Brook
Your ear tuned to conversation
of roots resting in worked soil
graceful maple like
minute shiver with fallen
leaves celebrates seed time
sweaty hands wield a spade
while the cicadas orchestrate
layers in A major
she stands at the spring her smile
torments sweet feelings
roots keep conversing
about rainfall and the heat
the swift brook plummeting and
coursing down the fragile slope
excerpt
Mrs Starkey was unaware of this. When Michael returned about an hour later, she thought it was her husband. She rushed to tell him not to take his coat off but to go up to the MacLir house, the name the large stone house still bore from the family of Caitlin Carrick, whose ancestors, the MacLirs, had built it in the nineteenth century.
‘Michael, it’s yourself back again,’ she said in surprise. ‘Is Dr Starkey at your place?’
‘No, Mrs Starkey, but we need him up there badly.’ Michael’s voice was trembling. A look of distraction agitated his face. ‘Something’s wrong, Mrs Starkey. Caitlin’s yelling and screaming, and Mother Ross says the baby isn’t coming out right. For God’s sake, where’s the doctor?’
‘I don’t know, Michael.’ Mrs Starkey was worried now herself. ‘He should have been here ages ago. Wait and I’ll phone again.’
All Michael could hear was Caitlin’s screaming. It pierced his ears like a torture. It made his heart pound and brought sweat to his forehead, mingling it with the rain. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. He clenched and unclenched his huge fists. ‘Please come, Dr Starkey. Oh my God, please, please come.’
Mrs Starkey appeared at the inner door again. ‘Something’s happened to the doctor, Michael.’ Her voice too quivered with worry. ‘He was visiting the Collinses in Carraghlin and he left an hour and a half ago. They haven’t heard from him. They suggested that I phone the police in Carraghlin, but even before they finished talking, the phone went dead.’
‘Must be a line down,’ Michael said.
‘Could be there’s trees down too,’ said Mrs Starkey. ‘The road’s probably blocked.’
Fear speared Michael’s heart. He felt the blood gush out. It filled his stomach, and he felt nauseated. ‘Mrs Starkey, I must get help for Caitlin,’ he shouted. ‘She’s in agony. This birth is going to kill her, like her own birth killed her mother.’
‘Calm yourself, Michael. Calm yourself. That’s no way to be talking. Caitlin’s in good hands with Mother Ross. Dr Starkey himself hasn’t delivered more babies than she has.’
‘But Mother Ross is frightened now herself,’ cried Michael. ‘She can’t handle this. She told me so. Where does Dr Chapman live?’
‘He’s in Ballydun usually,’ Mrs Starkey replied. ‘But he’s away in England till the New Year. Dr Murray in Lisnaglass is looking after his practice. It’ll take you an hour or more to reach him on a night like this. And I can’t telephone him.’
Flute
Hymn of the flute,
by the shore lily
ally of the breeze
and of your body
that my fingers caress
morning hues
euphoria that swims
in light blue, serene wave
dance of sun rays
and agony over
the stony emotion
that I sang, said
the southwestern wind
the eternal ally of the flesh
Dionysus’ Procession
Damon the craftsman (there is no other
as capable in Peloponessos) carves
the procession of Dionysus in Parian marble.
In front is the god with his divine,
aura, his powerful stride.
Acratos is behind him. At Acratos’ side
Methe pours wine for the Satyrs
from an amphora decorated with ivy. Close
to them is the meek Hedyoinos, his eyes
half closed, hypnotic. Farther down
come the singers Molpos and Hedymelis,
and Comus who holds the revered torch
of the procession and never lets it burn out;
and the most decorous Telete.— Damon carves
all these. And as he works, every so often
he thinks of the reward
he’ll be getting from the king of Syracuse,
three talents, a large sum. With this added
to the rest of his money, he will be able
to live a prosperous life at last,
and he can go into politics—what a joy!—
he too in the senate, he too in the agora.
Breaking Up
The only meaning, he says, is that there is no meaning.
A horse muzzle and a horseshoe hanging off the nail
on the wall. Big flies pinned on the table. The barber enters
to shave the dead man, who turns toward the wall. The barber
looks at himself in the bookcase glass. He shaves himself.
The ugly woman brings a white napkin. She hugs the barber.
The shaving lather drips on the carpet. The flies with the pins
fly away. Outside, the train passes full of suitcases with
stamps from various checkpoints.
Dog Hunt
Horse drawn start from the ancient family dwelling
to the gate of fire and water
chosen arrival at the hanged col
in the deserted endlessness of the sky
as if the spoke-wheeled sleigh
of a faraway certainty
trees band and signal and respect
or bend to the violent passing of the fruitful wind.
Were they the Fates?
Were they the Myrrh-bearing Women?
VI
The eye of the sun opens its
fanning fingers again as
the fire from the bowels of
the angry abyss is commanded
to constantly grace the Kore’s
figure and the handsome ephebe
with its flaming agility while its
tongue ploughs scars on the earthly
face as soil lovingly sighs and
the virgin’s lips glimmer.
Fire hugs the melancholy log
and the thermal voice of heat
warms the coldest room
all four walls and arches
all four corners stop shivering.
Conscience in peace, like a queen
reigns over the mystified
anchorites and the lonely
days of the initiates; sunlit creeks,
dancing nights, frothy waves
noon hour with no shadows
suffuse in a unified euphony
to compliment the dream of the troglodyte.
Vulture 1748
(painter’s explanation)
The right or wrong longing drove
the twilight
of the young peltast
to the unstopped nocturnal mountains
into the wild crevasses of Orthodoxy
into the thick glens and cypresses of panic
to the moral promotion
of the tough Fate along
colonnades of morning matins and torpor?
Who could be the leader
of rebellion
fame
love
rhetor?
They have been true to who’s bidding
but the petty officers?
Father killers and good pedophiles
with only
the secondary necrophilia
as justification
for the endless, and extremely vile, attacks
against the glory seekers?
Wonder whether, hearing the, oh, children,
of the pain seeker painters
the metaphysical city
is hidden inside the presented paintings
and while the warring hammers
fall onto heads
and the ravines buzz
from the ruin of battle
and the hymns
of fighting saints
the voice is heard:
“Marko Kralle, what do you want?
Here is no play and laughter.
Here are the Balkans”
excerpt
have to do now is carry on one day at a time. I’m sure we’ll manage. If you are
concerned about money, don’t worry, we’ll find our way.”
“I don’t worry about money, mother—not at all. I’m just trying to see life
without Dad from now on. It will be hard to adjust.”
“We’ll manage, you’ll see. Just be careful and take care of yourself. Hakim
appears to be a very good man and I know he’s to come into a lot of money. Your
father told me all about it.”
“Why did Dad look into Hakim’s life, Mom?”
“Well, honey, that was your father.”
Later at around six, Hakim tells Jennifer he wants to go see how his uncle is.
The limo will take him to the Sheraton Hotel and from there, when he’s done
with Ibrahim, the driver will drive him to his apartment. Cathy gets up also and
says goodnight to Emily.
“Don’t forget to call anytime, remember?”
Helena also says goodnight and leaves.
“I’d like to go with Hakim, Mom. Are you going to be alright?”
“I’ll be just fine, honey. Go, I’ll be just fine. Talal may stay for a while to keep
me company. You just go.”
Hakim is ready to go, when Talal whispers in his ear, “I’ll stay for a while to
keep Emily company, okay?”
“Are you going to be okay?” Hakim asks, looking at Talal.
“We’ll be just fine. You guys go and see Ibrahim. Say hi to him for me.”
They walk out to the limo and Rassan sits in the front with the driver and
Hakim with Jennifer sit in the back. Fifteen minutes later they arrive at the
Sheraton. They find Ibrahim in his suite happy because he’s out of the clinic and
because the chemotherapy hasn’t given him any negative side-effects, so far.
“Hello, my uncle, how are you?”
“I’m fine, my dear boy. What is this about Jennifer’s dad?”
“He is dead, sir. The police are doing their work now; we’ll hear from the
medical examiner in the next little while,” Jennifer says.
“Oh, my dear, oh, I’m so sorry,” he opens his arms as if ready to hug Jennifer.
She takes the opportunity and falls into his arms. Ibrahim is a bit surprised by
this; however, he knows that this is customary for North Americans, and he hugs
the young woman. Hakim smiles. His uncle is very fond of Jennifer, and that
pleases him a lot.
Ibrahim is already prepared for his return home and Rassan is making the
flight arrangements for as early as tomorrow. Mara will be most happy to have
him home with her.
https://libroslibertad.com/2016/11/09/the-circle-a-novel-by-manolis/
Jewelry Box
In front of the mirror
she is trying one
jewel after another
comparing them
to the gleam of her eyes
she smiles, placing a diamond
between her breasts
tiny yet exquisitely bright
adorning her curves
where the hungry eyes
of men always fall
men whom she’ll meet
at tonight’s ballroom
Manolis Aligizakis 