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Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

“Because you don’t want to face the consequences of not helping.” Shukshin glowered at the public official.
“What do you mean?” Pyotr became agitated. “Are you threatening me? If this is a joke it’s gone too far!”
“It’s no joke.” Pavel spoke again. “I need all of the documents: permits, propiska, passport, whatever is necessary, and I need them soon. As to why you should help me then I’m afraid it’s like Shukshin says. You don’t want others to know what we can tell them about you.”
Pyotr froze to his chair. It was not a joke.
To his surprise, Vera chimed in. They were all in it together. “You were seen…at the boathouse. You understand me?” He remained silent so she continued. “With the police chief’s wife—what’s her name, Tanya?—and we all know that the police chief would not like your activities with his wife, would he?”
Pyotr was stunned. It was all collapsing in front of him—the careful secrecy, the hidden assignations. “We…simply meet to talk. There’s nothing harmful….” He stopped. Vera was shaking her head. “We have photos,” and she pointed to a large American-style camera on the bed. “We took photos of you and Tanya together. Believe me, you were not just talking.”
“What! Devil take it! Give me those photos. You have no right…” He stood up, prepared to invoke some bureaucratic rule that would force them to comply—or what? Report them to the police? They sat politely while he worked through his tantrum, sputtered another oath or two and smacked the table with his fist. Finally he sat again and slumped in the chair.
“May I pour you another drink?” Vera inquired with a sweet smile as if he were a friendly visiting uncle. “I think it would be best to find the passport first, don’t you? That way we can make the other documents match whatever the name on the passport.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Pyotr agreed at last. “I know of just such a widow who would probably give up a passport for a sum of money. I hope you people have some cash to pay her.”
“We’ll find the money,” said Pavel. “You find the goods.”
“And some cash for me, for my trouble in locating the passport,” the official continued. But Shukshin had only to glance at him quizzically and indicate the camera once more for Pyotr to understand that any cash benefit to him would not be forthcoming.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

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

He Rode Tall

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excerpt

Joel was not a spiritual person. Never had been. For almost
thirty years as a maritime engineer, Joel had spent most if not all
of his time in his head. His brain had earned him some degree of
respect in his profession and helped him to survive disaster after
disaster on the bumpy journey of life. But at this very moment,
sitting astride the orange horse on the crest of a hill, admiring the
grazing mares and foals, Joel felt for a moment the power of his
heart. It had been a long time since he had this kind of feeling,
but Joel knew that he was feeling rather than thinking. He could
feel his heart coming to life.
With the exception of the sounds of nature, the silence was
so powerful that the only way he could think to describe it was
that it was very huge. Or so it seemed to Joel who had spent
most of his mornings for the last thirty-two years nursing a
hangover in one urban ghetto or another as horns blasted and
fumes rose from the heart of the city outside his hotel room or
apartment. Compared to the city this was looking like a pretty
good way to start a day. Sure, it didn’t have a Starbucks. But
you know what. This was better. And with this realization Joel
made amental note to himself that yes, it surely was a wonderful
day to be alive.
It must have been an hour since he had let himself through the
swinging ranch gate that led to the pasture of abundance. Abundant
with the kind of grass that only a true son of the prairie
could appreciate. Sure, it had been a lot of years since his childhood
days on the ranch, but he still knew the value of good pasture
when he saw it. And this pasture was very good, having a
thick mat of hearty wild grasses standing a foot high in some
places. This was the kind of grass that cattlemen yearned for, and
if they got excited about the grass, you can only imagine the kind
of impact it had on the livestock.
Beyond the natural abundance of the grass, this pasture was
special for another reason. Unlike the farmland on the plains
below, these hills had never been cultivated to grow a single crop
of grain. He was riding on the real thing.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562862

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Savages and Beasts

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excerpt

Anton felt as if he was sitting on burning charcoals since
he still didn’t know what to do with Dylan’s diary. Two days
had passed since the killing of Father Thomas and things in the
School had almost returned to normalcy except for the ones
who knew certain things others didn’t know. Anton’s wonder
was mostly based on his perception of what a Christian should be
and how a Christian should behave and the church people who
should always discern between good and evil and should always,
as was expected of them, choose good, and follow good, and do
good, which stood opposite what had transpired within the walls
of the mausoleum. This was Anton’s most basic wonder why these
atrocities and abuses had to occur in such a place and under the
authority of the most powerful Christian entity of the country.
Yet he also knew that people are always people and they always
behave in such an unjustifiable way and a person with common
sense feels so disappointed by such behavior.
Anton had his supper with his parents. His dad, discerning
certain emotional stress on his son during their supper and after
he sat by the window he called him to come and sit close to him.
“What is it that bothers you son?”
“I’m puzzled. I don’t know what to do with the diary. The
old man said I’d do what is best, but what’s that best?” Anton
replied.
His father looked at his son’s eyes, seeing the uncertainty
that was surely obvious and since he wanted to calm him down,
undoubtedly that was his concern at this moment, he said, “perhaps
you could let it be and trust that your heart will give you
guidance soon” to which Anton smiled, his father would always
say something vague and philosophical which eventually, on
second thought, would make sense. For this he didn’t ask anything
else but he got up saying…

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

Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

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Long-listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

2023 Longlist Announcement

Heroism Without a Hero
Therefore let us say goodbye, who knows? Generations will
come to find me in the same position especially at night when
I’m absent
when everything is vague like a woman who aged from
dress to dress or a grey street sign onto which the unsuspecting
children lean,
of course, I’ve also been a naïve idealist with no ticket or
I’ve heard the creaking of a door and its real meaning like a
the rain song that takes the side of the poor
and every so often I lowered the light of the lamp so that I
could gain another adventure like someone they sent away many
a time until he becomes fully bloomed or I fell asleep in front of
the wheels of a car or that I wouldn’t sing only at night when fame
was asleep;
I am completely dishonest like this world that it belongs to you
only when you promise it to someone.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4051627

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

Red in Black

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Vegetables
I pointed out to the young man
of the supermarket
that the vegetables were wilted
and he laughed at my face
before he added two tomatoes
on the display tray
half rotten, repulsive tomatoes
red like blood of the man
shot by the policeman
and I wondered how to fix
all the anomalies of this world
before I concluded
the milk smelled almost rancid
and saying to the clerk
to feed the vegetables to his pigs
I walked out of the door

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562962#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771713208

Neo-Hellene Poets: An Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

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LAST NIGHT IN MY DREAM
Last night in my dream I saw
our newly born Christ
as cows blew on him
their hot breath.
His forehead was like the sun
though the manger was so poor
and each of the magic gleams
shone brighter than daylight.
The Magi leaned over his feet
and the star up high above
looked like a crown ready to place
upon the hair of Virgin Mary.
Shepherds and shepherd girls
knelt reverently before him,
blonde angels stood
and sang Hosannas round him.
Yet of the angels and the Magi
I never felt more envious
than of his mother’s lips
and her warm, her so warm kiss.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763513

George Seferis – Collected Poems

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The Sentence to Oblivion
Who would estimate for us the sentence to oblivion?

Stop, passer-by, before the still lake;
the curly sea and the tormented ships
the roads that surrounded mountains and birthed stars
everything ends on this immense surface.
Now you may watch the swans calmly
look at them, they are white like a night’s sleep
without touching anywhere, they slide on a thin blade
that raises them slightly over the water.
They are like you, stranger, the still wings and you understand them
while the stone eyes of lions look at you
and the tree’s leaf remains uninscribed in the sky
and the slate pencil pierced the prison wall.
And yet the birds that slaughtered the village girls weren’t
other than them
the blood turned the milk red on the street’s flagstones
and their horses noiselessly drew in the troughs
illegible shapes like molten lead.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4279077#print

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

The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

…she died of consumption, God rest her soul. Flynn was well up in his teens by then and already working in McGuigan’s quarry. But he grew up with a chip on his shoulder as big as a boulder and a fierce hatred of the English that he’s nurtured for years.”
“He needs to learn the lesson of forgiveness,” Padraig remarked.
“Forgiveness is a rare commodity in Ireland, Padraig,” Mother Ross said. “Irishmen never forgive and never forget. That’s their nature.” She paused, staring into the hearth. Then she asked, “What about Caitlin?”
“What about Caitlin?” Padraig repeated with more feeling than he meant to show.
Mother Ross looked suspiciously at Padraig, but gave him no inkling of the thoughts that rushed through her mind. “Is Caitlin ready to be married in church?”
“She is now, yes,” Padraig replied with a touch of petulance.
“Finn didn’t know, did he?”
Padraig walked across to the door and leaned against the wall beside it. His shoulder and his broken ribs were painful. “Oh Finn knew all right,” he said, but his face had an uncomfortable, guilty look.
Mother Ross made no comment. She felt that Padraig and Caitlin together had indecently betrayed the man who had been closest to both of them. And yet she could not see how anyone but Finn MacLir himself could live outside the Church. She was happy for Caitlin, but disappointed at the same time. “Then they won’t have to wait long before they can be married.”
“They have only to name the day.”
Neither Mother Ross nor Padraig spoke, and they were still silent when voices and footsteps were heard outside, and doors opened both in the front and the back of the house.
“I still think we should have buried his wine alongside of him,” someone said.
“Yes, think how happy he’d be if he woke up one night and found it there beside him.”
“He wouldn’t want to get out.”
“Not till the bottle was empty at any rate.”
“Bottle be damned; he drank it by the barrelful.”
“What an old sot he was.”
“Ay, but you don’t find his likes below every hedge.”
“I’ve heard many a woman between Iceland and the Isle of Wight say the same thing about him.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

The Qliphoth

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excerpt

In any case, she suspects that in recent months he became bored with the
whole techno consumerist thing, because she no longer heard the all-night jingle
of marathon game-play with Doom Wizards of Gorm, he abandoned his
painful experiments with sampling and sequencing old guitar riffs, he now longer
nagged her for a loan to buy a faster modem or a bigger hard drive. And
he’d play the drawling media philosopher over breakfast, displaying a growing
impatience with the digitised world-picture. “The trouble, you see, with Virtual
Reality, Pauline, is that it will all be designed in Tokyo. You’re going to
walk around in a Japanese executive’s dream helmet . . .” She’d ignored such
performances—typical of his late night TV manner, which she’d found so irritating
when she was trying to cope first thing in the morning with lesson plans
and job applications, an overdraft and and mental overdrive. But discs and cartridges
are littered all over the table, the floor, the bed, as if he’d tossed them
away in disdain, packages of memory that had somehow failed him.
His books are stacked on the sagging shelves behind the bed. Many were
actually hers, donated to help him with A levels, like all those Pelicans on sociology
and history. Of course, he never opened them. And he’d only done half
the literature coursework properly, and then perversely he’d concentrated on
a few obscure corners, like symbolism in Yeats, while flippantly trashing
George Eliot or Jane Austen in random bursts of invective, not for any clearcut
ideological reason. Lucas wouldn’t read systematically, he’d rather drift
around CND jumble sales trawling for dog-eared things like Colin Wilson’s
The Outsider or those poems of mad skinny Patti Smith, or coffee-table books
on Salvador Dali.. Here’s Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges. ‘These metaphysical
detective stories take the reader through the forking gardens of Time and
Space!’ Forking hell . . .
She sprawls across the bed for a closer look, across crumpled paper tissues,
yellowing vests, that horrible black shirt with eagles on the buttons, his broken
sunglasses . . . She never bought an ex-library copy of The Rosicrucian Mysteries.
Or The Ufo Encyclopedia. And what’s this disintegrating edition of Morning
of the Magicians doing in her flat? A signed copy. ‘Nick Beardsley, London,
1966’. She can hardly bear to touch it.
‘The black tide of occultism.’ That’s what old Daddy Freud called this yuck
stuff. This is a residu, a glistening slug-trail excreted by Nick, and it looks as if
it’s sticking to Lucas. She’d thought she’d got rid of all Nick’s ticky-tacky rubbish.
And here she goes again, hurling it across the room, any moment now
she’ll find some more lurid trash. They’re all the same, stupid schoolboy men.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508

Prairie Roots

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excerpt

…farmer’s crops in preparation for a lean winter. We would spot
coyotes loping across fields or chasing down field mice. The magpies
became even noisier and the crows would start bunching as
they began their preparations for the long flight south.
But most impressive was the sight of waterfowl as they flew
overhead, the geese in their perfect formations, noisily announcing
their over-flights, and the ducks, less organized but in even
greater numbers than the geese. They came by the thousands, and
when low, we clearly heard the flutter of their wings.
School classes lasted forever and it was difficult to get serious
about homework when there was serious activity waiting for us
outdoors. We would hurry home to see if threshing had started
and to head out to the threshing site and watch the activity. After
the harvest, the days quickly shortened and the fall season intensified,
with the cold rains of mid-autumn inexorably turning into
the snows that would blanket the earth for the next six months.
The first morning after a major snowfall was an exciting time,
with new winter clothes donned and new pathways made to
school. We would be careful about these first paths, taking
shortcuts but also keeping to areas sheltered from cold north
winds. These paths were followed all winter and we would walk
single file, occasionally backwards if strong head winds were
blowing. The school was directly east of our home and we often
walked facing a rising sun which, pleasant as it was, had no
warmth radiating from it and frequently had a pair of sundogs,
the harbinger of even colder and stormier weather to come. We
noted all such phenomena and asked our parents about them after
school.
After major storms the winds cleared the softer snow away,
leaving the packed snow of the paths exposed and raised in the
open fields and pastures. Elsewhere, through woodlots, the new
snows covered the paths and we made new trails to follow. After
major storms the banks of hard packed snow at the edges of
woodlots, where the wind swirled and piled the snow, would
tempt us to climb and explore before moving on towards school.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562900

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897920