Time flowed slowly like the river water, anguish and concern, vague anticipation of something he won’t like to face, thoughts into which he delved and which dived deep inside him in his viscera that was in an active mode. He lay down on the grass, stretched himself, felt one with the earth, he smelled its fragrance: pure, simple, devoted, gracious, benevolent earth always giving and providing. He felt a sudden unexpected fullness, something made him feel content, this very moment, something was around him, protecting him, saying to him, don’t be concern, what is to be revealed let it come to show itself and when that happens, notice it, write it in your essence and think, consider what you might be able to do with it or about it.

With that thought his pulse calmed down and his whole body felt a lot more relaxed. He got up and drove back home slowly. The rest of the afternoon he spent in his room until his father came from work. Their house was situated on the west side of Columbia Street, just fifteen minute walk to the CP Rail yard where his dad worked. As they had their supper sharp at 6:00 o’clock like any other evening his father looked at him and that was when Anton informed him that he was hired as a caretaker at the Residential School.

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VERY SELDOM

He is an old man. Worn out and hunched,

maimed by the years, and his own excesses,

walking slowly he crosses the narrow street.

And yet as he enters his house and hides

his old age and his terrible condition, he contemplates

the share he still has of youth.

Ephebes recite his verses now.

His visions flash through their lively eyes.

Their healthy, lustful minds,

their firm, well-shaped bodies,

are stirred by the way he expressed beauty.

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Ελένη Αθανασίου, Δύο ποιήματα

Lawrence Ferlinghetti – Λαϊκό μανιφέστο

Αλεξάνδρα Μπακονίκα, Χορογραφία

      Anton’s mind stopped at the words, what they go through and putting it together with what his father told him the night before he felt certain emotion towards these Indian boys and girls; his eyes darkened, his heart started galloping like a wild horse, he stopped eating his cheesecake and staring in Molly’s eyes he said,

     “I wonder what is hidden in the walls of that beautiful looking building which gives the visitor who walks inside the impression they are in a mausoleum”

       The sixty something man sitting next to him turned towards Anton and concurred: “horrible things have occurred in that School, you aren’t the first one who feels that disappointment and anxiety”

       “How do you know?” Anton asked.

       “I know the old man, the caretaker Dylan, we’ve lived under the same roof for a long time; we talk, you know, sometimes, after a few drinks the tongue becomes loose.”    

       “You know Dylan Kelly? What a coincidence. He’s retiring soon and I’m supposed to replace him.”

       “What have you heard, Simon?” Molly asked the man next to Anton.

       “You don’t have to hear these things; let us call them horrible and leave it at that. What could you do about it anyway? Who could ever do anything?”

         Molly let her eyes dive deep in Anton’s eyes and they both felt it was somehow an agreement between the two, an understanding of some short, they both felt it was something they had to do. Perhaps they were those who could do something about the horrible things that take place in the Kamloops Indian Residential School. Molly knew a lot of people, from truck drivers to loggers and members of the local Indian Band. Perhaps she and Anton could truly do something. Anton reflected on Molly’s glance and accepted the challenge; yes, perhaps they could do something.

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Αλεξάνδρα Μπακονίκα, Υποφώσκει

Άγγελος Ήβος (Βαγγέλης Σ. Παπακωνσταντίνου) 

C

         You never gave me wealth

always devastated by the races of Continents

         and always praised by their arrogance!

The North took the grapevine

        and the South took the Wheat Ear

buying out the direction of the wind

         and profanely cashing in the trees’ wealth

two or three times.

         But I knew nothing

other than the thyme in the sun’s pin

         and I felt nothing

but the water drop on my unshaven beard

         yet I laid my rough cheek on the stone’s rougher

century after century.

         I slept on the concern of my tomorrow

like the soldier by his rifle.

         And I searched for the compassion of the night

like an ascetic his God.

         Out of my sweat they created a diamond

and secretly they replaced

         the virgin of my glance.

They weighted my joy and they found it light, they said,

         and they stepped on it like an insect.

They stepped on my joy and encased it in stone

         and lastly they left me the stone

a horrible likeness of me.

         They strike it with a heavy axe, they bore it with a sharpened scalpel

they carve my stone with a bitter chisel.

         And as time erodes the matter, the prophesy emerges

clearly out of my face:

         FEAR THE WRATH OF THE DEAD

       AND THE STATUES OF THE ROCKS

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THE GATE

Excerpt XXXIII

The old women put their spindles on the stones;

two first aid men put their stretcher down; the injured

man is too heavy; through his half unbuttoned orange

colour shirt his belly shines in the moonlight;

the last glow of the twilight shivers on the windowpanes

             behind the rooms

three soldiers and the made-up woman under the lamppost;

he kicks an empty matchbox that travels in an angle

a boy listens to the harmonica in his pocket — first

              suspicion:

death exists, for this perhaps they build the gate.

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