XIV Come, sit near me, my sweet emotion and let us talk about all the non-daring who shiver in front of our love come let us both fight for their freedom so they’ll purify their lives this holy dawn come and sit next to me by the front step of our house let us glance at the first sun rays as they spread over the expanse and our love becomes a blessing and endurance and eternity come and sit next to me we both shall give life to the next generation of immortals come, let me smell the depth of your body that with such passion and endless vividness we shall give birth to the new immortals
“Who knows?” Paul and Jennifer locked stares. “You still want to do this, don’t you?” she asked him. “Yes,” he nodded. A minute passed. Finally David spoke. “So Paul, if you’re really going to leave, can I have your leather jacket?” ★ Breakfast was chaotic. At first, Ivan Nikolaevich announced to the diners that their departure would be delayed while they awaited the delivery of food supplies. Almost immediately following his speech, the riverboat moved away from the dock and waiters appeared with an adequate spread of hard-boiled eggs, bread and sausages for the buffet table. Ivan Nikolaevich appeared untroubled by this contradiction, and after fourteen days in the Soviet Union, the guests also treated it as normal. Jennifer, Paul and David helped themselves to the breakfast and sat together, saying little, distracted by their thoughts. There was no doubt in Jennifer’s mind that Paul would do what he wanted. Apart from anything else, she realized how much she would miss him—and not just for his jacket, like David. The jacket. Huh. It’s very distinctive, thought Jennifer. She visualized the maroon and white leather college jacket with the appliqued letters “UV” for University of Vancouver on the sleeves. Her thoughts were already leaping ahead to the day that she and the others would have to cover up the fact that Paul had left the group. If someone else were to wear that jacket—someone, for instance, like that American, Frank, there—with the same haircut and height, he could be mistaken for Paul from the back. David glanced up at that moment, caught Jennifer’s look and also stared at the young man from Tennessee. Thoughts swirled, cascaded, in Jennifer’s consciousness: the jacket, the view of the haircut, something she had to remember, something she had promised in a dream. What was it? “You know,” David spoke, his mouth full of toast, “that pretty boy from Tennessee is a real nice guy. I think he’s got his eye on you, Jennifer.” She silenced him with a glare and went on with her breakfast.
Eagle Talon and his son, Honiahaka Little Wolf, emerged from the forest with a magnificent buck slung from a sapling pole between them. The two men paused to rest and massage their aching shoulders. Below them stretched the mighty water, birthplace of the sun and home to the great creatures who blew fountains into the air. It was also home to the friendly man savers. As Eagle Talon looked far out to sea, he remembered how his youngest son, Kosumi, was washed out of his canoe by a savage wave. He thought he’d lost his son to the sea, but two man-size sea creatures, those who blew fountains of water into the air, came to Kosumi and swam him safely to shore. From that day forward, the Nation declared these man-savers Friends of the First Light People. Never again did they hunt them for food. Since that time, the sea mammals leapt from the water to greet the young men whenever they sailed out to spear the white fish or to dive for the clawed sea-cleaners. Eagle Talon whispered his thanks once more for his son’s life. Then he whispered his thanks to all the creatures of the sea that fed his family and his people. Little Wolf saw it first and crawled on all fours to the edge of the embankment for a better look and beckoned his father to join him. On the beach below was a great canoe, big as a longhouse. Strange, white-skinned men with hairy faces shouted at one another and banged at boards of split pine, inside. Outside, men were painting the frightful beast whose head was a double serpent totem of scarlet, blue and green. Eagle Talon and his son watched in awe. They must return quickly to the village. Surely the sachem, White Eagle, would have an answer to the appearance of such strange visitors. Since Eagle Talon and his tribe greatly respected White Eagle as a wise elder, a confederation of villages elected him sachem. He governed the people of his district, upheld the law, allocated farmland according to the size of each family, collected tribute, provided for widows and orphans, and taught all boys up to the age of sixteen the arts of manhood. He also acted as arbitrator, whenever war threatened. White Eagle sat erect. His grey hair flowed unadorned in long shiny strands to his lower back. He wore a beaded doeskin jacket, pants and moccasins. The sachem raised his hand to call for calm and addressed the gathering of braves. “My brothers. These strangers have surely come in peace. Let us welcome them with gifts of food, as is our custom. We will honour them with song and dance at our Lodge Fire and celebrate Broken Wing’s success in the hunt. If they allow us, we will help them repair their strange craft that they may soon be on their way.” The gathered braves turned to one another in discussion. Then they voted by a show of hands to follow the sachem’s advice. White Eagle continued. “I will approach the strangers at their camp. Broken Wing, Crow Foot and Eagle Talon will bring sweet corn, the gift of the gods, and fresh salmon. I go to prepare my face and body with red earth as a sign we are men of the earth.” Freki, ever on the lookout, was the first to see the four Natives approach the fire. They wore only tan breechcloths. Three of the Natives wore crow and turkey feathers in long braids. They had their heads shaved except for a long strip of stubble…
14th of November As we focus our eyes to notice a difference among the pieces of day, we don’t know how to get a hold of ourselves, we miss the shape, the hour, colors, faces. We only listen carefully so that we might discern a sound that confirms the passing of time, so we can reverse the performance, box, broom handle, name, the dice that roll on the table, the limping wind that stumbles onto the barbwire the fork that hits the plate and its sound that continues internally. Otherwise a circle without a center remains, a whirl in the air with no movement but its own; it can’t become a car tire that crosses a forest and if once it becomes a square it’s not a window through which you look at the world or the three lined carpentries in an unfamiliar neighborhood, but only the relativity of straight lines, the analogy of corners, boring, very boring things. A mathematician and an astronomer could create something concrete and clear out of all these. I can’t. Yet I always liked the Observatories; the dark stairway, the clock, the telescope, those photographs of stars in homely positions: Orion without his sword, with no underwear, Verenice with her many freckles, unwashed, frumpy, a whole urban kitchen transferred to a metaphysical location, boiling cups, jugs, casseroles, the grater, salt cellar, baking tins, white spots, a bit of steam hanging onto the smoked walls of the night. Someone was talking of numbers and more numbers, light-eons, leagues and leagues. I wasn’t listening. Today a friend was telling me that when he was thirteen he was selling oranges and lemons in Piraeus; he also had a young Armenian friend who was selling socks. During the summer afternoons they’d meet in the harbour behind a pile of sacks, where they’d put down their baskets and read poems; then they’d eat a sesame bread ring and an orange and gaze at the sea, the jumping fish, the foreign ships. From today I also have a friend who smells of orange and harbour. He keeps many evening whistles of ships in his pockets. I see the movement of the big finger of the big harbour clock on his hands. From today on, I’ll love him, I’ll unbutton one of his coat buttons. Now I think of going to find his young Armenian friend to find a basket with socks on the road, to cry out, socks, beautiful socks, cheap socks. At noon, I’m sure I’ll find the Armenian youth behind the sacks, I’ll get to know him; he’ll recognize me since we both have the traces of our common friend’s eyes on the lips. If I missed that basket with the socks and the one with the lemons I wouldn’t know how to fill my day, my words, my silence. Yet I believe every comrade wishes to have such a basket, only that I don’t know where to find it and I get angry and I search.
Twentieth Hour I fold silence in two like a napkin and placing it on the lap of my mind I let the air go out of my lungs as enormous wings spread wide to borders directing updrafts as the eagle’s eyes pick up the hopping hare green eyes of grass visionary’s focus on reflection of eagle in wide translucent river with the salmon upstream flexing whirl of rainbow trout and rustling willow above them grizzly bear guards the path of fish and man as feast becomes a reasonable spread and her post is defended against all intruders yet the sound of a rifle echoes cracks so close the post allotted by benevolent old Death is lost to the wanton bullet as an amateur observer blinks His eyes and finds something else to look at retrieving opulence amid thickest guilt milked for its symbol to elucidate a natural scene and nothing remains to keep me down If I could unfold wings in the wind rising as though I wished it amid my soft plumes like eyes mirroring rays as they begin a sublime dance between needles of the pine eagle spreads spans his wings to borders asking ‘why?’ and the authority beyond answers: who cares?
“I know, but I suppose because he’s a classmate’s big brother I thought of him as a brother, too.” Moe spooned cocoa powder into a mug and turned the gas on under the kettle. “Enough about me. How was your evening, kiddo?” “Unsettling.” Moe jerked her head around to stare at her roommate. “Why? What happened?” “He proposed.” Moe, her mouth hanging open, plopped onto a chair facing Tyne. “Wow! And?” “And what?” “And what? You know and what. What did you say? Did you ….” Tyne put her mug on the table with a definite thump. “Oh, come on, Moe. We’ve only been seeing each other for what – four months? I hardly know him. Besides, I’m not ready to make that kind of commitment.” Moe raised her eyebrows. “I see. You hardly know him, do you? Four months of dating at least four times a week, dinners at his parents’ home, picnics in the park, walks by the river, long drives in the country, dinner in classy restaurants ….” “And not so classy restaurants.” “Okay, sometimes not classy, but dinner nonetheless. Late night coffee, early morning breakfasts, lunches in the hospital caff. I estimate you’ve been together, let’s see … four times four times four … at least sixty times.” “You make it sound like we’re practically living together,” Tyne huffed. “Pretty close.” Moe got up to pour boiling water into her chocolate. “Tell me to mind my own business, if you like, but do you have that kind of a relationship?” Tyne looked up, fully alert. “If you’re asking if we’ve slept together, Moe, the answer is a definite no.” Moe shrugged as she stirred her chocolate. “Well, if you like being a twenty-two-year-old virgin, I guess that’s up to you.” She turned to the door, carrying her steaming mug. “Well, goodnight, kiddo, I’m off to bed. But if you want my advice … and you probably don’t … think seriously about Cam’s proposal. You sure could do a lot worse.”
to the surface and throwing columns of water into the air. He thought about being water, whipping into froth, rising to ride in clouds above the world, dropping onto hills and fields, roaring down mountainsides, lazing in lakes, plunging over dams and falls, spreading to meet the ocean, enveloping rocks and logs and sunken ships, fish swimming through you, sunlight playing on you. He wondered if the world was alive and all of its plants and creatures lived on it, as funguses and bacteria live on animals and people. Poodie lay on his back in the sunshine and watched a hawk circle in slow turns above the valley, soaring on updrafts. The only effort he could see was a tilt of the wings now and then as the hawk drifted up. It rose so high that wings and body blended into a speck against the blue, then regained form as the hawk wheeled down to float up again. He tried to imagine wind pushing against wings, rushing over feathers, the thrill of the downward spiral, the elation of being lifted atop a column of air. He wondered what the hawk saw as it hung above the hills and orchards, the streets and houses, people, the river. One of the books at the library said that hawks and eagles could see a mouse from high in the air. He waved, in case the hawk could see him. He wanted to know the currents of the river the way the hawk knew the currents of the air. Swimming the river, he had to work against the flow and eddies of the water and fight his way across, as if the river didn’t want him there. Sometimes it lulled him in its embrace, but the river’s power frightened him. The air welcomed the hawk and bore it like a mother carrying a child. September 17 Swam the river today. Maybe last time this year. Air cold, water warm. Very tired when finished. Getting old? Found a man looking in the window when I came back. Showed me a card from the health department. Said he had to inspect my cabin. Showed him inside. He took notes. He wanted to look at the outhouse. More notes. Showed him my apple trees, ready to pick. I gave him apples. Wrote my name for him. “I know,” he said. Nice man.
I’m aware that you are frequently faced with idiots and liars and scoundrels but, in telling this story, I hope to explain that I am none of these things. You need to know there are people in this world who actually do give their entire lives to something bigger than themselves.” “We have an hour,” she replied. Fifty-nine minutes later, Ken had told the story of Isumataq and of the cause of the Inuit. “That’s the preamble—now here’s the paperwork,” he said, sliding neat folders of material across the table to her. “Here’s how the money came in and here’s how it went out. For myself, I’ve always lived a Spartan life. I’ve no real interest in possessions or material things. Money is simply a necessary tool, like a hammer or a screwdriver—or a paintbrush.” Some time later the Judge looked up and announced, “You don’t owe a penny, Mr. Kirkby.” “I know. If I did, I would pay it.” When he emerged from the meeting, Ken felt as though his feet were gliding above the rain-washed pavement. It had been worth the battle and his sense of justification made him giddy. Karen was out of town again, but when he phoned to share the good news, her bitter response was “Well, I guess rules just don’t apply to you.” He spent the evening in company with his long-time friend and fishing buddy, Ron Gruber. Since Ken’s return to Vancouver, Ron had watched his friend’s relationship deteriorate. He was increasingly concerned as he saw Ken slide steadily into that solitary and dark place from which there seems no escape. Ron was one of the few people in the world Ken could talk to about personal matters and he told him of his concern that Karen seemed determined to alienate her colleagues. As he put it, “It’s like watching someone you care for deeply move dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, and there’s no way to save her.” He harkened back to earlier situations when Karen had set herself on collision course, and then dragged others with her into disaster. It was not Ken’s nature to give up without a fight, and it took several months more before he would accept the end of their relationship. He’d committed to change his life for Karen and he meant to do everything humanly possible to retrieve the closeness he’d once had with her. But even that steely resolve wilted when, before leaving on another business trip, Karen voiced her opinion that they had nothing whatsoever in common…
Superman Dressed like a Superman, he stands motionless, the mime with his half closed eyes, and observes the passing adults, kids, when suddenly as if waking from his lethargic stand he moves his hands with gusto mimicking the movement of the man of steel without any word the mime’s colored lips move as if calling for his Lois to come to him when people stopped to see what might followed by the man who resembled superman, and if he wasn’t the man of steel who could he be when he forgot what an Übermensch could do, he never understood that he too, he too alone, could change the world into a better place by just mimicking someone he wasn’t
Sirocco 7 Levante For D.I. Antoniou Things that changed our face deeper than thought and more so ours like the blood and more so sunken in the sweltering heat of noon behind the masts. Amid chains and commands no one remembers. The other days, the other nights bodies, pain and lust the bitterness of human nakedness in pieces lower than the pepper trees along dusty streets and all these charms and all these symbols on the last branch in the shadow of the big ship the memory, a shade. The hands that touched us don’t belong to us, only deeper, when the roses darken a rhythm under the mountain’s shadow, crickets, moistens our silence in the night yearning for a pelagic sleep slipping toward the pelagic sleep. Under the shadow of the big ship when the winch whistled I left tenderness to the money-changers.
Manolis Aligizakis 