Still Waters

Excerpt

be the reason for Curly’s depression? Both Tyne and Moe had been
happy about the blossoming friendship between their roommate
and the medical intern. Curly had made no secret of her infatuation
with him.
“You’re not insensitive, Tyne. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just
don’t want to talk about him.”
“I understand. Of course you don’t.” Then she added with an attempt
at jocularity, “Men! They aren’t worth talking about, anyway.”
Curly did not reply and they walked on in silence until Tyne looked
at her watch. “Hey, it’s almost seven o’clock. What say we run down
to the dairy and get an ice cream cone? My treat. Then, I’d better try
to catch forty winks before duty calls.”
Curly looked up and smiled. They linked arms and started down
the street in the fading September light. 
Two days later, Tyne returned to the residence at eight o’clock in
the morning to find Carol Ann just getting out of bed.
“Hey, Curly, it’s your day off. What’s your hurry? Are you going
home for the day?”
Curly shook her head as she tied the belt of her housecoat. “No,
I have a few things to do downtown. Mom and Dad are away, and I
don’t want to go home to an empty house.” She picked up her towel
and headed down the hall to the washroom.
Later as Tyne crawled into bed, Curly, dressed in a tartan skirt
and yellow pullover, went out to the cupboard in the corridor and
returned with her coat over her arm.
“See you later, Tyne. Don’t know what time I’ll be back, but I won’t
wake you when I come in.”
“I know you won’t, not intentionally, anyway. But don’t worry
about it; I’ve been sleeping better this last week.”
“Bye then, pleasant dreams.” She hurried out the door, closing it
softly behind her.
Tyne frowned as she settled under the covers. Curly appeared extra
cheerful this morning. But something was not quite as it seemed.
Tyne could not put a finger on it, but something felt wrong. She
wished she had offered to go downtown with her friend. She could
have slept later, through the supper hour if necessary. But it was too

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Savages and Beasts

Excerpt

Three months went by. July came with mischievousness and playfulness
from the hot afternoons that kept the city boys running
behind the ice cream truck to the stuffy nights that kept most
Kamloops residents awake and sweaty. And it was a stuffy place,
Kamloops, when the winds rejected every request for a blow
and the clouds refused to appear from the west where they came
most of the times; it was a stuffy place, Kamloops, with the nuns
and the priests waging their war against the savages while they
tried to teach them what they thought was necessary and useful
to them, alas they didn’t know that when you try to wash off the
black of a man trying to turn him into a white you only waste
your soap.
This was a celebratory Kamloops morning with the sun
half way up the invisible staff of nature’s flag when Anton imagined
it rising in tune with the joyous anthem of nature and all
the earth creatures stood in attention, from the tiny ants which
raised their antennae to the orcas in the pacific which raised their
dorsal fins straight up in the air as if slicing it in two pieces, from
the immense wings of the condors spread in salutation, to the
tiny wings of the hummingbirds balancing themselves in midair
as they gazed at the marvel of a fuchsia, and from the raised
tusks of the elephants in glorification of the rising flag to the
salutation of the injured soldiers in the muddy hutments of war,
such glorious was this morning in Kamloops when Anton drove
his GMC pickup towards the Indian Residential School before
seven o’clock.
He passed the quiet Thompson murmuring indecipherable
secrets to the shrubs and verdure standing on its two banks,
certainly in attention too, and soon he was parked at the School
parking lot. His glance went through the gap the big oaks were

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Ithaca Series, Poem # 726

 Painting by Christine Brunnock

Traces

The storm has quieted down:
the grains of sand mingled

with the algae on the beach,
traces of the raging
of violence.

But elsewhere the raging does not stop:
houses are set ablaze
there lie no algae
there lie the dead
like bloody traces
of a murderous war.

ΙΧΝΟΙ

Η καταιγίδα ησύχασε

κόκκοι άμμου μπλέκονται

με τα φύκια στην ακροθαλασσιά

ίχνοι της σκληρής βίας.

Μα κάπου αλλού η βία δεν σταματά:

σπίτια καίγοναι

φύκια δεν υπάρχουν εκεί

μόνο κουφάρια σκοτωμένων

σημαδια του θανατοφόρου

πολέμου

 
Hope

It is winter:
the chilly wind has torn off
the last leaves from the trees
which before were protection
and accommodation for the birds.

They shiver in the cold
but still whistle
because they also hope
for better times.

ΕΛΠΙΔΑ

Χειμώνας

ο παγωμένος αέρας γυμνώνει

τα δέντρα απ’ τα τελευταία φύλλα

που προστάτευαν κι έκρυβαν τα πουλιά

Τα δέντρα τρέμουν στην παγωνιά

μ’ ακόμα τραγουδούν

προσμένοντας

τις καλύτερες μέρες

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Germain Droogenbroodt
Translation Germain Droogenbroodt – Stanley Barkan