Arrows

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excerpt

That was a strange kind of animal. I didn’t think it was a pig, too
slender and bony, and too big and fleshy to be any kind of bird I knew.
My turn came, and I sank the gourd and extracted it with the
stock, which I drank and found to be dull but palatable. As the
liquid diminished, Urquía took the charred carcass and tore it
apart, giving a piece to each man. I couldn’t see clearly, for she had
her back tome, but when she gave Conopoima, who sat beside me,
his piece, my stomach lurched. It was a little hand with fingers
curled up by the heat.
Stories of cannibalism came to my mind. Was it a child we were
eating? Conopoima took the hand and with his teeth peeled the
fingers of their flesh, nails and all, leaving the tiny bones bare.
I didn’t have time to do anything but gape before she favoured
me with the head. It was the head of a monkey with a horrible grin
on its face.
I am sure it was deference to give me the head, but, by all the
saints in heaven, how could I eat it? And how could I not eat it? I
looked around, swallowing the contents of my stomach a couple of
times as they rose, insisting on being expelled. I saw the men
relishing here a hand, there a leg, foot and all, picking out of their
mouths the tiny bones of the toes or a nail, or just spitting them out.
They stared at my inaction, their conversation slowly dying.
I looked at the gourd and turned it over to avoid the monkey’s
almost human face. Then I cracked a smile and held the head with
one finger while I sipped the small amount of liquid left. A cold
sweat broke out on me as I fought the need to retch. I forced myself
to swallow and appear content. Guacaipuro’s eyes gleamed. They
were testing me again.
I deliberately tore a piece of skin from the scalp so that everyone
had time to see, and put it in my mouth and chewed. Swallowing
proved more difficult, but Baruta’s disappointed expression gave
me the push I needed, and I forced it down. Once, twice, three times.
I managed to pick enough meat out of the head to expose a patch

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Ασημίνα Λαμπράκου, Δύο ποιήματα

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Ασημίνα Λαμπράκου, Δύο ποιήματα

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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excerpt

the ship’s rail while Brother Berach bathed his fevered face. Hrafen climbed aboard
in a fury of curses. First, he picked up the bucket of water Berach had been using and
dumped the contents on the two monks. Then he grabbed the protesting Berach by
the back of his tunic, swung him around, and flung him against the rail. The old man
lay unmoving on the deck.
Brother Keallach had taken a few moments from the hot job of caulking to
come on deck to relieve himself over the side. On seeing what was happening between
Hrafen and the two elderly Brothers, he bounded to the prow to face the
bully. Though he shook with anger at such an unwarranted attack, he held himself
in check while the Norseman continued his tirade. When Hrafen bellowed that the
two old thralls must have been responsible for the ram’s escape in the first place,
Keallach, who had seen how the animal bolted the moment it was released from
its pen on board ship, could neither speak nor understand the Norse tongue. As it
was, the two men stood glaring at one another. The Norseman picked up the empty
bucket and flung it with all his might toward the open sea. Then he stomped off to
the far end of the knarr.
Finten, Rordan, Ailan and Lorcan came on deck, along with Atall their guard, to
see what was going on. But Kyrri was sufficiently deaf that he had not been disturbed
by the ruckus on deck. He just carried on caulking and did not come up until he
noticed his helpers were gone.
Father Finten knelt in a slowly forming puddle of blood to hold the old man, now
limp in his arms. Brother Berach’s neck hung at an odd angle, blood trickling from
his open mouth. Rordan and Ailan crossed themselves and dropped to their knees
in silent shock, tears streaming from their eyes. Keallach stood glaring at the bully,
holding his own anger.
Brother Lorcan did not kneel. He looked at Keallach, turned to follow his gaze toward
the killer and slowly, deliberately walked toward him. By the time they thought
to hold him back, it was too late. Hrafen picked him up with both hands around his
throat, shook him violently and heaved him over the side.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

Wheat Ears

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Aphrodite II
Aphrodite laughed at my wonder
when I constructed my dwelling
from the top down
with a courtyard in the clouds
and a roof in the soil’s breath
opposite all other
matters of nature: corporeal
beasts lowered their heads
in the watering trough
merciless light reflected
in their innocent eyes
as in the upper level of
a fence almost painted
the color of guilt before
the first absolution
was invented
heat from the hearth
warmed my heart
ceiling and basement
left in midair
air-conditioned floor
the robin’s chirp
just an illusion and here
I was meant to discover
justice and beg the sun
for a shred of logic

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Tasos Livaditis – Selected Poems

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AND PERHAPS what we never understood was the only
thing left to us.
Because who could ever win the night or the dream, and inside
the house one with the other
were simply heirlooms, and each of us will plainly die
in the disturbed evening, unnaturally lit by
the torches.
We were always unprepared. And this was our harvest.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562930

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763831

Constantine Cavafy

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Sensual Delight
Joy and myrrh of my life, the memory of hours
when I found and lived sensual delight as I desired it.
Joy and myrrh of my life, I, who resisted
all enjoyment of routine erotic love.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562856

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763823

Ugga

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fifteen
You multiplied
you overpowered all species
with deceitful
progress
you applied the breaks
what flies
won’t learn of anything else
and what crawls
to stay as is
only you, the almighty
more than any other
searched for the point of Superiority
for allies and Creators
you investigated the sun
and the moon
and all the constellations

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Savages and Beasts

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excerpt

indeed happened a few years later when the teacher with her
epiphany passed into the sweet embrace of her Lord, only to leave
behind the unhealed scars of ridicule inflicted upon these Indian
girls; scars which they were meant to retain for the rest of their
lives.
Anton’s and Mary’s feelings strengthened as they days
went by and as they had their occasional intimacy when the circumstances
would allow it and when Mary’s psychological state
of mind would cooperate; they felt strongly about their future
which at times they discussed.
“I want us to leave and go someplace far away,” she would
say to Anton.
“I want that too, and I’m certain time will come for it, yet
for now we have a duty to do: what is best for these kids before
we bail out and leave,” Anton would say to her and to which she
never had any objecting word to say. It was enough for her that
she’d have a future with the man she loved and when it would
come together or in which part of the world they might decide to
move she was wholeheartedly willing to give it a chance.
Anton had devoted some of his time to fix his room. He
took all old things out, donated them to the local charity, one’s
leftovers are always someone else’s treasure, as the saying goes;
he also got a couple of gallons of paint and gave his office a fresh
look. He bought a new bed and beddings from the local Hudson’s
Bay store which he transported with his truck to the School and
put it together. He didn’t even ask Father Nicolas whether the
School would cover the expense, he just bought it and with the
new coat of paint the room it looked a lot better than before.
Anton had also developed a very strong friendship with
George the Cretan cook of the School and they often talked of
Anton’s plans which always included Mary and also the fate …

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Orange

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Double
Certainly, it wasn’t I who
jogged along the suburban
houses last night
dominance, security of
four walls, and ambience
with my unbuttoned shirt
like forgotten piety
with my heart surrounded
by the auspices
of the thick darkness
it wasn’t I running like
a dream forgetful of its origin
I wasn’t, but my double
who hid in his bag
old picture of two stars
swimming in a crystal pond
twin faces, glancing at one mirror
as you were coaching me
to hide in your arms and
release my tiredness and
I held the little master key tightly
ready to place in the hole and
open the world like a blooming rose

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763750

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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excerpt

sexual gratification of a bunch of perverts. If this happened to your family,
wouldn’t you want someone to care? Wouldn’t you want someone to
raise a stink? Wouldn’t you want someone to help? That’s all I’m trying
to do. Apparently, to my surprise, it seems this painting was the two by
four needed to apply to the side of your head to get you to pay attention.
My job is to announce to you what has gone on and what continues to
go on. I’m robbing you of your innocence. I’m not going to give you the
chance to say, ‘If only I had known’. Now you know. What are you going
to do about it?”
The mood of the public changed. People began calling to agree with
him. Battle lines were drawn and half – or perhaps even the magic fiftyone
percent – agreed with him.
Ken spent an hour or more each day, at the Columbus Centre, talking
to people who lined up to see the painting and talk to the artist. Thousands
of people came – far more than had attended his opening night.
Ken finished each of his stories with a plea for help. He urged people
not to simply believe his stories, but to investigate and make up their own
minds. And if they discovered that what he said was true, let the government
know how they felt. This was what democracy was about – and he
was appalled at how lightly most people took the democracy they lived in.
“No one that is born here really takes it seriously,” he told them. “Do you
know how many rivers of blood were spilled to have what we have here?
How can we pretend to be this thing that we say we are when you can’t
bother to inform yourselves about what goes on in your own country?
How can you be a nation without knowing what goes on in your own
backyard?”
Ken received a phone call from Wayne Morrison, the executive director
of the Friends of Canadian Broadcasting and the stepson of Northrop
Frye. Could they meet, he asked? Ken invited him to the studio.
Wayne was a dapper and polished gentleman who expressed fascination
with the furor caused by the flag painting. The CBC was about to
suffer large financial cuts, which would seriously endanger its existence,
he said, and he wanted Ken’s help. He wanted to reproduce the flag painting
in full page magazine advertisements with Ken standing beside it
holding a paintbrush with the quote, “I haven’t been this mad in twenty
years.” Below that would be the story of the CBC cutbacks.
Ken said yes, but he was not prepared to use the painting. He would
create another similar one instead. When Diane asked why, he said, “I’m
going to give it to Canada and I don’t want it reproduced. It’s going to go
to the country pure.”
“You’re going to give it away? Good lord, we don’t have enough money to
do what we’re doing and you’re going to give paintings away! Why are you
going to give something to the government? They already take too much!”

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573