Straits and Turns

Excerpt

The Dancer
It was a cloudy April day; one could hardly discern the mountains to the north shore, where two mountain peaks resembling lions stood facing each other as if they were playing a good game of chess without any concern for the people of Vancouver, down by the shores. These two lions were so symbolically attached to the lives of Vancouver citizens that they had named the bridge which connected the Lower Mainland with the North Shore ‘Lion’s Gate Bridge’, the same way the Hellenes had the Lion’s Gate at Mycenae.
Costa was sitting by the window of his one-bedroom suite and kept writing a few lines of the novel he had started a few months earlier, as his eyes suddenly left the paper and gazed at the expanse towards the North Shore, on the other side of the harbour. Indeed, Vancouver was a beautiful city situated on the edge of the land by the Pacific Ocean, on the west side of which the lands of the Orient were located, including Japan, Korea, China, Vietnam, and, to the south, Australia.
He got up to refill his coffee mug and lit a cigarette. It was Tuesday, his day off, so he didn’t have much to do other than write a few lines and perhaps go to Stanley Park for a stroll until his wife came home. His mind ran to the nasty letter he got from his father when he disclosed to them that his girlfriend from Athens had joined him in Vancouver and that they lived together and perhaps they’d get married soon so she could stay permanently; his girlfriend had come with a visitors visa which meant she had to leave in three months unless Costa married her thus making her wife of a legal immigrant.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4250839#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763866

Neo-Hellene Poets: An Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

SPRING
This the way I see the gardens
A new sadness talks to me tonight in the garden
an almond tree drives its smiling blossom
deep down to the bog’s thick water, and
memory of my youth battles the sick acacia
cold breeze awakes in the broken container
every rose is dead in the flowerpot-coffin
the cypress, endless martyrdom, star bound
uplifts its darkness thirsting for air
and they go, a sorrowful procession the pepper tree
treeline dragging along their green hair.
Two palms raise their arms in desperation
the garden is a melancholic place.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763513

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume III

THE EXILE DIARIES

6th of January
The moon has many
vacant rooms.
Why then?
Because of this.

8th of January
I left everything half done, he said
leave me alone.
Remember:
my hands don’t obey me.
I left everything half done,
have mercy on me.
Animals and chairs
have four legs
I have one.

10th of January
You have to tie your hands on your own.
You do.
The night cuts the bounds.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TLBNFK

Introspection

The Enemy
He not only fought against loneliness and isolation, but against his whole identity, been in constant rupture and orgiastic sectoral emotions that couldn’t settle in his pneumatic completeness, but always took him to the immense void, lurking behind every set concept, that rendered him unable to position one against the other or choose one so he could annul the other; his vision was multifaceted and plethoric opposite the metallic and unbendable silence which destroyed every effort for relaxation and acceptance of the regular, the common-sensical with his pride unable to settle down, as he was not only against the world but against his viscera that demanded the impossible of him

https://draft2digital.com/book/4118210#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763777