excerpt
When Tyne returned to the emergency room, she found that Jim and his assistant, Tom Dayton, had transferred Barry to the examining table. The injured man’s eyes were closed and his breath came in short, stertorous gasps. Tyne pulled the anesthetic machine to the bed and turned on the oxygen. Even as she placed the oxygen mask over Barry’s face, a cold dread took hold of her.
Please God, she prayed silently, don’t let Barry die. Lord, he’s only nineteen. And she thought of his family – his parents and two sisters. He’s the only son, please don’t let him die. It could be Jeremy on this table. He’s an only son, too.
She looked up at Jim, and saw him watching her with eyes full of compassion.
“Are you going to be all right, Tyne?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. But Jim, would you please see to Steve. He’s pretty upset and I don’t even know if he’s hurt badly.”
Jim reached out and patted her arm. “Sure, Tyne. I don’t think he has severe injuries.” He turned to go but Tyne’s quiet voice stopped him as he reached the door.
“Jim, who was driving?”
He turned and looked at her and she saw the pain in his eyes. “Steve,” he said. “Steve was driving. He went out of control at the bypass and hit a power pole.” He hesitated. “It’s going to be rough on him if … if Barry …” He turned away and left the room.
Wind Howl
Edge of the Inukshuk’s arms leading
wolf ’s howl brings a tempest
recalling her vocal anger
by bellowing back frosty fangs
harpoons clouding darkness
targeting Husky team, igloo
warmed up by dedication
close touch of ground and sky
bloodthirsty wind ravaging
dwarf willow, under her the
sacred arctic hare blinks his
eyes at awesome power
just above and out
from benevolent hope for peace
dwelling deep in his psyche
Painting by Patrick von Kalckreuth, Germany 1892-1970
Pastime
When we were kids
the old men were about thirty
a puddle was an ocean
death flat and even
didn’t exist
then when we were kids
old men were people in their forties
a pond was an ocean
death only
a word
by the time we got married
the old people were in their fifties
a lake was an ocean
death was the death
of the others
now veterans
we’ve caught up with the truth
the ocean is at last the ocean
but death is beginning
to be ours.
ΧΡΟΝΟΥ ΠΕΡΑΣΜΑ
Σαν είμασταν παιδιά
οι τριαντάρηδες ήταν μεγάλοι
απ’ τη βροχή μιά λιμνούλα ωκεανός
ο θάνατος ίσια γραμμή ανύπαρκτη
σαν παντρευτήκαμε
οι πενηντάρηδες ήταν μεγάλοι
μια λίμνη ο ωκεανός
κι θάνατος για τους άλλους.
Τώρα συνταξιούχοι πια
μας έφτασε η αλήθεια
ο ωκεανός είναι ωκεανός
κι ο θάνατος δικός μας
Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis
Mario Benedetti, Uruguay (1920 – 2009)
Escalation
He hesitated before the mailbox — he didn’t mail the letter.
He remembered that he had omitted the most important thing.
Now he had to re-open the envelope (carefully prepared), to edit
the beautiful letter with smudges and additions. But, no; he could
add a postscript (equally calligraphic) however would the postscript
be the most important? Yes, it’s better that way, without any
pretension and emphasis — this is a method too. No one pays
attention to the last words anymore; they’re all in a rush — the
importance lies in their obscureness. Even more so, better
with no postscript — the added omission is more precise, and
more so is silence. He looked around him and placed the letter in
the box. The bronze dog in the park didn’t see him — it was
looking elsewhere, towards the young couple kissing
at the bench.
Fires
Ancient fires still
burning inside the temples
outside the porticos
and in the center of the agora
where the eloquent poet once
orated verses before
the paranoid oligarchy
expelled him from the city
paranoia, anxiety, fearful
thought, agony in numbers
images that still come to us
and nothing has really
changed over the eons
except for the invention
of bullets to speed up
the general apathy
Manolis Aligizakis 