VII
something vague gave birth to me
even if they told me
I was born in the sunshine.
small in passion and in sorrow
I walk toward something light
that will be life
and I stop…
I return…death.
I count time with what I’ve lived
and what is forthcoming
that resembles
the incomparable end.
only, look, the craft and the fisherman
can’t be separated from the blue
PARABLE
The morning star can never shine
as you when you appear, joy-giving lass
nor does the green clover have as much
as you have freshness on your sweetened lips
nor do the flowers of narcissus have
such fragrance as your lightest breath
nor does the bird know how to sing such
sweet songs as your inventive lips.
One only it can’t learn—to sing I love you—
and for this, I dare to say, another soul may die.
twenty
For the light to change
the production must pause
and the pause
must be produced methodically
Requiem
The day looks upon its face
in the crystal river as
gray dawn crawls closer
whispered promise of
fresh daybreak and life
schemes to follow symbol
her brood of twelve
herald diagnosis
our wretched dog
hunts for the symbol to
hide your fear in its belly
and fetch peace
from chiaroscuro dawn
vapors relent
fouling from
cheap alcohol
swirling in
your guts…
Young birch forests came out
from movie theaters,
the grocery stores were full
of wild fruits
and mustard eggs.
A satin castle resting on Doric columns
was erected by the pine trees
on the boulevard.
In the middle of the marketplace
oaks set up a monument
honouring the shadowless,
rainy season.
Everything was available
in the intoxicating air
of the conifers,
and white rabbits
somersaulted
on the magic carpet
of the floating meadows.
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Excerpt
…back for a while; his thoughts travel to his good, old friend in Baghdad. Ibrahim has
done well with this young man; he has brought him up the right way. It’s no wonder
the old man is so proud of Hakim. It’s no wonder that he sees him as a real son; he
even calls him his son. He gets the check and goes out to find a taxi to take him to the
Sheraton. The rest of this weekend is going to be smooth and pleasant for Bevan
Longhorn.He may even sleep in peace tonight since he knows everything is coming
together nicely for his exit strategy. His plan is unfolding like clear spring water
running slowly down to freshen up the roots of the delicate vegetables and flowers.
Monday has gone by slowly but steadily, as if time learned to go by unnoticed,
like a well-tuned machine with gears grasping everyone in between them,
stretching and pulling to the point of being ready to snap. Hakim and Jennifer
spent their Monday getting ready for their move. She took the day off and did the
packing of things one does last; Hakim also stayed home and together they organized
the details of the actual move. Today, Talal has come to help them. He’s the
one who’ll get the rental truck. Emily is there as well, doing what is necessary to
help Jennifer with the kitchen items, since men do not always do things the best
way in a woman’s eyes when it comes to the kitchen.
Ahmed has gone with Talal to get the truck.
“I’ll get the stuff tomorrow,” Ahmed says.
“You got it, already?” asks Hakim.
“No but it’s ready; it’s just a matter of going for it.”
“Alright, now be careful. Who are these guys?”
“Leave that to me. Don’t worry about who they are or why they are doing
this; leave that to me.”
They get the truck and Talal drives it back to Hakim’s apartment. They start
putting things in one by one and Jennifer and Emily tell them where to position
them in the truck. It takes about an hour and they are ready to go to Emily’s for
the rest of the things. Once they finish there, they drive to the new place and
move everything upstairs. One elevator has been reserved for them and that
makes work a lot easier. By two in the afternoon, they are done; the only thing
left to do is to put together the bed and put away the kitchen things, while Talal
and Ahmed return the truck to the rental company.
When all that is done and Talal comes back with Ahmed, Hakim orders a
couple of pizzas and they sit around and enjoy the food. The weather had given
them a break with sunny periods throughout the day, and while it’s late in the
afternoon, there is still plenty of brightness, and one can see the beauty of the
view to the west toward the Pacific Ocean.
Economic Development
More and more cars
foreign investments increase
more and more people emigrate
newspapers report the country
entered a new phase
of economic development
while maintaining its cultural ideals.
Inherited ideals always matching
the new police enforcement.
Repetitions
Repetitions
recurring events deaths
still you don’t dare
shake dust from your clothes
slit a new path for
rain the riverbed yearns for
repetitions of promises or vows
recurring battle victories
still you hold the sword
like an unspoken oracle
assume resolve in its edges
solutions in its skill to
truncate the early spring and
erase the word peace from your life
Excerpt
Harry leaned forward, simultaneously closing the open drawer in which his Tarzan book was hidden. ‘I will, Mr Anderson,’ he said. ‘Oh, Jefferson’s just called to say the copper piping’s on its way.’
‘Good. Lock up before you leave, Harry. And don’t forget the keys tomorrow.’
Ian left the office, rushed down the stairs, brushed past a boy with a grey Belfast Telegraph bag of newspapers in the hall and walked quickly round the corner to where his car was parked.
Crazy fool, he chastised himself. What a stupid, cock-eyed, half-baked, wild idea.
He cursed his cock-eyed, half-baked, wild idea all the way to Lisburn. But he did not stop nor turn around. He swung his car with violence round the endless bends of the narrow road heading south from Lisburn. Stone walls, hedgerows, fields and gloomy woods, small, reedy lakes and low, elongated hills blurred past. Occasionally he turned his head to view a farmhouse that he fancied, then jerked his eyes back to the drunken road, and swung the white-clenched steering wheel in fury, like a ship’s skipper in a storm.
Take care, Ian Anderson. You have to get to Carraghlin in one piece.
He stopped the car at a crossroads garage to take in a couple of gallons of his precious petrol ration, still in force two years after the end of the war, courtesy of the Minister of Fuel and Power. Then off again with a bound like a horse from an unbolted stable: up the long hill and down again, up and down, up and down, leaping over the rolling, rollicking, rock-littered countryside. Cresting the last hill, the sudden view of the distant Drumard hills struck him like a pie hurled in his face. At Tranaliskeen he saw the sea and the long, white line of a lapping wave. A few minutes later he pulled up outside the Seaview Restaurant in Carraghlin. He stared at the gloomy overhang of high hills, at the hunched shoulders and brooding presence of Slieve Corragh that overshadowed the town like the giant that threatened the village in fairy tales.
Ian entered the restaurant, ordered a mixed grill, and unfolded the morning’s Newsletter. Restaurants were exempt from rationing, which inflated resentment against the rich, who could augment their food allowance by eating out frequently and extravagantly. To restrict this resentment, certain rules had been instituted, such as no meal could cost more than five shillings or consist of more than three courses.
Excerpt
“Are you forgetting, Father, some of us might still like to find a way to get home?”
Finten had not forgotten about Éirinn and Derry and his home monastery, but
the fear of crossing that wild ocean was more than he could bear. Nor could he
endure the threat of marauding Viking pirates and slavery. “No, Brother, I have not
forgotten.”
Finten lied. He had not listened to anyone else’s wishes but his own. His days had
been filled with new discoveries; attempts to tell the Natives about the Christian God
had been unsuccessful.
“Brother Keallach, we have sworn to God, as missionaries, to spread the Gospel
and baptize. We must move on.”
“May I suggest, Father, missionary work takes great patience, and prayer. Perhaps
we are lacking in both.”
With that, Keallach hurried off to join the Native children in a game of ball.
Finten approached Fire Maker with the proposal that he and his companions
travel to the Mandan Nation. Fire Maker did not appear enthusiastic to have Finten’s
company.
“A man only makes such a journey once or twice in his lifetime. The journey to
my land might last five or six seasons. You will meet warriors on the way who will
not always be friendly. Some will threaten to take your life. They might succeed in
doing so.”
Fire Maker paused for Finten’s reaction. When there was none, he continued. “Are
you able to walk over mountains and through snow and cold water? If you are able
to keep up from sunrise every day until the sun goes to bed, then you might join us.
If you get tired or sick, we will leave you behind.”
“My God has brought me this far. He wishes me to travel farther, even five
seasons.”
Fire Maker shook his head but Finten had made up his mind and would not be
deterred.
The priest pondered informing the Brothers of his decision. What if they argued
to stay where they were? Would they even refuse to go with him? He decided to wait.
He’d tell them when the time came.
When winter turned to spring, Fire Maker and his daughter Yamka prepared to
leave. Rordan, Ula and Yamka began to talk of ways that they could remain together.
Rordan had grown more attached to Yamka than he’d ever wanted to admit. Ula
was like a sister to him but Yamka was so much more. Only when he faced the prospect
of her leaving did he begin to realize how much he couldn’t stand the thought
of losing her.
It was time to make a momentous decision. He had to inform Father Finten and
Brothers Keallach and Ailan that he was in love with Fire Maker’s daughter. Worse
still, he had to tell Ula. But of course, Ula already knew. How could she not? But then,
he had not even told Yamka. He’d only realized the truth when Yamka told him she
and her father would soon be leaving.
Manolis Aligizakis 