Encounter
Nothing of course comes on its own
You have to search so you may find it In the mornings
the sun enters from the eastern window it discolors
the two purple chairs it stays a while retreats
leaving behind an impression of gentleness – that
serene extinguishing
And the carpet flowers
stepped on from before are right they have
their ears glued to the floor they listen
to the rhythmic galloping of underworld horses Then
the silent woman enters and you see it
that she tries not to step on those flowers
Perhaps two together can endure the inconceivable
although it always appears to just one
ANTEDILUVIAN OESTRUS
Α
Yesterday I was in a country
that I had never experienced
though it existed there all along
like a promise that mailed me
letters with the light.
I was listening to a singing voice
— a bit of a troubadour, a bit of a Greek —
and I entered the forest.
Ah, the forest with its clogs
houses! Soon the little red riding hood
will appear and the evil wolf after her,
I said, but the wolf wasn’t as evil
and the grandmother hadn’t vanished.
She organized festivities among
the celebratory leaves and indulged
in the life of a woman like a she-wolf.
Denial
Hesitant moonlight entered
to sit on the night table
outline of her conflagrated body
lain on the deserted bed
autumn breeze
a shameless raider
sneaked through
the half open window
to observe her two thighs
softly rubbing against each other
two fingers travelled over
her wet mound
involuntary conspiring wind
and window shutter
created the sorrowful creak
that brought her to consciousness
heart pulse bounced off
the gleaming mirror to fall
dead onto the carpet crying
unfair life even this dreamy
pleasure you denied me.
Lighthouse Keeper
Other times, during the night, after I light the lamp,
I stand out on the balcony waiting for a ship not that
it was to see the lighthouse, or change its route, but
a ship that was coming here, to moor here, and not
to avoid a great danger; but with a clear destination
here; and to hear its anchor, as if a door was opening,
after being closed for a long time and into which I too
was locked; and I didn’t know how to discern the creak
of the door; I didn’t know what gesture my hands
might make, what expression my face might have.
I already imagined the masts of the ship in balance
with the lighthouse;
the passengers with their suitcases who jumped on
these rocks; their talk addressing me, equal to mine,
not any admiration or thankfulness at all, especially
not any gratitude, with their foreign accent, with that
foreign flair just to save ourselves; not that.
Manolis Aligizakis 