Falling Star
Give me a falling star
I said,
and I shall wish
to hold your hand softly
during frosty winter nights
and to adorn you
like a little laughter
when you ache
before the unaccomplished
and coming close to me
you kissed my lips
and blinking your eyelids
you said,
I shall give you two
Night
The night is a door only the blind can see;
darkness makes the animals hear better
and he staggered not from being drunk
but from his futile effort to climb up
to the tower we had once lost.
excerpt
Maybe, thought Joel. But, on the other hand, what price can you
put on a palomino filly that allowed a young girl to find herself?
“Sorry, Mr. Schwartz. I appreciate your offer, but the filly is no
longer for sale.”
Joel quickly jogged the buckskin to catch up with Tanya, who
was way ahead of him by now. When they got back to the barn
they gave each other big hugs and lots of words of celebration,
telling each other how well they had done. Their section of the
barn, which until now was a very quiet and practically abandoned
aisle with no other horses and no traffic, all of a sudden filled
with lots of people to congratulate Joel and Tanya and take a look
at the horses.
And that was just the start. With Friday being just the first of
the three-day show, Tanya and Joel continued their success.
Tanya took first-place on both Saturday and Sunday to sweep the
show. And Joel came in as the runner-up both days.
After the show was over, Joel could tell that he had witnessed
something special. This really wasn’t the end of a show for his
young partner, but the start of her career. With her momentum,
he wondered how far she could go.
It was late on Sunday when they loaded up and pulled out of
the show grounds. Joel guided the old truck and the trailer out of
Great Falls and then they realized that they hadn’t eaten since
noon; they were both running on adrenaline. It would be a few
hours before they would even be home for a midnight snack, so
they decided to stop at the diner at the last gas station on the edge
of the city. Even though it was late, the kitchen was still open and
there was one waitress on duty. Joel’s finances were tight and he
had to figure out his next move soon, but for now, they both
deserved a decent celebratory meal.
Over dinner, Tanya said, “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask
you: as you came out of the ring on the first day of the show, what
was that conversation that you had with Mary Lou’s husband?”
“Oh, nothing really,” replied Joel.
“Come on now. You can’t do that. What did he say to you?”
Window
Standing on one foot
the disabled dark side of life
stuck on Earth by its extremities
hidden as if stolen
from the safe of the rich man
and this small window
graces the poor with its view
fresh watermelon that
relieves the conflagration of July
wind, wind whirl, twister
exquisite dance of sand
song over the shiver of waves
urchin in the shallow depression
of the rock and its schism
into which the crab hides
and staring at the above void
it delves into the eternal
and you, half-naked, stand
on the terrace to look at the last
passengers disembarking the ship
And you rebel chaser of Christians
why you fight with such envy
to return the joyous religion
and you curse and hate all things
while you chant ancient rhythms
your ancient gods and books?
Your struggle is all in vain.
These are different times, different
language, different names and
remember the Nazarene was
unjustly crucified like a thief
and like a killer; his heavy
shadow passed over the whole
earth and the eyes of Virgin
Mary nailed you on your spot.
Time will come when you both,
Pagans and Galileans, will shake
hands, oh you, wide eyed and
drenched by life’s potion
you’ll see ghosts as ghosts
and you’ll extend your hands
to grasp all that have survived.
excerpt
For now, let us have our supper; come wife get the table
going,” he addressed his wife who was waiting for their word
before she put the table together.
They ate their supper in utter silence; each in their
thoughts: Anton’s mind ran to Mary and the light touch of her
body, which brought a faint smile on his face; his father’s mind
ran to the Indian Residential School and the monsters who have
managed it up to now and the church’s role in all this; Anton’s
mother’s mind ran to the peaceful retirement they might have
come time when her husband would make up his mind to put his
papers in; he wasn’t of excellent heath either and it was time for
him to take it easy, something he despised and always reminded
her that he had no hobbies, other than reading books, and retirement
could be a fast walk towards death; he had followed the
statistics which he had studied and which never lied, as he often
said to his wife, to be sure, most of his pals at work had died
within a year or two after retirement.
Silence the queen of the evening was still in control of
their house when they finished their supper; Anton’s father
took the diary and went to sit by the window. He opened it and
started reading the entries from the beginning. Anton helped
his mother with the dishes before he took his truck and drove
to Molly’s diner; he briefed Molly about Dylan’s heart attack.
Dylan’s buddy, Simon, the drunkard was there and said he was
so sorry Dylan had a heart attack and asked how serious it was;
Anton said to them it was serious enough to make the doctors
keep him there for the angiogram that was to be performed early
tomorrow. The drunkard shook his head in disbelief that all these
things were taking place and how could his buddy get out of this
calamity that struck him.
Vereniki’s Hair
I roamed the streets
like the Jews and Gypsies
what you saw I reaped
laurel and oregano
you made my bed
amid your loosened hair and
with no horse I leaned
a goose, my good fortune
Mycenae
Ancient ground under your feet
subterranean impulses once
alive and a wild pear tree
ponders her forlornness
in the arms of wind standing
ghosts of prehistory relics
modern mysteries unfold
as you tread rained polished
stones no need for chisels hammers
anointing oil burlap
sigh escapes unnoticed
by lonely wild pear tree
by the ghosts of Agamemnon
and unfaithful Clytemnestra
Nightly Chronicle
Large dark rooms darkness multiplied
in the cheerless mirrors Endless hallways
above the world and rows of closed doors
and at the far end a statue in a raincoat Suddenly
sound of excavators red lights flashing down the street
the traffic controller was running the wood worker threw his
mask away
I had nothing to be afraid of – not even myself
I put on my child’s shoes and I limp along the wall
excerpt
David smiled. “You know, I don’t know when Gorky wrote that, but it’s the utterly perfect story for this country in 1974. Don’t you find that so much that’s told to us is a beautiful illusion when the truth is really ‘bitter’?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Paul continued. “The Soviets are like the old man—they just ignore the failures. The elevators that don’t work. The trucks that break down. The harvests that don’t yield what they expect. We visitors are like the father—we have to put a name to it, admire the beauty, then we point out that it’s not the truth. It’s no wonder they don’t really like our visits.”
“This is great philosophizing,” Maria cut in, “but I hear the truth right now.” She leaned over the railing. “I’m sure I hear a real nightingale singing.” The notes were pure and true, haunting. The group was quiet for a long time, listening, delighted.
Finally Paul got up from his deck chair. “Nah, it was just a scrubby little village lad.”
★
Paul Mercier returned to his cabin with the intention of diving into the definitive biography of the Sentimentalist period writer Karamzin that he had been trying to finish before the end of the trip. It had been difficult to find any study time because of their rigorous sightseeing schedule, though his conversations in Chopyk’s advanced class had been informative. That’s one thing about the guy, he is a serious scholar. He wondered if academia was truly his own calling. Did he really want to end up like Chopyk—an old lady, unloved by students and women alike? When they started out on this trip, he had found it easier to read the Sentimentalist view of nature in literature than to be out in the streets of Moscow actually viewing the real thing. But while they were in Leningrad something new had been emerging, something not found in books. He had been taking enjoyment from the scenery; it was refreshing. And he had even been moved by the rich, barbaric Russian history he saw depicted in paintings and church frescoes. For amusement, Paul had been keeping an informal list of the countless statues of Lenin they had seen to date, the endless art galleries, museums, and palaces of culture they had visited, but now he threw down these lists in disgust.
Manolis Aligizakis 