conversed for several minutes. The sister was making notes on a chart – Bobby’s chart, presumably. Then she turned her head slightly in Tyne’s direction. Dark lively eyes below her wimple highlighted a pretty face as she spoke to the two people with whom she consulted. Moe said something, and nodded in Tyne’s direction. The sister turned towards her, a smile lighting her eyes. She handed the chart to Moe and started towards the door where Tyne stood.
“Come in, my son, come in. Let me introduce you to the Minister of Finance, Omar Salem. Here’s one of my sons from the United States, minister. His name is Talal Ahem.” Omar Salem looks at Talal and smiles. “He’s one of the seven?” “Yes.” “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” Talal says, and shakes the man’s hand. “You, too, Talal Ahem,” says the minister. “Should we expect you to return to your country soon?” Ibrahim smiles with obvious pleasure as he tells the minister, “He’s a chemical engineer.” “A chemical engineer, very good; now, this is a man our country needs, don’t you think, my good friend, Ibrahim?” “Yes, of course. Yes, our country needs all her talents to help her in our years of development.” “Please tell me, Ibrahim, when your dearest son Hakim will visit us?” “I hope very soon in the new year, minister.” Talal shakes the hand of the minister once again and leaves him with Ibrahim in the study. He finds Emily in the garden and they walk together for a while. She’s curious to know what happened. “Who’s meeting with Ibrahim, honey?” “It’s the Minister of Finance for Iraq.” “Well, it certainly seems Ibrahim is well-connected here.” “He’s well-connected all over the world, my love. What surprises me, though, is that there are seven of us in the United States.” “What do you mean, seven of you?” “Hakim and I are in the United States thanks to Ibrahim’s money. Now, I find out there are another five who have gone to the states for studies, just as Hakim and I did. I only know Ahmed, in Los Angeles whom I see often, but who are the other four and where are they?” “Why did Ibrahim send you if you are not a blood relative?” “My mission is to be with Hakim and make sure he never feels alone, nor gets into trouble. To make sure nothing bad happens to him.” They walk hand in hand, silently, while Talal tries to figure out who the rest of the seven could be and where they may be now. There must be a reason the old man sent us all to the United States. Talal knows he needs to find that out before they return home, so he can brief Hakim before he gets involved with Bevan and his plans. “Tomorrow we’re going to the gulf. Are you not excited?” he asks Emily.
Manolis Aligizakis 