Newspaper
He opened the newspaper
under the light of the kitchen
seeking to brighten the news
of last night’s muggings,
break-ins, and murders.
After he took a deep breath
knowing he contributed
in beautifying the world
of this ugly modern city
he put the coffee pot on
as if he had to go to war again
and needed his morning fix
Excerpt
the civil rights movement would make headlines in the Soviet Union. It would probably be couched in the language of the state extolling how the slave masses had risen up against the capitalist oppressors or some such jargon. She realized she had not seen a single black person since her arrival in the country, although Moscow University reportedly attracted African students.
“Excuse me. I am naïve,” he went on. “I must ask a very important question. Promise me not to laugh?” She nodded. “Is it only black persons who make jazz music in Canada or America? Or can white people like me make jazz?”
She tried not to grin at his earnestness. “Why would you ask that? Lots of people of all colours play jazz! You’re safe there to play whatever music you want…” She could see his discomfort, so she continued more gently. “It’s true, jazz has its roots among black musicians, that’s for sure. Many of them grew up singing in church choirs, like Aretha Franklin, for example. She’s my favourite. Do you know her?”
“No, tell me.” They spent the next while with Jennifer dredging up anything from her memory that she had ever learned about jazz, gospel or blues in the west to share with Volodya. While they were engrossed in this, Alya tapped on the door and entered with a bottle of brandy, some cheese, bread and a cut-up cake that she served. She settled herself comfortably with an air of possession. When the three were seated, the woman’s eyes swept up and down Jennifer appraisingly. She asked the usual questions in broken English. Where did she work? Was she married?
Jennifer responded more quickly this time on the marriage question. She had decided to answer questions with the vague, “My husband and I no longer live together,” rather than a more elaborate explanation.
Volodya switched on a radio that played American swing music. “It’s time for Voice of America,” he told her. “Reception is good at this time of day.”
“They must be broadcasting from somewhere outside of the Soviet Union?”
“Military base in Germany, I think.”
“Please eat,” said Alya, who was not having any of the cake herself.
Jennifer was just getting ready to ask Alya about herself when the woman swung toward Volodya in a gesture of approval. She rose, made her apologies, and left the bedroom with a significant glance at the bed.
Excerpt
“Well,” Tanya said, “you certainly have as nice a string of horses
as I have ever seen. You have a dozen good horses here that are
better than all the horses I have ridden in my entire life. What are
you going to do with them?”
“What do you mean?” Joel asked.
“Well, the word around the rodeo grounds is that, with you
running the Circle H, it isn’t going to be as easy as it has in the
past for a cowboy or horse trainer to pick up a CircleHhorse. You
know, a lot of those cowboys came to depend on your dad for
quality horses at a cheap price. I used to hear them say that they
were only afraid of one thing—that your dad would leave the
ranch one day and discover what other people were selling their
horses for. I heard that there are a couple of trainers that aren’t
too pleased with you, Joel.”
“Well, news certainly does travel fast in these hills, doesn’t it?”
“So what are you going to do?” Tanya pressed.
“I am not sure. After the success of selling the old blonde mare,
I started to figure out that I have some pretty sought-after stock
here. I am just trying to figure out what would work best. Do you
know Cindy at the auction yard? We had lunch a week or so ago
and she was saying that she might be able to interest her boss,
Roy, in doing a special sale right out here at the ranch. I don’t
know about that, but, with these horses coming along the way
they are and the end of summer around the corner, I guess I
better figure out what would work best. What would you do if
these were your horses?”
“The first thing I would do is pinch myself to make sure that I
am not dreaming. Just about any horse is beautiful to me, but
these are special animals. And if everything I hear about their
breeding is true, this may be the finest band of horses in this part
of the country. Is it true? Are the mares all daughters or granddaughters
of Doc Bar? Is your stud an own son of Topsail Cody?
That would be really incredible!”
“Incredible it is. Yes, that is exactly what we have. There is
only the one old mare that is left that is a daughter of Doc Bar
Excerpt
That was something the clients wouldn’t understand.
He could only try to convince them using the excuse of averaging
down but he couldn’t risk pushing them, and he couldn’t blame
them for refusing. The shares hadn’t done much for them. Why
would they want to invest even more.
He called Logan back into his office.
“Who can we approach to promote this a little? Who do you have
who might be interested? We can base our argument on the prospect
of new brokers coming in.”
“I don’t know, Dad. We could burn a few people with this. You
know that.”
“Give it some thought. Perhaps we could offer an incentive.”
“It would still be a hard sell. When they look at this market,
they’ll see weakness. Who would go into that, incentive or not? And
incentive from whom? From us? I wouldn’t risk it for someone like
Richard.”
Logan sounded disappointed by his father’s willingness to support
Richard Walden when the older man knew very well that this
company wasn’t likely to go up any time soon.
“What have we done with the disposal of some of the real estate
company’s stock? Have you talked to anyone?” Eteo asked, changing
the subject to one they were both more comfortable with.
“Yes, and we got a few approvals. I already have some orders filled
and some still in the market. I’m bidding for some new shares already
for the clients I’ve already sold.”
“Very good. Let’s focus on that for today and tomorrow.”
Logan went back to his desk, and Eteo turned his armchair toward
the window. He gazed at the blue sky and leaned his chair back
a little, closing his eyes and traveling back to a place where the sun
was bright and hot most of the year and where he used to go swimming
as early as April. He would go to visit his brother soon. He
would spend a month or more over there. Logan could look after the
clients.
Excerpt
One can see it on their faces and in the way they behave; look at
them; I don’t see happy children who play during the recess, au
contraire, I see frightened children, you can see fear in their eyes.”
Mary nodded her head without saying any words. Then
her glance fell on Sister Gladys who was walking towards them;
Mary upon seeing the austere glance of Sister Gladys, tried, quite
unsuccessfully indeed, to distance herself from Anton. However
before Sister Gladys was close enough to listen to their voices,
Mary said to Anton, “We’ll talk again, ok?” to which Anton said,
“yes, most certainly.”
“Well, well, how’s the conversation going?” Sister Gladys
asked them in a scornful way.
Mary kept silent.
“It’s going very well Sister Gladys and how’s your morning?”
Anton asked.
“It’s going well, thank you Mr. Jonas. Anything I should
know?” She insisted.
“No, nothing at all, Sister” Anton replied.
At that moment Father Thomas neared them too and
seeing them all together he fancied it was funny, because he said
scornfully, “Here we have a quorum, I see, should I call the meeting
to order?”
Soon as Father Thomas’ last words were said, Mary said
she had work to do and walked away. Sister Gladys looked at
Anton whose eyes followed Mary’s behind until she went through
the main entrance of the school.
“Mr. Jonas, tell me, how you find your work here at the
Residential School?”
“I’m very pleased with my work, Sister Gladys,” he replied,
“I hope my work is satisfactory to you and all others.”
I
The angel,
we had waited for him for three years, concentrated
closely examining
the pines, the seashore, the stars.
Joining the blade of the plough or the ships keel
we searched to discover once more the first sperm,
so that the ancient drama might recommence.
We went back to our homes broken hearted
with incapable limbs, with mouths ravaged
by the taste of rust and salinity.
When we woke, we traveled to the north, strangers
driven into the mist by the perfect wings
of swans that wounded us.
During winter nights the strong eastern wind
maddened us
in the summers we got lost in the agony of day
that couldn’t die.
We brought back
these petroglyphs of a humble art.
Fourth Canto
I stitch a leather latch on my door
keeping its serenity from copious
staggering fools laughing
as the ancient lascivious torch is lit
in the bowels of earth and
a battle of Giants reverberates
from one corner to another
their God with stamina
of youth fights old cunning Death
over the meaning of a life or
stigma the result being
leaves of grass stiffen against
the north wind and unfold their
satisfaction in sunshine’s arms
yet black velvet of
a hungry phallus climbs from
his subterranean realm to add
a laughing giggle to the lips of
day and turn ever-prosperous
fears to maverick months without
songs eluding to the graveness of this
absurdity and soil negates its
passive resolve to non-involvement
with opera music and spirited
fervor of lovemaking shredding even
the stiffest veil of darkness when
lips of the old woman with the
ironed breast lisps the strange
question and limp penis of
the old man ogling the moon
answers: I can do better
Excerpt
Sudden anger welled up in Tyne. Her face burned and her heart
pounded. She struggled to keep her voice under control.
Summoning all her reserve, she said in as pleasant a tone as she
could muster. “Mrs. Tournquist, it’s so nice of you to invite me, but I
am going home. Dad must have made a mistake.” A big mistake, Dad,
a very big mistake this time.
“Oh.” Mrs. Tournquist’s disappointment was as obvious as if Tyne
had seen it written on her face. “Well, I’m pleased you’re able to get
home, of course. But if there is any time during the holidays that
you’re free, please let us know.”
“I will, Mrs. Tournquist, and thank you. Thank you very much.”
She banged the receiver into its cradle and flew down the corridor.
Moe looked up quickly when Tyne shot into the room. “What ….”
Tyne grabbed her wallet off the desk and rummaged in the change
purse. “Do you have any change for the phone, Moe? I have to make
a call.”
Moe stood up and reached for her handbag on the desk. “Why?
What happened? What’s wrong? Who’re you calling?”
Tyne turned to smile at her roommate. She felt light-headed. “I’m
calling Morley to tell him I’m coming home for Christmas.”
Forgetfullness
With my loving heart I got to know you, wild forest.
I drank your secret fragrance in the kiss of the wind.
I waited to pass through you in the moonlit night
when the airy ghost went through your branches.
I got to know you during my erotic nights, wrinkled
sea as if the forehead of contemplation, my thought
went over you like a caress and your bloomed edge
with the fragrant seaweed would always invite me.
My erotic nights got to know you my beautiful flowers
diaphanous, shaded, colorful like lighted signs.
The heavy dew, a kiss and golden fluff
appeared on your eyelids tightly shut in darkness.
Now, bestowed onto the light of denial and altered,
you show me that I may lose my mind’s path.
Are you truly what I knew well? My beloved
flowers, the silvery sea, thick forest full of pines?
Limits
Momentary hesitation, shyness
star hides behind the cloud
now you see me, now you don’t
hide and seek, smile, uncertainty
shining star reappeared
to light my eyes
waning time conspires
with the clock that stops
momentary greatness
that will last forever
in the eyes of my soul
and the wind stops blowing
to admire, like I do,
your ethereal exaggeration
on the other side of the planet
body that defines the limits of my joy
Manolis Aligizakis 