Defenders
They defended our freedom
The general said,
don’t you ever forget it
image siphoned down
into the psyche of the populace
making each citizen believe
In the justice of war
Details about profits and dividends
paid to shareholders
War Machine companies
defence contractors
flourishing in people’s death
never mentioned
they defended our freedom
The general said
Each sane man turned
into an insane, bloodthirsty animal
Kindness
We’ll return dressed in different clothes, having different
eyes and grey hair. We’ll look at the serene harbour,
the ropes, the masts, the shepherds’ star. We’ll talk as if
to console someone who is far away, someone who is
foreign to us as we see the fish wriggling in the net.
We’ll talk about the rosy reflections of the fish. With our hands
we’ll mimic its movements, nice movements, as we’ll talk
hastily, then silently, we’ll avoid looking at the broken oar
pushed in the sand, among the bones of Homeric horses
and the warped shoes of women.
Excerpt
Fresh tears filled her downcast eyes and rolled over her cheeks as
she blinked.
“How did you come to be here, Pepa?”
“I was one of five daughters. The last one,” she said softly.
I glanced at her husband, who had stirred in his sleep and
mumbled noisily before resuming his snoring. I knew exactly what
she meant. A daughter could mean the opportunity for a good
alliance or a financial burden on her father. In a household of five
daughters, the father would be happy to find anyone to take them.
Without a dowry, a girl would likely never be able to marry, or to be
choosy about it. Pepa told me her husband had agreed to marry her
without a dowry, despite her knowing how to read.
Gregorio awakened at the sound of her voice. He was listening. I
couldn’t help that. In her town, she said, everyone thought her
strange because she could read. It had been a relief to accompany her
husband in his quest for fortune in the Indies.Her mother had tried to
convince him to leave her in a convent, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
Gregorio kept watching her, sympathetically. He might have
consoled her himself had her husband not awakened at that instant.
Gregorio narrowed his eyes and shot him a loathsome look from
head to toe. “I’ll have something brought for you, señora,” Gregorio
said. “You’ll need your strength.”
“Gregorio is right, you should eat,” I said.
This unexpected attention seemed to perk her spirits. “I can read
something to you all, if you like,” she said, eyes lowered.
“Of course,” I said, breaking the silence. “What do you have
there?”
“It’s the Lazarillo de Tormes,” she said, taking a small book out
from under the folds of her skirt. The corners of her mouth trembled
as she tried to smile. She must have been protecting that book like an
amulet.
“This is a story about a rascal who is a blind man’s guide. Do you
know it? Here, listen: Fainting and dying of hunger, I staggered along the
street, and while passing by the Barley Square I found an old praying
woman with more tooth than a wild boar . . .”
Raindrops
It was daybreak when we turned
our eyes toward the dark
spot of the horizon
our fate stood, windless
inexplicable, inaccessible
shamelessly challenging us
though only the man with
the severed arm, sighted and
turned back to the house
where he sat on his chair
such calmness on his face
as if he had solved
all the problems of the world
while we kept our hands
extended so the heavy drops
of the first autumn rain
would fall onto our palms
Long-listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards
Faces furrowed by time and sickness
faces cracked by hunger and the work related accidents
faces swollen, dirty, hairy,
faces stretched by the pliers of an unnatural smile
big faces like mothers’ breasts
tough faces like anvils.
A woman uncovers her breast to feed a yellow baby
the wind mixes the clouds
clouds mix with the flags
death, wearing a general’s mask, inspects the world
women cry as they wash their black cloths
people cry in the front steps of houses, at the corners,
in the fields
they cry in the trenches, hospitals, outside
the unemployment offices
tears, tears
our eyes will survive beyond our death
in order to cry
it blows
The wind mixes the voices, years, electric cables,
the teeth of the tobacco factory worker with the bayonets
it can’t tell apart the minister from the black dog
it mixes the breast of the nursing woman with
the dome of the neighborhood church
it blows
The window panes of the big cities are foggy, dirtied
by our bad breaths
as we bury our dead with their mouths opened
they’re hungry
The Ides of March
Beware of grandeur, oh soul.
And if you can not overcome your ambitions,
pursue them with hesitant precaution.
And the more you go forward, the more
inquiring and careful you must be.
And when you reach your zenith, as a Caesar at last;
when you take on the role of such a famous man,
then most of all be careful when you go out on the street,
like any famous master with your entourage,
if by chance some Artemidoros approaches
out of the crowd, bringing you a letter,
and says in a hurry “Read this at once,
these are serious matters that concern you,”
don’t fail to stop; don’t fail to postpone
every speech or task; don’t fail to turn away
the various people who greet you and bow to you
(you can see them later); let even the Senate wait,
for you must consider at once
the serious writings of Artemidoros.
Idol
Between your eyes
the idol in the mirror
stares at you
words float
as if above a boiling pot
in shapes of dreams
brimming steam
adds your love
for the outcast
your emotional battle
between blackness
and nabobism
that breaks your heart
fingers feel the cold glass
balancing your heart’s jest
with the meaning of the unfathomable
When Midnight Comes,
Jef, the Great Automaton …
Est-ce quelque dedale ou ta raison perdue
ne se retrouve pas?
Fr. De Malherbe
When midnight comes, Jef, the great automaton proudly says the words, eternal words and deceptive and futile, yet so advantageous for the satin eyes we loved, remember? Do you remember or would you rather try to tame them into a siren’s voice in the nets of their hair, which mercilessly ploughed the knitted and turned-off lamps of the flowing water…the flowing voices…the imagination…of the great erotic beds. Nothing of all these? Nothing. Then, the heights are meant for us. We must focus on the heights. Like the nihilist, who sprouts up in the air like a live flower. And as we must come down from the heights, let us do so. But, then again, with flowers, like flowers, with palaces, with spring music, with words of love and eyes of love. Set aside, be joyous, with your big eyebrows and open the big eyelids of the cloud. Look: the metal flutes are in a straight line over the carpet of dew. Here is what we call joy. Yes, this is known as the tender touch of a beloved woman. This is the law of life, the frontman of the sun, the sun of silence. Pay attention to these words. They have many obvious and hidden meanings. They are words full of metaphysical concepts, they are the depths of bitterness and mountains of joy. They are words life says, words the noisy piano key of love says, the bronze echo of love, Jef, the midnight great automaton.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734
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Excerpt
Logan getting up and walking to the shower. The sound of the water
mixed with the chirping of birds in the trees around the house. Logan
came down ready for an early departure to the office.
“You’re up very early today, son,” Eteo said.
“Yes, earlier than usual, but let me share a coffee with you before
I go,” Logan replied. He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a
cup, then sat next to his father.
“What should we focus on today, Dad?”
“Keep on buying slowly in the new company. We have plenty of
orders, right?”
“God, yes, at least half a million, but I’ll do it slowly.”
“Yes, and carefully. If you notice anything strange, let me know
right away. And don’t forget we have plenty to allocate to our clients
from the private placement.”
“Yes, I remember, and yet we still have lots of orders. When the
market goes after it like we do, what do you think will happen to the
price?”
“We don’t like to chase it up ourselves, you know. We want other
people to do that.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And something else. Let’s try to unload some of that loser we
bought a year ago, that real estate deal that didn’t do well. Let’s call a
few of our people who invested in it and convince some of them to
take the loss and reposition into this one. They’ll have a better chance
of recovering their losses and maybe even making a few dollars this
time. Get Helena to talk to some of them. Let’s see where that takes
us.”
“Okay, will do.”
“Have you got enough stock for your key people?”
“Not for all, but I’ll keep on buying. Slowly, as you said. We have
enough right now for the two brothers and Angelo. Have you talked
to them?”
“Yes, I talked to them and to Yannis. Kenny too. Position him
and his friends in this one, but slowly, as long as we get some stock
for all of them, okay?”
Second Canto
As the new language of despair
formulates new gothic phrases
I start painting my canvas with dark
red carts carrying cadavers and
lonely crosses toward the mountain peak
remainder of her flattened breast
perches firmly disassembled in the
shadow of magnolia leaves
the orphan sound of a lyre’s suffering
scolds dawn when quiet
amplifies the petty and stingy Where
in hell is a grand goal to be followed?
Where in hell is a maimed soldier
to be consoled? Who the devil will keep a
black-veiled widow company
through dark hours of her
soul’s nightmare? Nothing reveals
a snip of shredded light other than
indifference of the neighbor who
trims junipers with a deep
satisfaction of sedentary life stitched
on his t-shirt’s nonsense logo then
what’s left for old Death to do
but toy with the
ladybug on His hand and enjoy
a disjointed farce of the eminent
teen who thinks He knows
everything? Are they not all alike?
The last hurrah comes from hedging
trees and withering hibiscus asserting:
We can do better
Manolis Aligizakis 