Category: Uncategorized

Savages and Beasts

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excerpt

For now, let us have our supper; come wife get the table
going,” he addressed his wife who was waiting for their word
before she put the table together.
They ate their supper in utter silence; each in their
thoughts: Anton’s mind ran to Mary and the light touch of her
body, which brought a faint smile on his face; his father’s mind
ran to the Indian Residential School and the monsters who have
managed it up to now and the church’s role in all this; Anton’s
mother’s mind ran to the peaceful retirement they might have
come time when her husband would make up his mind to put his
papers in; he wasn’t of excellent heath either and it was time for
him to take it easy, something he despised and always reminded
her that he had no hobbies, other than reading books, and retirement
could be a fast walk towards death; he had followed the
statistics which he had studied and which never lied, as he often
said to his wife, to be sure, most of his pals at work had died
within a year or two after retirement.
Silence the queen of the evening was still in control of
their house when they finished their supper; Anton’s father
took the diary and went to sit by the window. He opened it and
started reading the entries from the beginning. Anton helped
his mother with the dishes before he took his truck and drove
to Molly’s diner; he briefed Molly about Dylan’s heart attack.
Dylan’s buddy, Simon, the drunkard was there and said he was
so sorry Dylan had a heart attack and asked how serious it was;
Anton said to them it was serious enough to make the doctors
keep him there for the angiogram that was to be performed early
tomorrow. The drunkard shook his head in disbelief that all these
things were taking place and how could his buddy get out of this
calamity that struck him.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Hours of the Stars

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Vereniki’s Hair
I roamed the streets
like the Jews and Gypsies
what you saw I reaped
laurel and oregano
you made my bed
amid your loosened hair and
with no horse I leaned
a goose, my good fortune

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763408

Impulses

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Mycenae
Ancient ground under your feet
subterranean impulses once
alive and a wild pear tree
ponders her forlornness
in the arms of wind standing
ghosts of prehistory relics
modern mysteries unfold
as you tread rained polished
stones no need for chisels hammers
anointing oil burlap
sigh escapes unnoticed
by lonely wild pear tree
by the ghosts of Agamemnon
and unfaithful Clytemnestra

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

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume I

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Nightly Chronicle

Large dark rooms darkness multiplied

in the cheerless mirrors Endless hallways

above the world and rows of closed doors

and at the far end a statue in a raincoat Suddenly

sound of excavators red lights flashing down the street

the traffic controller was running the wood worker threw his

mask away

I had nothing to be afraid of – not even myself

I put on my child’s shoes and I limp along the wall

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763076

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

David smiled. “You know, I don’t know when Gorky wrote that, but it’s the utterly perfect story for this country in 1974. Don’t you find that so much that’s told to us is a beautiful illusion when the truth is really ‘bitter’?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Paul continued. “The Soviets are like the old man—they just ignore the failures. The elevators that don’t work. The trucks that break down. The harvests that don’t yield what they expect. We visitors are like the father—we have to put a name to it, admire the beauty, then we point out that it’s not the truth. It’s no wonder they don’t really like our visits.”
“This is great philosophizing,” Maria cut in, “but I hear the truth right now.” She leaned over the railing. “I’m sure I hear a real nightingale singing.” The notes were pure and true, haunting. The group was quiet for a long time, listening, delighted.
Finally Paul got up from his deck chair. “Nah, it was just a scrubby little village lad.”
★
Paul Mercier returned to his cabin with the intention of diving into the definitive biography of the Sentimentalist period writer Karamzin that he had been trying to finish before the end of the trip. It had been difficult to find any study time because of their rigorous sightseeing schedule, though his conversations in Chopyk’s advanced class had been informative. That’s one thing about the guy, he is a serious scholar. He wondered if academia was truly his own calling. Did he really want to end up like Chopyk—an old lady, unloved by students and women alike? When they started out on this trip, he had found it easier to read the Sentimentalist view of nature in literature than to be out in the streets of Moscow actually viewing the real thing. But while they were in Leningrad something new had been emerging, something not found in books. He had been taking enjoyment from the scenery; it was refreshing. And he had even been moved by the rich, barbaric Russian history he saw depicted in paintings and church frescoes. For amusement, Paul had been keeping an informal list of the countless statues of Lenin they had seen to date, the endless art galleries, museums, and palaces of culture they had visited, but now he threw down these lists in disgust.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

The Incidentals

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Palliative Care
She’s stationed in the palliative care
looking after the ready to pass
patients, old fogeys, loners from
nursing homes, citizens abandoned
by the state, by family, nonexistent
friends, people discarded by all,
she takes care of them, Suzan, truly
the forever nurse, endlessly in the same
position, ready to undress, re-dress,
prepare the corpse before it stiffs,
pull the partition curtain around
isolate death within the 48 square
feet of hospital space and place
the traditional purple butterfly
on the outside of the curtain, Suzan
familiar with the nondebatable
horrific truth of knowing the past
present and future of these people,
of what is about to happen, the same
as what occurred in the past which
will occur in the future, Suzan
the nurse in the palliative care
of the hospital ward, has seen their
smooth, transparent, pale skin
she has heard the rasping breath
of agony soon to be followed by
the serene breath of the last seconds
she has touched dried-up lips and
felt the slow heartbeats of a dying
person, the last relieving excrement
Suzan knows her job well and has taken
care of hundreds of them as they end
their presence on this earth
Suzan knows all the details before
the proper entries are posted on
the logs, her final diagnosis, end
of a person’s lifespan in the hands
of Suzan the palliative care nurse who
has seen them all time and again.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763637

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

A light snow had been falling for two hours when Tyne got off duty at 3 o’clock. She hurried to her car in the hospital parking lot, threw her handbag on the passenger seat and climbed in. In the trunk were the gifts for the Conrad children, as well as a box of Mandarin oranges and another box full of homemade fudge. She smiled as she put the car into gear and headed towards town, remembering the fun she and Aunt Millie had had making the candy treat.
As a child, Tyne had gone to her aunt’s house a few days before Christmas every year, and together they had made enough dark and light fudge for the family and at least half a dozen friends. This year, Aunt Millie had insisted on making an extra batch for the Harrison household.
The idea of taking gifts to Rachael and Bobby and not to the others, had been worrying Tyne ever since she and Morley had bought the doll and the dump truck in Medicine Hat. How could she single out two children, and leave five other young ones out? The oranges might help, but were not personal gifts. So the homemade fudge, which they had packaged individually in white tissue paper bags, tied with colourful ribbons and a tag with each child’s name, might make up for any disappointment at being left out.
She carefully navigated the side street where the Harrisons lived…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Kariotakis-Polydouri, The Tragic Love Story

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Futile
Internal voiceless tears of grief
have dried up on my pale cheeks
and unwillingly I’ve searched
for the meaning of my demise
and I stood and asked
all my beautiful adornments
is this supposedly love?
And is this same with life?
And I stood and asked why
in my youth filled with fragrance
I heard the voice, the tedious
voice that was leading my way
and I stood there long enough
for my question-laughter to freeze
until the deep darkness slowly
reflected in my eyes.
No voice reaches here anymore
from all the powerful things I had
the wise people looked at me
and left saying a ghost that I was.

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

Medusa

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Nightmare
He contemplated the evil
that followed
His forbidden fruit
and in a flash of generosity
He mutated it
and threw it to them
attachment-free
But he woke up
and realized
to err twice
not of a wise God

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763769

George Seferis – Collected Poems

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XIII
Hydra
Dolphins, banners and cannon shots.
The pelagos once so bitter for your soul
carried the many-coloured and glittering ships
it swayed, rolled and pitched them, totally blue with white wings
once so bitter for your soul
now full of colours in the sun.
White sails and sunlight and the wet oars
struck the stilled waters with a rhythm of drums.
Your eyes, gazing, would be beautiful
your arms, extending, would shine
your lips, would be alive, as they used to be
before such miracle;
you searched for it
what did you search for in front of the ashes
or in the rain, in the fog, in the wind
even when the lights were dimmed
and the city was sinking and from the stone pavement
the Nazarene showed you his heart
what did you search for? Why don’t you come?
What did you search for?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J