twelve
During the first wish to peel
the aged, back shoulders
the temporary sexuality
in mass
intensifies
there is hope
oh man, don’t give up
we shall forget of the mass deaths
when we all join our bodies
shamelessly
UGGA
Category: Uncategorized
Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems
Horn
in Constantinople mercilessly blows
the north wind Carayallis
like the Vardaris does in Thessaloniki
where they build most of the houses
out of wood
so that they may be a little warmer in the winter
and the people don’t freeze
alas though in the middle of summer when
the eggplants appear and the panfrying starts
and the barbeques
only one spark is enough for the big
devastating fires to burn day and night
the houses tumble into ashes
endless black disasters turn
the big cities
into destruction zones
these people, surely Hellenes,
to find a solution
to the heavenly sent, and often repeated,
godly destruction
remember their ancient myths
that suit them, especially the myth of Phoenix
that rose from the ashes
brand new like before…
https://draft2digital.com/book/3744799#print
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734
Neo-Hellene Poets: An Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry
WHEN SPRING COMES
When spring comes
and the birds return
when the flowers bloom
as in the past
I’ll wait for you
and when again
the summer returns
with the mistral
as in the past
I’ll wait for you
but when autumn arrives
with its rain
and cloudy skies
I’ll come to find you.
I won’t wait.
Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume III
THE EXILE DIARIES
13th of December
Ball forever between
two kicks
and I see myself played,
the only spectator,
punished not to be sad.
People work as long as they endure;
they endure more than they can.
We’ll carry rocks
we’ll chop wood
we’ll clean the washrooms.
I too.
I’d like to look outside
where things aren’t that hard:
aluminum cups, stools, casseroles,
the plate rack with clean plates every morning,
the opposite window
a square, soft light, orange color
that you can’t fold; it spreads.
Nuances
Tenderness
You turn my way and smile
a tenderness only stars can
fathom with veil of melancholy
shadowing your face
you let your scarf drop from your
hand and I snatch it not knowing
whether to return it to you
and stand beside you for
the picture or place it
around my neck and feel
your sobs and dreams
without any concern for
crying chrysanthemums
rebelling hyacinths
Rendition
Rained
Bronze statue peels off
night rain
is portico to sparrow
roosted, looking up at
colossus he shivers
waits for shard of sun, he will pop up
take charge of the plaza call mates
as you lift your fork
before you carve flesh
of potato I stare at your
smiling lips and daydream
of the magnificent ‘o’
they’ll form on my
hardened penis
In turbulent Times
excerpt
Six people crowded the car as it sleeked through the night, climbing into the mountains on winding, unlit roads. Nora sat in the back between Susan and Ian. Ian smelt her perfume, and it tantalised him. He pressed closer to her in the shadows. His left arm rested along the top of the seat. Nora, leaning her head back with a contented sigh, touched Ian’s arm and sat up straight again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘That’s all right. Lie back if you want to.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said disingenuously.
Clifford slowed the car almost to a stop, then swung it to the left down a steep, stony, track not much wider than the car, its headlights illuminating the constricting dry-stone walls. He eased the car round a corner into a grassy yard in front of a small, two-storeyed, white-washed, slate-roofed cottage.
‘Home from home,’ he said. ‘Country style.’
Clifford cut the car’s bright beams, plunging the passengers into pitch darkness. Then the interior lights came on as the Bentley doors opened. Ian took Nora’s hand and helped her out.
‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She bobbed him a little curtsey. Even in the gloom Ian caught her captivating smile.
The cottage was dark. Everyone stood in a huddle inside the door till Clifford located and lit an oil lamp. Then they moved into the room and looked around at the white-washed walls; the old, dark-toned, wooden table; the dresser; the chairs; the big, deep, well-used armchair beside the hearth. In the spacious fireplace a fire was already set. All it took was a dash of paraffin oil and a lighted match and the flames and sparks were leaping in a crackling frenzy into the large, blackened chimney. On the mantelpiece an old pendulum clock stood at rest between two creamy china dogs. On the dresser shelves an array of blue, willow-patterned plates and cups and large, stout mugs with blue rings gleamed in the light of the fire and the lamp. Fiona lit a second lamp.
‘This is just heavenly,’ Susan exclaimed in a high, excited voice. ‘John, wouldn’t you just love to live in a place like this?’
Wellspring of Love
excerpt
The door to Millie’s hospital room opened. Tyne came to with a start
and realized she had been dozing. The book she had been reading
clattered to the floor as she got unsteadily to her feet. Two doctors,
still in surgical scrubs, came into the room which had grown dim in
the fading light from the window. But she could see that Dr. Dunston
led the way, his face grim. Tyne’s heart thudded against her chest wall
as she stood rigid, waiting for him to speak. But when he stood aside
and motioned his companion forward, she thought her heart would
totally stop.
“Tyne … uh … Mrs. Cresswell, this is Dr. Osborne, the surgeon
from Medicine Hat.”
He stepped forward with his hand out. “I believe we’ve met,” he
said quietly, his eyes riveted on her face, “a long time ago. We both
worked at the Holy Cross. I’m Peter Osborne.”
“Of course,” Tyne said as she shook his hand. “You were Cam
Tournquist’s friend.”
“That’s right, we were both surgical interns.” He took a deep
breath. “Sorry, I’m sure you’re not feeling up to small talk right now.
You’re anxious about your aunt.”
“Yes,” Tyne whispered, “how is … is she all right?”
“Please sit down, Mrs. Cresswell, and rest assured that she came
through the surgery. She’s just waking up in the OR.”
Tyne’s sigh of relief stopped short when she realized both doctors
looked too serious to be announcing good news
The Circle
excerpt
“Then, go where your heart takes you and don’t worry about a thing, my
darling. It is your path; take it. I’ll be very happy and proud of you.”
Cathy stands up with her last words and hugs Emily.
“Oh, Cathy, I still wonder sometimes whether I’m doing the right thing.”
“Of course you are, darling! What are you supposed to do, sit back and be a
widow? That’s not your style; then again, look at it from this point of view. No
matter what happens down the road, you cannot look at yourself in the mirror
when you are old and say, ‘Pity I didn’t have the guts to take the chance when I
had it.’ You just go where your heart takes you and make the best of it.”
“Yes, and no regrets, okay?” Emily laughs with delight at Cathy’s way of
thinking.
“Never regret anything; just make the best of life and that’s it.”
Impulses
Newspapers
Papers sell worthy events
the kiss prince charming gave
princess wild
fold your heroes in pages
wrinkled and part ripped
packaged kilo of red mullets
secretly they rise your heroes
moistened by fish gills and scales
they ascend declaring to the kitchen
and to olive oil smoking in the pan
their innocence of youth
erased dreams and ambitions
Manolis Aligizakis 