Swirl
Your words arrive swirling
dangle from my eardrums
like notes from sky
of honey
as the bee swims emotion cascades
and ascends like child’s play
in trampoline ripple and soothe
the breeze song between petals
your words
a simple iamb
old syllables are
hills and valleys in the countryside
coming and going
gifting me with charms
Painters and their Landscapes
I, The student of Konstantine Parthenis
Nikos Engonopoulos
if you wish to copy El Greco
focus your mind
on the Cretan mountains
II “Le Fils de L’ Ingenieur”
Georgio de Chirico
if you wish to copy
Giorgio de Chirico
don’t forget
the shores of Thessaly
On the child’s bed pillow shining shells
in his sleep azure voices of the ocean
the Sirens with lyres made of fish bones
Oh Goddess of the distant island
if the stalactites hymn the sleep of
pale serenity in your pelagic lair
and if your gleaming breast contends
the blue circle of starry sea
and if it is a blond crown of honeybees
around the fountain where light pierces imperceptibly
scenting shadows of all-great trees –
you know the crafty Odysseus will leave
Laertis will wait in vain
with his dog above a rock
As He appeared naked from the sea
golden from the dawn water
with his erected phallus depicted in the sun’s cornice
Nausica and the awestricken virgin girls hid
behind the trees
their naked soles vacillating
a crowd of doves made of white light
fluttered over the green reflection of grass
…Out in the sunshine close to the sea
our evening table is austere
Spring-moistened wheat bread in wine
the moon secretly drew scenes
from Troy onto
the Hellenic clay pitchers
Mother you knew that we would leave
and you salted our supper with tears
stooping and sad under the stars
and on the island shelves the girls who
got engaged to Odysseus sighed
excerpt
the process. Then she went to the bathroom and emerged a moment
later looking professional and businesslike again. She sat down next
to him and talked business as if nothing but business had ever happened
between them. Eteo listened carefully and agreed on what
needed to be done for his new company, now registered under the
name Alexa Ventures. While Rebecca talked business, Eteo played
with her combed-up hair and neck and ears to the point of giving
her goosebumps, and Rebecca loved every moment of this but without
giving any hint of her awakening desire.
But when she had finished talking business, she let him undress
her to nothing and let him place her on top of him and ask her to
make him feel as wild as he had felt earlier, and Rebecca did her best
and rode his firmness deep inside her and like an amazon gave him
the utmost sexual pleasure once again. They both went to heaven and
back numerous times until they couldn’t have anymore, and then
rested in each other’s arms until the time came for Eteo to drive to
North Vancouver and Rebecca to her husband and child in Kitsilano.
Over the next few days Eteo’s work kept him busier than ever.
Golden Veins was getting a lot of attention, and its price had risen
into the fifties. This enabled Eteo to unload some of his clients’ stock
and use the funds to buy shares in Wheaton for them. Platinum Properties
was also doing very well, trading at a dollar and a half now and
with good volumes every day. John from the trading desk had gone
in and out of it a number of times as the stock moved upward, and
Eteo had sold many of the shares he held, getting good profits for his
personal accounts and his clients. Even Helena made a few dollars
on Platinum Properties. This delighted her, since as a conservative
girl she usually stayed away from risky penny stocks, except of course
when Eteo advised her to take the plunge.
One morning Eteo asked Mitch to meet him, and within half an
hour, he entered Eteo’s office, wondering what this was all about. He
didn’t have to wonder for long.
“Have a seat, Mitch,” Eteo said without any preamble. “I had a
meeting with Rebecca Horton. She has put the wheels in motion for
a new company incorporated for me with the name Alexa. You’ll
serve on the board of directors along with Peter, the engineer…
excerpt
We hobbled jerkily, as directed, like some pathetic, three-legged
creature, until gradually we learned to swing our shared leg in
unison. In this humbled manner we were brought before the war
council of caciques.
The caciques were seated in a circle, with Guacaipuro given no
special place of honour. I was surprised to find Baruta among them.
Apacuana later told us that he had recently been made a cacique and
his body still bore the scars of the tests he had completed.
These were men who exuded confidence and authority, not the
kind of men one would cross unnecessarily. Their reputation for
bloodthirstiness coloured my apprehensions. I wondered if perhaps
we were meant to be slaughtered before them, as some sort of
ceremonial prelude to war.
I knew as well as Tamanoa that these Caribs were warriors,
conquerors in their own right. For generations, they had moved
from the south of the mainland to the northern coast, fighting their
way and conquering the gentler Arawaks.
Caribs fought among themselves, too, and made trading
incursions to the islands north of the mainland from which they
obtained not only goods, but also women. Not surprisingly, such
men were not inclined towards plans for surrender.
Though most of these men wielded authority over vast expanses
of land, Guacaipuro was chief of six other villages besides Suruapo.
Consequently it was the military strategist Guacaipuro who had
summoned the caciques of seven neighboring nations.
Whispering, Tamanoa quickly explained the gist of the
situation: Losada had founded the city of Santiago de León de
Caracas upon the settlement of San Francisco, and for the natives,
this had but one meaning: war.We were present because a cacique
called Mamacuri from the coast was arguing in favour of using the
shaman of the white men to obtain inside information about
Losada and his party.
Other caciques, like Paramaconi, great chief of the Toromaynas
from the valley where the new city had been founded, were more
inclined to kill me. Catia agreed with Paramaconi.
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XIV
Come, sit near me, my sweet emotion
and let us talk about all the non-daring
who shiver in front of our love
come let us both fight for their freedom
so they’ll purify their lives this holy dawn
come and sit next to me
by the front step of our house
let us glance at the first sun rays
as they spread over the expanse
and our love becomes a blessing
and endurance and eternity
come and sit next to me
we both shall give life to the next
generation of immortals
come, let me smell the depth of your body
that with such passion and endless vividness
we shall give birth to the new immortals
excerpt
“Who knows?”
Paul and Jennifer locked stares. “You still want to do this, don’t you?” she asked him.
“Yes,” he nodded. A minute passed.
Finally David spoke. “So Paul, if you’re really going to leave, can I have your leather jacket?”
★
Breakfast was chaotic. At first, Ivan Nikolaevich announced to the diners that their departure would be delayed while they awaited the delivery of food supplies. Almost immediately following his speech, the riverboat moved away from the dock and waiters appeared with an adequate spread of hard-boiled eggs, bread and sausages for the buffet table. Ivan Nikolaevich appeared untroubled by this contradiction, and after fourteen days in the Soviet Union, the guests also treated it as normal. Jennifer, Paul and David helped themselves to the breakfast and sat together, saying little, distracted by their thoughts. There was no doubt in Jennifer’s mind that Paul would do what he wanted. Apart from anything else, she realized how much she would miss him—and not just for his jacket, like David.
The jacket. Huh. It’s very distinctive, thought Jennifer. She visualized the maroon and white leather college jacket with the appliqued letters “UV” for University of Vancouver on the sleeves. Her thoughts were already leaping ahead to the day that she and the others would have to cover up the fact that Paul had left the group. If someone else were to wear that jacket—someone, for instance, like that American, Frank, there—with the same haircut and height, he could be mistaken for Paul from the back. David glanced up at that moment, caught Jennifer’s look and also stared at the young man from Tennessee. Thoughts swirled, cascaded, in Jennifer’s consciousness: the jacket, the view of the haircut, something she had to remember, something she had promised in a dream. What was it?
“You know,” David spoke, his mouth full of toast, “that pretty boy from Tennessee is a real nice guy. I think he’s got his eye on you, Jennifer.”
She silenced him with a glare and went on with her breakfast.
excerpt
Eagle Talon and his son, Honiahaka Little Wolf, emerged from the forest with a
magnificent buck slung from a sapling pole between them. The two men paused to
rest and massage their aching shoulders. Below them stretched the mighty water,
birthplace of the sun and home to the great creatures who blew fountains into the
air. It was also home to the friendly man savers.
As Eagle Talon looked far out to sea, he remembered how his youngest son, Kosumi,
was washed out of his canoe by a savage wave. He thought he’d lost his son to
the sea, but two man-size sea creatures, those who blew fountains of water into the
air, came to Kosumi and swam him safely to shore.
From that day forward, the Nation declared these man-savers Friends of the First
Light People. Never again did they hunt them for food. Since that time, the sea mammals
leapt from the water to greet the young men whenever they sailed out to spear
the white fish or to dive for the clawed sea-cleaners.
Eagle Talon whispered his thanks once more for his son’s life. Then he whispered
his thanks to all the creatures of the sea that fed his family and his people.
Little Wolf saw it first and crawled on all fours to the edge of the embankment for
a better look and beckoned his father to join him. On the beach below was a great
canoe, big as a longhouse. Strange, white-skinned men with hairy faces shouted at
one another and banged at boards of split pine, inside. Outside, men were painting
the frightful beast whose head was a double serpent totem of scarlet, blue and green.
Eagle Talon and his son watched in awe. They must return quickly to the village.
Surely the sachem, White Eagle, would have an answer to the appearance of such
strange visitors.
Since Eagle Talon and his tribe greatly respected White Eagle as a wise elder, a
confederation of villages elected him sachem. He governed the people of his district,
upheld the law, allocated farmland according to the size of each family, collected
tribute, provided for widows and orphans, and taught all boys up to the age of sixteen
the arts of manhood. He also acted as arbitrator, whenever war threatened.
White Eagle sat erect. His grey hair flowed unadorned in long shiny strands to
his lower back. He wore a beaded doeskin jacket, pants and moccasins. The sachem
raised his hand to call for calm and addressed the gathering of braves.
“My brothers. These strangers have surely come in peace. Let us welcome them
with gifts of food, as is our custom. We will honour them with song and dance at our
Lodge Fire and celebrate Broken Wing’s success in the hunt. If they allow us, we will
help them repair their strange craft that they may soon be on their way.”
The gathered braves turned to one another in discussion. Then they voted by a
show of hands to follow the sachem’s advice.
White Eagle continued. “I will approach the strangers at their camp. Broken
Wing, Crow Foot and Eagle Talon will bring sweet corn, the gift of the gods, and
fresh salmon. I go to prepare my face and body with red earth as a sign we are men
of the earth.”
Freki, ever on the lookout, was the first to see the four Natives approach the fire.
They wore only tan breechcloths. Three of the Natives wore crow and turkey feathers
in long braids. They had their heads shaved except for a long strip of stubble…
14th of November
As we focus our eyes to notice a difference
among the pieces of day, we don’t know how to get
a hold of ourselves, we miss the shape, the hour, colors,
faces. We only listen carefully so that we might
discern a sound that confirms the passing of time,
so we can reverse the performance, box, broom handle,
name, the dice that roll on the table,
the limping wind that stumbles onto the barbwire
the fork that hits the plate and its sound that continues
internally.
Otherwise a circle without a center remains, a whirl
in the air with no movement but its own;
it can’t become a car tire that crosses a forest
and if once it becomes a square
it’s not a window through which you look at the world
or the three lined carpentries in an unfamiliar
neighborhood,
but only the relativity of straight lines, the analogy of corners,
boring, very boring things. A mathematician and
an astronomer could create something concrete and
clear out of all these.
I can’t. Yet I always liked the Observatories; the dark
stairway, the clock, the telescope, those photographs
of stars in homely positions: Orion without his sword,
with no underwear, Verenice with her many freckles,
unwashed, frumpy, a whole urban kitchen
transferred to a metaphysical location, boiling cups,
jugs, casseroles, the grater, salt cellar, baking tins,
white spots, a bit of steam hanging onto the smoked
walls of the night.
Someone was talking of numbers and more numbers,
light-eons, leagues and leagues. I wasn’t listening.
Today a friend was telling me that when he was thirteen
he was selling oranges and lemons in Piraeus;
he also had a young Armenian friend who was selling
socks. During the summer afternoons they’d meet in the
harbour behind a pile of sacks, where they’d put down
their baskets and read poems; then they’d eat a sesame
bread ring and an orange and gaze at the sea, the jumping
fish, the foreign ships.
From today I also have a friend who smells of orange
and harbour. He keeps many evening whistles of ships
in his pockets. I see the movement of the big finger
of the big harbour clock on his hands. From today on,
I’ll love him, I’ll unbutton one of his coat buttons.
Now I think of going to find his young Armenian friend
to find a basket with socks on the road, to cry out, socks,
beautiful socks, cheap socks. At noon, I’m sure I’ll find
the Armenian youth behind the sacks, I’ll get to know him;
he’ll recognize me since we both have the traces of our
common friend’s eyes on the lips. If I missed that
basket with the socks and the one with the lemons I
wouldn’t know how to fill my day, my words,
my silence.
Yet I believe every comrade wishes to have such a basket,
only that I don’t know where to find it and I get angry and
I search.
Twentieth Hour
I fold silence in two like a napkin
and placing it on the lap of my mind
I let the air go out of my lungs as
enormous wings spread wide to borders
directing updrafts as the eagle’s
eyes pick up the hopping
hare green eyes of grass
visionary’s focus on reflection
of eagle in wide translucent river
with the salmon upstream flexing
whirl of rainbow trout and
rustling willow above them
grizzly bear guards the path of
fish and man as feast becomes
a reasonable spread and her post is
defended against all intruders yet
the sound of a rifle echoes
cracks so close the post
allotted by benevolent old Death
is lost to the wanton bullet as an
amateur observer blinks His eyes
and finds something else to look at
retrieving opulence amid
thickest guilt milked for
its symbol to elucidate a natural scene
and nothing remains to keep me down
If I could unfold
wings in the wind rising
as though I wished it amid my
soft plumes like eyes mirroring rays
as they begin a sublime dance
between needles of the pine
eagle spreads spans his wings to borders
asking ‘why?’ and the authority beyond
answers: who cares?
Manolis Aligizakis 