Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

excerpt

“Do you like it there?”
“No. It’s not where my heart wants to be but it is where I have to be.”
“I was in Toronto once. I married Hilu’s father and he was from Ottawa,
so I’ve been to Ottawa too.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know how you people can live in a place like that. It’s soulless.
It’s like people living in caves up in the air. It’s just not human. How is it
that someone who isn’t born here, who doesn’t live here, and only spent a
few years here, can love this place and these people so much?”
“I don’t know,” Ken said. “I don’t know how that happened. We can
have a lot of ideas and we can say a lot of things, but the reality is that we
don’t know these things. We don’t know the first thing about love – we
haven’t a clue. We have all sorts of feelings and all sorts of passions. We
call it love and hate, but that’s just a lazy way of expressing something
we know nothing about. I think love is something that is lived. It doesn’t
have very much to do with the other person although we focus the idea
on one person. I think it’s a life lived in a particular way. It encompasses
all the things that are in that life and it depends on how that life is lived,
whether the invitation to love will be heard and accepted. I don’t think
there is any language, including Inuktitut, that truly expresses what that’s
all about. The only conclusion I can come to is the one I’ve given you.”
Joan let a long silence hang between them. Ken finally asked her again,
how she knew this was the place where he had witnessed so much death.
“It’s not just you knowing,” he said. “There’s something more concrete to
it. This is a specific place where a specific thing happened.”
“I know this is the place because my mother knew these people and
knows their story and she knows about you,” Joan said. “This was the
time of my grandmother, and my grandmother knew you. My grandmother
found you very interesting. They called you the quiet Kabluna
– the mysterious white man who had the capacity of silence. That’s how
I know about you.”
“Would it be possible to visit them in Baker Lake?” Ken asked.
“Yes.”
“Could we visit now?”
“They’re away.”
“Away?”
“Visiting.”
“Family and friends?”
“Yes – very far away.”
“So we can’t go and see them?”
“No.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

Constantine Cavafy

The Illness of Kleitos
Kleitos, a likeable young man,
about twenty-three years old
with excellent upbringing, with rare Greek knowledge
is very sick. The fever found him
that has decimated Alexandria this year.
The fever found him when he was morally exhausted
by sorrow because his lover, a young actor,
had stopped loving him or wanting him.
He is very sick, and his parents tremble.
And an old servant who raised him
also trembles for the life of Kleitos.
In her terrible worry,
she recalls an idol,
an idol she worshipped when she was young,
before she became a servant in this house,
in the house of distinguished Christians and became a Christian.
She secretly takes some pancakes, wine and honey.
She places them in front of the idol. Whatever part
of the prayer she remembers, she chants; ends and middles.
The fool does not understand that the Devil won’t care
whether or not a Christian heals.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562856

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763823

Kariotakis-Polydouri, The Tragic Love Story

Doubt
The young man you expected
won’t come tonight.
What would you had told him? Why?
Let futility vanish
sever the unfortunate sprout.
Don’t let the endless
cunning desire
fool your heart
a secret sadness flows
over this spring evening.
Yet you don’t listen to advice
enchantment has strong hold on you
he’ll never come tonight
and tomorrow will turn
even more painful.
Absence will shine
light into his darkened eyes;
with reserved ardor
a secret grief
will kiss his awkward hands
that I shall see spread
timid in victory
sweet as if they can
caressing waves to pull me
like a pebble into the depth

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562951

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763459

Impulses

Campfire
Urgent for you to breath
enjoy past feats
this morning trickling
river bed sings with
fragmented frames: choice to act
or not is twister
sucking flat and
sharp shapes standing or reclined
hypotenuse of route and goal
or river bridged by fallen tree
horizontal stanza crossed by
vertical song momentum
swirling plans as campfire
smoke ascends to the sky

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744513#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073565