An Essay on the Structure of the Human Imaginative

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Excerpt

…fruits of this capacity of the Imaginative, which possesses the ability
to create ex nihilo. The only being capable of such creation–and
whose existence is both evident and undeniable–is the human
being.
This capacity of the Imaginative creates out of nothing, just
as God created out of nothing. Yet its creation rests, on the one
hand, upon the two constitutive constants of the a priori poietic
Imaginative–time and space, which are by no means physical
data and possess no material consistency (we state this without
hesitation despite the astonishment of physicists and mathematicians)–
and above all upon reason, upon what can be rationally
realised through this capacity of the Imaginative, which is itself
the essential capacity underlying fundamental scientific research.
What does this imply? Nothing less than that the world is not
solely God’s creation; that God did not create in a perfect and
singular manner; but that the world–as no one has ever conceived
it before (not even God himself, author’s note)–can also be created
by the human mind.
What reasonable person today could deny space travel, rockets, or
the virtual world, parallel to physical reality, which has been developed
out of nothing through computer science on strictly rational,
logical, and mathematical principles? The argument that “God willed
it so” we gladly leave to dogmatists and religious zealots. The realities
created by science, realities that increasingly replace physical
reality even at the level of human subsistence, are genuinely new
worlds–creations ex nihilo. For this reason, within these newly created
worlds–technology, computer science, robotics, and the like–there
exist different relations of necessity and a different kind of truth
from the ontological truth developed by Western metaphysics. What
remains highly debatable, however, is whether ontological truth can
genuinely be replaced by these new truths of possible worlds, despite…

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Prairie Roots

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Excerpt

…shot or even when they spotted a raiding party, they would raise
the alarm and fly off in a cacophony of squawking. We would
then resort to plan B, which was to destroy as many of the crows’
nests in the woodlots surrounding the farmstead as we could find
and reach.
To succeed, a certain amount of planning and equipment was
required. Since the crows built their nests in poplar trees, the first
requirement was a capable tree climber. A rifle was necessary for
“opportunity” shots in case the crows decided to attack whoever
was climbing the tree. As well, we needed a long stick, forked at
the poking end, to dislodge the nest from below. This was necessary
as the nests were normally built at the top of the tree, beyond
the point where it was safe to climb.
The raiding party, made up of two or three of us, would
quickly complete our collective chores and depart for the south
quarter section as early as possible in the morning. Nest hunting
was a springtime activity, before the leaves covered the trees,
making it difficult to spot the nests. The mornings were usually
bright and cool, and the early spring grasses and flowers were just
starting to poke through the woodlot floor. Many of the low spots
were still wet; therefore we would put on our rubber boots and
make sure our routes took us through the low areas where we
stopped to hunt tadpoles and to feel the coolness of the water
through the rubber boots. All these things added to the joy of
being young and alive.
Spotting crows’ nests was easy. Without the leaves, the nests
were silhouetted against the brilliant spring sky. Each find was
exciting as it presented its own challenges. Working our way in
through the underbrush, we kept an eye out for crow activity to
confirm a fresh nest. When the crows confirmed that the nest was
occupied, we would assess the degree of difficulty the knockdown
would present and planned our strategy as we stood under
the tree, surveying the circumstances. We considered all the important
challenges. Whether the tree was climbable was the number
one issue.

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

Titos Patrikios – Selected Poems

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Crossroads

Anger and hatred, bitterness and sorrow
for the hunched back, the shining agreements,
oh teacher, eternal friend,
I had believed in you, time has come
when our paths will separate; our paths
stand opposite each other, they rise
like wild horses. Yet I still find it hard
to decide that our common tongue
was lost forever.

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Straits and Turns

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THE BELL

…and Mike ran to change two switches and guide the engines to the
appropriate spot. The other two, Giovanni and Johnny, went to the area
of the fuel pumps and the pit, where they checked the underbelly of the
engines while Mike filled the tanks with fuel. Scotty checked all levers
and pressures as the others got busy doing their jobs. Mile noticed that
a light snow started falling and a light breeze perked up, spreading a
chill in the air. The bodies felt the cold, and the exposure to the frost
was getting into them.
Darkness had covered the yard like a shroud, and poetic images
came into Mike’s mind, which he promised himself that he’d write
some time later. Giovanni and Johnny finished their inspection, and
after Mike finished his job, the engines were driven back outside the
old shack for the rest of the work. Mike started washing the outside
of the engines, and the mechanic and his helper did their part of the
maintenance. All men worked for an hour and a half until the engines
were ready to be taken away. They all had an hour to relax and wait for
the new crew. They sat inside the shack when, from inside the cabin,
Scotty yelled,
“The darn bell isn’t working.”
Johnny, with his cigarette hanging off his mouth, climbed up to
the top of the engine to check the bell. Surely nothing looked different
than any other time, yet the bell was silent when Scotty turned the
proper switch on. The bell was needed each time the engines came to
a station and was part of the general function. However, tonight, the
chill in the air had frozen the air in the air pipe, which surely couldn’t
activate the bell. Giovanni also climbed up, and both men struck the
air pipe with their hammers, hoping that they would help the air flow,
but to no avail.
“The air pipe is frozen,” Giovanni diagnosed, and the boss said,
“Why don’t you try to warm it up with a couple of flares…” Surely Mike
ran to the shop and brought a bag with half a dozen flares. In the meantime,
Giovanni and Johnny climbed down and chatted with Scotty
inside the cabin.

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Redemption

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Excerpt

…campaigns as well as various entertaining events with the primary
goal of collecting money for the Archdiocese of Canada, which obviously
was getting richer and more powerful at the expense of the
communities.
He kept in touch with his relatives. He often wrote to them, and
he also sent them a picture or two occasionally, just to make them
feel better and let them know they didn’t have to worry about him;
he was really doing okay. Magda wrote to him and let him know she
was planning to take a trip to Vancouver sometime the next summer,
which was only six months away. His parents sent a few letters, but
Demetre and Maria wrote to him more often.
What he enjoyed most was the way the Canadians lived, their
“take it easy” attitude and their simple, pleasant outlook about life
in general. He could understand that because he knew Canadians
hadn’t gone through occupation by the Germans in the Second World
War, or the dictatorship of a junta. But what he liked about the people
the most was that they started a conversation with you at any time,
at any place, either on the street or on the bus. They could talk to you
about anything without caring whether it interested you or not.
They were mostly polite and cheerful, and they helped you if
they could. They didn’t care who you were or what you were wearing,
or how you talked, as most Canadians spoke with an accent. Hermes’
accent was profoundly distinct, so that one could tell easily he was
Greek. But it didn’t matter to them at all. He wrote all these things
to his relatives and Magda with such enthusiasm that at one time
he asked her whether she could see herself living with him in this
country. He was surprised to get a positive answer in her letter, which
came rather quickly. He was glad to hear that she had the blood of the
gypsies in her veins; she could go away from her home at any time
if the circumstances were the right ones. He enjoyed knowing that
because he was also a man who loved to travel, to move around, to
visit and discover new places and new people.

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

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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Excerpt

“Holy sweet Jesus.” Ula realized she’d shouted and clamped a hand over her
mouth. She looked at Yamka in amazement and Yamka smiled happiness at her.
Ari spent the long evenings carving a large block of red cedar with a flint blade.
He made an inlaid hnefatafl game board, similar to the one on which he’d played
with Captain Hjálmar. He dug through the snow by the lake bed and collected black
and white pebbles for playing pieces and before the winter was over, Ari taught Ailan
the Norse tactical game, King’s Table.
Bjorn used a flint knife to whittle small animals out of wood and tried to teach
Keallach and Ailan his skill with only little success. Both Brothers usually succeeded
until one slip of the blade removed a leg or a head from his carving. Keallach also
managed to slice a finger and had to be content to sit and watch Bjorn carve for more
than a month of long days and nights.
Every morning, all winter long, Fire Maker walked the short distance to the lakefront
bundled in furs. There he stripped and took his daily plunge into the icy water.
He said it made him strong and healthy and enabled him to endure the bitter cold.
Following breakfast, he either made snowshoes or went back out to set up traplines
in the woods. He brought in beaver and mink and otter for food and skins and
showed Finten and others how to cure the pelts.
Father Finten was not creative with his hands. He hated the carvings Bjorn and
Ari made, calling them graven images. He shunned the cold and only went outside
out of absolute necessity. But Finten did seem to be able to sit for hours, eyes closed,
in contemplation and silent prayer. The Brothers obeyed his calls to community
prayer only out of habit and a sense of obligation to their religious vows. They always
escaped at the earliest opportunity, seldom remaining to meditate, sighing and
groaning through his lengthy homilies.
When a blizzard raged outside the cave, everyone gathered around the fire and
Fire Maker shared stories of life in the Mandan Nation. He never spoke of the gods
during daylight hours but only after dark because a man would go blind if he spoke
of the gods in daylight.
“When buffalo are close, and we have decided to make a run, each hunter takes a
bow and quiver of arrows and heads out into the grassland, followed by women who
will cut up the animals and bring the meat and hides back to camp. They bring long
poles and tie them together near the bottom. The women load the furs and meat
across the bottom where the poles join and pull the load so that it does not drag on
the ground. When two women pull together, that is much easier than carrying it on
their backs. Sometimes they bring the dogs to carry heavy loads of animal skins but
never the meat. The dogs always know they will be fed well when they return.”
Ari asked, “When the dogs go with the hunters, does anyone remain in camp?
What about the old people, and who looks after small children?”
“The women remaining in camp have much to do. They dry meat, tan robes, sew
moccasins, and prepare the food.”
“There must be a great feast when the hunters return.” Ailan was always thinking
of food and cooking big meals.
“There are many feasts when hunting has been good. A man who gives a feast tells
his wives to cook the best food they have. When the feast is ready, he goes outside his
lodge and shouts each guest’s name three times, telling that person to come and eat.

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Hours of the Stars

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Eradinos

…Then levanter folded you in the coiled
chiton of his haste and took you to Corfu
always not quenched
teary among a thousand blessed smiles
here you’ve caught up with me waiting for you
leaning on the back of dusk and having in my hands
the peaceful sauntering of oranges and ten rain elegies.
You found me and asked me to narrate the endless
bitter story of the shepherds. Listen to the steps of the god
the doves that out of their fear fly higher and
the many cannon blasts in the castle of death
night watches, agreement of the sparrow, passing of winds.
You wander next to me with your ripped laughter
with your garment higher than your knee
as the ancient nymphs who put up tents and
sing along the water springs.
Thus you complete the miracle of transformation and
the scarlet lust becomes a movement of your long fingers
that play and tame the beasts and arouse the signs of the Zodiac
then you put Hypnos to sleep in your open palms
as the waterfalls of the night
become silent galaxies.

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Nostos and Algos

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Question
You thought you knew him
then why the gardenia sighed
and why the clock on the wall
turned silent
and why did the jasmine refuse
to bloom?
You thought you knew him
then why did you start crying
soon as he left
and why he didn’t turn his head
to look at you
for the last time?

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Entropy

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The Soul of Odysseus
I invented myself
the native of immenseness
gravity exiled me here
as if life is a path of ignorance
what can I do with Odysseus now
conscious of a tribe that commits suicide
as it stands and listens to
the echo of oars on the horizon
the miracle that endlessly
collects the dust of dreams
when the untouched diaphaneity of myths
reaches us away from him and Ithaca.

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Ugga

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twenty-one
Initiations, conniving
division of the land
soft rocks on your path
someone squares three stones
two down, one up
to steady it
a rectangular hole in the middle
vision
the first Mason
is born inside him:
the first window to the future

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