Puzzle
Which luck and who’s the God
who tirelessly
during the nine months
in the uterus struggled
with such devotion
to complete the puzzle,
molecule by molecule,
of the three trillion
cells
when suddenly
you pop out
from the blood
crying
so, the void won’t
pull you back in.
For Maria
…My beloved
I love you more than I can say in words
I could die with you if you could ever die
yet my beloved
I couldn’t have loved you
anymore than the way I have.
We used to close the door behind us and
we’re still cold; we used to shut the windows and
we’re colder than before
and as I turned to look into your eyes
I saw the eyes of the neighbour whose four sons
were killed
and as I stretched my arm to find your hand
it was as if I stole bread from the hands of the hungry.
Theodicity
Down on Priam’s feet
Achilles cries
the old king also cries
dressed with Hector’s death.
At the Olympus
the immortals feast on topaz tables
with music and tambourines
teasing each other day and night.
But when dawn comes it will bring the new star
death. Both Troy
and Phthia will sink and
who cares for the undefeated castle.
Beta
…I baptized my life in the holy
loneliness of memory
that kept me
on the margins of logic
what’s the difference, you said,
from one step to another
when Hades, experienced,
exclusive and beyond the flesh,
holds a sickle in one hand and
a smiling ladybug on the other
and I said,
my only concern is the noise
of the heliotrope
during the sundown and
I baptized my life
in the holy shallowness
of the ephemeral and
in the depths of strange ideals
bloodied by the essence of man
thud of a shield on the daily axe
that balanced the echo of a bird’s
chirp with the resistance
of the tree branch that stirred too
I, the mortal, held up my destiny
in my two moistened palms
excerpt
“She’d better not be Alan’s girlfriend,” said a raunchy male voice,
“because she’s Ben Fielding’s broad.” The speaker began to laugh
again but his mirth was cut short by an arm that reached out and
thrust him roughly aside.
“Here, what do you think you’re doing?” the speaker demanded,
glaring down at the short man with the furrowed forehead elbowing
his way, none too gently, through the crowd.
“Mind your tongue, Gus, and your own business,” Will snarled
through clenched teeth, “and everybody get the blazes out of my
way, or I’ll call the Constable over.”
The gawkers quieted and moved aside, their mouths agape. Some
of them raised their eyebrows and looked at each other as if to say,
What’s eating the station agent?
Will felt both relief and alarm when he saw Sarah – relief because
she was sitting up and did not appear to be badly hurt, but alarm
because of her obvious distress. All concerns about the Agricultural
Association’s involvement were forgotten, Sarah’s welfare uppermost
in his mind.
On reaching her side he took her hand. “I don’t think there’s a
doctor here, Sarah, but I’ll get you to the Bradshaw hospital right
away.” He thrust his clip board at Charlie Draper. “Here, Charlie,
find Arnold Johnson will you, and tell him he’ll have to take
over. And tell him he’d better damn well do something about these
bleachers or I’ll know the reason why not.”
Alan put a hand on Will’s arm. “No need for you to leave, Will,
I’ll take Sarah in Dave’s car.”
Will hesitated while he considered Alan’s offer. “Well, all right
then,” he said at last. “But you’d better go and find Penny and take
her with you.”
Sarah looked up at Will with eyes full of gratitude. Not only had
he ensured there would be no cause for gossip, but he was getting
her out of this crowd who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle of
Ben Fielding’s wife’s misfortune more than they were enjoying the
ball game.
“Just wait ’til Ben gets her home,” said a woman in the stands,
“he’ll kill her.”
“More likely he’ll kill Will Andrews for not seeing to the bleachers
afore they got in this condition,” a man answered her.
excerpt
“And it will come to two sides,” Dr Starkey agreed. “As I was saying, Lloyd George’s Liberals will pass a Bill for the Protestant North and another for the Catholic South. He doesn’t have much choice now.”
“De Valera’s Sinn Fein party in Dublin won’t accept it,” Joe Carney asserted. “They won the last election by a large majority.”
“But maybe they’ll settle for half a loaf rather than no bread,” said Sweeney.
“Never,” cried Flynn Casey. He was a broad-shouldered, muscular young man, with a tousle of uncombed, curly, red hair, and the tanned face and hands of one who worked out of doors. “We want the whole loaf. We’ll fight to the death to preserve Irish unity. We’re not going to let the North fall into the hands of a weedy little bastard like Edward Carson.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Flynn Casey,” Jim Patterson challenged. He was a caustic young cynic who worked with his father as a barber in the village. Of medium height and build, with wispy, thinning dark hair, he was about the same age as Flynn Casey but as fanatically committed to Unionism as the other to Republicanism. “Edward Carson is no weedy little bastard. He’s a great leader. He has united everyone who’s opposed to Home Rule and Sinn Fein and he’s going to lead them to victory.”
“Victory over who?” Flynn Casey asked contemptuously.
“Victory over the Nationalists. Victory over all you romantic riders of the Celtic Twilight.”
“And victory over England?” Flynn glanced around to see how his parry had been appreciated. “For it seems to me,” he went on, observing that some of his audience was impressed, “that the great Sir Edward Carson is prepared to fight even the British for the worthless privilege of remaining British.”
“Should it come to civil disorder,” Dr Starkey began, “the British government will be powerless to cope with it. The officers in the British army have already made it clear that they would choose dismissal rather than obey an order to put down Protestant resistance in Ulster.”
“So we’ll win our fight for freedom from Irish Catholic domination by not having to fight it,” Jim Patterson said awkwardly. “England will back down. Dr Starkey is right. Separate treaties for the North and the South. England won’t throw us like scraps to the mangy dogs that slobber round the table legs of Dublin and Rome. We’re determined.”
VI
Images unfold as in the nebula’s memory.
The book bemoans the primordial
sin named virtue in the ecclesia
ancient murder eulogized in the
earthen altars and itemized and barcoded
like a wet dream, a blackened breeze
or a soiled carnation decorating
the primeval sin repeatedly graced
and sanctified by the greedy ghetto.
Yet four Golden Gates to Heaven
still stand firm while dividing
into castes, races, and creeds,
still enforces control in misusing
assets and generating misery and dread.
The Golden Gates to Heaven
meant to be like beacons for the
darkest nights of the
troglodyte’s dreamscapes. The Golden
Gates to Heaven guiding in all
pompousness, as always, leading in
shallow grandiosity and banality
to a fast-approaching oblivion
a path that they cannot escape.
AMBUSH
I’d always wait by the sea
like other times, like yesterday, like years ago,
phoenix to spring from the ashes again,
a lily among the coldest snow.
To see my reflection in an image
by the shore, longing for the unknown
that comes like the numbness of a sick man
yet slides down to the cane field.
Smoke that rises from the far-away chimney,
a boat arriving without a captain,
without hair waving in the air,
a dream of love, the first and last.
Which dream’s shadow you’ve
tried to catch, which
beliefs you wish to establish,
which altar and which world?
Your violin pulls us upwards
beyond all dreams and
with our roots deep in the soil
we connect to mother earth.
Leave the dreams behind,
tune your ears listen to nature
solve the riddle of the rose and
make a Cybil out of a cypress.
Strike Chimera mercilessly
life is just a dream, let
your violin bring about
harmony among this truth.
Where is truth? Are you
perhaps lost in deep thoughts?
You can find the source of life
only inside you, oh human.
excerpt
Today Eteo was walking alone because Ariana had spent a little
more time than usual with her mother. This gave him a chance to be
alone with his thoughts after the eventful afternoon with Rebecca the
day before. As always, his attention was attracted by the movements
of the sea swells as they broke against the rocks and turned them into
shining marbles. A faint smile appeared on his face, but his thoughts
soon ran in other directions. He thought about Richard’s problematic
drilling project, Mario’s new company, Nostra Ventures, Rebecca’s
beautiful body, and far on the other side of the globe his parents in
his beloved Crete. They had finally moved back there soon after Eteo
emigrated to Canada, selling their house in Athens where Eteo had
lived for more than ten years and building a new house in the village,
a small, functional house where the two of them could live the relaxed
life of retirees. His father had also bought a small boat, which
he used for fishing and to ferry tourists from place to place along the
Spatha Peninsula to earn extra money. They also took part in the
gathering of the olives and in that way earned all the oil they needed.
Eteo’s mother kept herself busy with traditional embroidery on a
loom, making beautiful articles for her grandchildren. And when
busy with her embroidery, Eteo imagined, she often thought about
the foreign land where her son lived and her eyes would fill with tears
and her heart with a tightness that could only be relieved by gazing
at the dark blue sea opposite her balcony and anticipating the day
when her son would come back home from that sea.
Imagining this, Eteo’s eyes got teary as he walked with the serene
waters of English Bay on his left, passing gently across the sand where
a few fishers worked their nets. He could see that they were probably
Vietnamese, new immigrants enjoying the warmth of the afternoon
and the smell of the sea while fishing for smelts, which were coming
near the shore to spawn. Eteo remembered how he used to do the
same back in his early days in Canada with his friend Zachary. Where
was Zachary now, he wondered.
On impulse he sat on a log and watched the fishers and their nets.
Suddenly he noticed that one net was shaking violently from one side
to the other as if a larger fish was caught in it.
Manolis Aligizakis 