STONES

Satisfaction

Not that it was promotional, recognizable or exemplary —

the sound of the key in the lock — that sound in the night,

an idea of the shape of the key, its simple mechanism,

and the secret exactness and obedience. Of course it wasn’t

promotional; besides who would you have to promote it to?

The one holding the key was unknown and the door too.

Perhaps the only pride: that we retained that sound

while at the far end of the hall the old-caretaker passed

naked with a white towel covering his head.

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(excerpt)

After a short six month period to orient himself with the new parameters of the Canadian company and after he learned to communicate better in English Anton’s father started earning a full mechanic’s wages which was a good amount of money each month. His father stood six and an half feet up and his wide shoulders filled the small door of their house each time he went in or out. A man of true European style taught Anton his ways and means and with the help of his wife Adina, they raised a sensible and down to earth young man who took after his father and grew high like his old man.

After Anton finished high school and the University of British Columbia, in Vancouver, where he graduated in social studies, he did odd jobs, since he never bothered finding a job in his field as social worker, and under his father’s advice he applied for a position at CP Rail where he stayed for almost two years. Having a steady job he managed to get a bank loan which he used to buy his first vehicle: a black GMC pickup truck which he still drives. Having no inclination to become a CP Rail engineer at the advice of the CP Rail yard foreman and seeing no future working for the railroads he decided to try and find something else. He took a couple of courses via correspondence: an electrical apprenticeship and a plumbing apprenticeship and being a smart and observant guy he hoped to land a job soon.

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I’M THE GARDEN

I’m a garden where flowers once bloomed

filled with the joyous chirps of birds

with secret whispers and soundless kisses

at night love walked around my shadows.

I’m a garden stuck in the same place

for many years in vain waiting for a return

and instead among the flowers I’ve been buried

in the thorns my nightingales have been silenced

and I’ve been choked by the snakes

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Mini

Put on your mini-skirt

make your eyes impeccable

wear the thin bra to allow

your contours to be seen

by the hunting eyes of men

mascara accentuating your

eyelashes and please don’t forget

when you sit opposite me

in the room full of friends

to open your legs

for just an imperceptible moment

and let me admire

your concealed femininity

I vow I won’t miss it

aren’t my eyes to

be always fixated on

your exquisite topography?

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Αυθεντικός ποιητής

George, the Cretan cook, was more animated than any other time in presenting his argument “Let me tell you stupid ass” he said addressing Tyson, “say you travelled abroad, anywhere on earth and you stopped someone and asked, if I mention to you the word Greece, you know the country in the Mediterranean, what comes to your mind? The person surely will answer, civilization, philosophy, Acropolis, and arts; then if you asked the person, if I mentioned to you the word Canada, you know the country in North America, what comes to your mind? The person surely will answer fast food, hockey and beer. That’s what you’re all about here in your Canada, moron, that’s your civilization and your arts, and your philosophy. That’s who you are.”

Tyson didn’t say a word; only he turned and like a dog with his tail between his legs he distanced himself from George, the Cretan cook.

THE GATE

Excerpt XXVIII

V

At that exact moment the huge harp, leaning softly

against the breast of the chimney, was heard from

            the roof,

as if the chimney with its black peplum was

            the harpist; and

the harp, its sound, and the chimney were clearly

           visible

and with five flashes at the edge of each note they

            multiplied into comets

criss-crossing long white ribbons and

a light small woman’s kerchief floating across

the horizon, just a few inches over the harp.

Maria’s candle was out. Helen wasn’t laughing

anymore; cigarettes were burning on the ashtray.

Then suddenly the chords were heard breaking

one by one, noose after noose, small nooses fluttered

in the air, catching head and hand.

Be careful, he said, don’t look only upward, don’t

listen only to upward. The saw knows better;

the same movement forward and backward, it cuts

the tree, the second plank in the needed size: table,

           bench, bed

where we lie to make love, to give birth, to sleep;

the law of usefulness, he said, discontinued

           continuance; lasting knowledge.

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Τι σημαίνει η «θεωρία του τραπεζιού και του μενού» του Μπλίνκεν;

Βασίλης Στεριάδης, Η τρύπα με τις κουμπότρυπες

In Memoriam

To Kevin, 1983-2012

Et copiosa apud eum redemption
Psalm 130

This morning Death

came for you.

Who sent her?

You, merciful God?

There is no cliché nor verse

that may console

when Death

knocks at the wrong door

at three in the morning.

Miguel Alejandro Valerio (Republica Dominicana)

ΜΝΗΜΟΣΥΝΟ

Σήμερα το πρωί

ήρθε ο Θάνατος

για να σε πάρει.

Ποιός τον έστειλε;

Εσύ φιλόσπλαχνε Θεέ;

Καμιά εικόνα

κανένα ποίημα

δεν σε ξαλαφρώνει

όταν ο Θάνατος

χτυπά τη λάθος πόρτα

τρεις το πρωί.

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

English Translation by Florence Russo