IV Uniformity appears as the troglodyte receives darkness soluble shivering like a leaf blown by the wind to every corner of the cave and blackening his mind; two cows drinking water, raise their eyes to stare at the sharp blade of the butcher and the insatiable teeth of hunger, while the first earthly ownership, dangling residential, first subdivision of the troglodytes appears as he puts aside leftover meat. Fireflies slide in mid-air embalming the unction of disease a hard day’s hunt justified, first harkening bank, virgin new concept and tomorrow’s multinational a swath commences, and the fourth hymn as lightning divides the sky plowing a bright course when here springs forth the menace of death
stands that were crowded with all kinds of people visiting and catching-up with each other since the last show. At the canteen, Joel ordered a large coffee and then found an empty table at the edge of the eating area to sit at and ponder his dilemma. He sure didn’t want to sell to that no-good Buck Smith, but maybe that’s what it would have to come down to. Joel thought that he should have talked to Tanya sooner about the money problems, but it was his pride that held it tight inside him. It wasn’t fair to her the way she found out. She had done an exceptional job training the pretty little palomino and he knew that she had high hopes for the filly. There had to be something he could do to fix the situation. “Joel.” It was Tanya, and her tears had been replaced with a fresh smile. “I want you to meet my friends Morgan, Jesse, and Sue Ellen. We are going to head into town and catch a movie or something. Want to come along?” Joel was relieved to see that Tanya had recovered so quickly. She was obviously pleased to have connected with old friends from the rodeo circuit. “Well, do you want to come?” Tanya repeated. “Oh no, you kids go. I want to hang around and make sure that the horses are all bedded down for the night. But hey, have fun.” Tanya and her friends hurried out of the arena. Joel couldn’t help but think what a special person Tanya has become. His feelings were nothing romantic—now, don’t get silly. She was just a real good friend who happened to be female and nineteen years old. Oh yeah, she was one heck of a horsewoman. They had only been friends for a couple months, but now, their first meeting seemed so long ago. He still remembered when she had asked him on her first visit to the ranch, “Are these horses just pretty, or do they ride too?” He was sure he would never forget that. Harry and he had been proud of the good schooling they were giving the three-year-olds, but that afternoon when he first saw Tanya ride one, then another, and finally a third horse, he recognized that she was taking them beyond where he could even dream of, into another dimension.
never been a connection between those people and the Inuit and yet here was an original seminal idea being spoken by a woman in a completely different time and space and place. All these things were like jolts hitting me. Here I was living with an ancient people that were speaking to me directly. This was not something being told to me by a teacher or a relative. I was getting the original story and it affected me very profoundly. When the old woman finished her story, silence enveloped the igloo like a down blanket. Quietly, Ken stood and walked outside. The sky was filled with as many stars as Ken’s mind was filled with thoughts. In one instant, his life had changed. Knowingly or not, the old women had answered his question about his role in this place, and in the lives of the Inuit. She joined him, and he linked his arm through hers. Together they stood gazing at the sky. Icy crystals of thought invaded his heart, while an avalanche of ideas roared through his mind. This was that crystal moment when everything that had happened before made sense. I now had a clear purpose. I had gone to the Arctic because of the stories that had been told to me in that cave in Portugal, but now, I felt an urgency to gather as much information as possible – and to disseminate it. It was clear to me how brilliantly I had been prepared. From this moment on, I was no longer pursuing childhood dreams. I had a white-hot fire burning inside me. One day, the sun reappeared over the horizon and Ken felt as though he was awakening from a dream. For a seemingly endless amount of time, he had lived in darkness, listening to stories and legends, and the line between waking and dreaming had blurred. And now the sun – a cause for celebration – a reason for feasting! Feasting also served to remind them of their great good fortune. They had food, warmth, and clothing. Even more important, others had been helped and they were grateful to have been able to help them. The young man who had amputated his toes had survived, and that was even further cause for thanksgiving. As the days grew longer, the polar bears came out of hibernation. One had been spotted nearby and men quickly prepared for the hunt. Once again, grandmother prevailed upon the hunters to include Ken. When the dogs picked up the scent they were released from their traces, and the men followed their high-pitched howling. When the dogs found their quarry they surrounded it, darting in close, and then running back, staying out of reach of its lethal claws. Finally, overheated and exhausted, the bear collapsed. The hunters fired at the downed body until it lay still in a pool of blood, and then they began the enormous task of skinning and butchering it. The oldest hunter stood back. “In my day, that’s not how we hunted bears,” he said. “When we hunted, it was one man with a spear and one bear with his claws.
Eighth Canto Voice of unrelenting clock and cry of the wind nothing but an orchestra of the undefeated as I turn to the west glimpsing farewells of sailors long gone sunk in waters of enmity when the glide of the partridge interrupts the path of the hottest shot from the well-designed double barrel insignia of Death emblem of resurrection on its polished handle what is one to say when the industrious world consumes divine energy to spit out divine instruments for slaughter? Heart of the sparrow struggles in glory of an evening mirage when one more cannon like an unfortunate soldier snaps off a blast through the soft plumage of the bird across the great need for wanton killing as the last star fades seen through the kitchen windowpane I uncork the wine bottle fill two glasses for our meal of sweet potatoes and roasted chicken breast and the absurd intention of a host changing attire to the new devouring clown donating extracts and using means few can decline or afford as the blown feathers of the limp partridge begs the same question and high trembling poplars answer: we can do better
In any case I was the only servant in this mourning house and I had met the other house master under the stairway though the waking up was totally different, I had to take care of the old sick women who, when young, swore to die young and the trees had listened to so many love words that during the night they walked in a strange way in the garden; they all said that that night I placed the mask on the table, among the foreigners, as if to live once more; they, motionless, looked at me going down since I had no other way out except the carpet which I folded slowly and in such a way that I covered the worst. And while they all demanded an answer I left them in their delusion which was the only music.
He didn’t seem to have much family left except his grandmother in California and Jennifer felt as if she had been cast out of her own. They sat in the campus centre’s uncomfortable chairs, too hard for sleeping, just soft enough for flopping, smoked cigarettes—even though neither were smokers—and talked far into the night. At first she thought she wanted to sleep with him and made a few subtle overtures. Jennifer had lost her virginity during the first year of college to a fraternity man who pressed his attentions on her in the back row of the movie theatre. From there, a succession of eager males had dated her but only a few had captured her interest. She didn’t believe in saving it for her husband, but she wanted respect from her partner. She wanted to find the right one—someone to love when lovemaking would be a passionate, full experience. Paul was good-looking, tall, grey-eyed, with pronounced cheekbones, and as they wandered the campus together, she found herself wondering how he would look naked, whether he would be a good lover. But when she invited him back to her shared apartment for a nightcap, he told her about his girlfriend in Vancouver, a chemistry major who sounded as exciting as two planks of wood. Jennifer backed off. In his polite, contained style, he offered her nothing but a companionship that she would soon learn to treasure. At the end of the summer they kissed on the lips, promised to write to one another and he suggested that she apply for graduate work at his university where they could be colleagues. This parting tenderness made her feel warmer than the parting kiss of her many dates. Paul was special, no doubt about it. But he wasn’t the one. The summer had scarcely faded into autumn before she met Michael. She had noticed him in the line-up at the cafeteria; he always ate at about the same time each day, moved his tray through the line efficiently, then always sat in the same spot, a table by the door. One day when the cafeteria was full, she thought what the hell and asked if the seat opposite him was taken. Politely, he gathered up his sprawling papers and books and indicated the seat. Then he returned to reading. She studied him. His most obvious feature was bushy black eyebrows. His thick full hair dropped to his shoulders in the current style. He was wearing a white cotton shirt with embroidery and she could see his well-proportioned body through the material.
Possessions Joseph, the Vietnam veteran pushes his supermarket cart filled with his possessions: dirty cloths, a can opener pair of spare runners smiling hole in the left sole plastic bag full of things he doesn’t stir anymore Joseph searches the back lane of the street for something he lost long ago vibrant sunny morning very early in his task in Atlanta Georgia, he searches for something as invisible as his dividends on the defense contractors’ annual earnings report
MAYBE MAYBE … Children’s war is a game, kids’ buletts are just words! The wounded are those who sit on the bench and laugh, lame little clowns. Rejoice, the children say, live, the children say play, the children say, stubbornly for millennia maybe, maybe …
HAKIM ISONHISWAY to the Sheraton Hotel to meet his uncle so they can go together to the medical center. He’s worried about what they will find out, but he doesn’t want this to show. He wants to be courageous and strong for his uncle. They arrive by limousine and a specialist meets them in a consultation room. He confirms what’s already known about the tumor in Ibrahim’s liver. He indicates it’s a very small-sized malignancy. At this stage, it’s unclear what type of cancer it is, but he confirms that the tumor is a new type they don’t know very much about. Therefore, it would be inappropriate for him to tell Ibrahim with any certainty that it will respond positively to the new chemotherapy. For that reason, he’ll start Ibrahim on a light dose. The specialist has arranged for Ibrahim to be admitted to a private clinic where the medication is to be administered, and he’ll be monitored twenty-four hours a day. The specialist stops briefly, but continues to look at Ibrahim and Hakim to ensure that, so far, everything is understood. Then he carries on. “If we see that the drug doesn’t produce any adverse effects, the second dose, and the third and fourth, can be given orally in the form of a pill that you can take on your own, in the comfort of your own home. However, the first time the drug is administered, we would like to monitor you very closely at the clinic. I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes to absorb what I’ve told you. Then I’ll return with further instructions.” He gets up and the other two follow him out of the consultation room. Hakim turns and gazes him. Ibrahim is pale and shaken. This is the first time Hakim sees his uncle with fear in his eyes. The pride and gracefulness that he possessed are gone. A layer of fear has taken over like a black shroud covering the old man’s eyes. “I wouldn’t worry they do miracles with medicine these days.” Hakim says trying to relieve his uncle’s gloom. “I guess so,” his uncle nods in agreement. “But, it means I cannot go home yet.” “When were you planning to go home?” “As soon as I’m done with these guys dear boy; Mara is most anxious for me to get home; however, now she has to wait for a few more days.” “You have to be here for only one or two more days so they can see …
Paris Oh Paris, it was time when I scattered my dreams in your dark mornings and now I leave you taking with me the sorrowful joy that I love you. The Mediterranean delicate siren that flows around our ship with all its frothy lilies now takes me away from you but we shall meet again in the future when light will come carefully to open my eyes before the gleaming blue day that helps me live with your memory and then its islands will charge Athens, I know, isn’t far behind and they’ll stand and fight my sinful love for you, oh Paris, and they will wish me to forget how sweetly I gave you my soul not longing to meet anyone when I aimlessly saunter in your streets
Manolis Aligizakis 