The Shall and the Should of Death
This way, then, you retained many insignificant images
in your eyes.
Who will have time to get baptized in the Lake of
memory?
Eternity lasts so little
yet, it’s possible that certain justice must exist somewhere
that explains
under which pretensions a man dies
with so many shall and should which death whispers
his whole life vanishes
since, you know, only one second is enough
for the change of course his wings can take
and don’t listen to them, seconds are precious
since the man who dies is penniless
with the choked death rattle of a haunted man
he needed minutes, thousands of seconds
to buy what? Insignificant images, yet, how
can he repay? What can he borrow now?
How many images of his memory can he sell?
Minutes give birth to a dynasty of aged images
and the interest seems to be unbearable.
Is there anyone, then, who can pay for it?
excerpt
the shop poor Willy had replaced the pagan turmoil of Hrothgar’s Feast with
the blissed-out cooing of George Harrison. Larry grimaced at the music, took
a hit off the joint. As minutes passed he grew into an Easter Island statue, a pitted
mask smitten with sinister benevolence, relishing cosmic absurdities . . .
I wasn’t interested in more drugs. I was cultivating a new yearning—for
comforting fetishes like Turkish rugs or French etchings, or at least quality
post-war British stuff, the old Pye Black Box gramophones, Hornby Trains in
the original blue boxes, I was fed up with bankrupt stock and garage-sale
rejects. And I wanted something with class. Something safe, please. Nothing
too radical.
“It’s not weapons, is it, Larry?”
He passed the joint and began prising open the tea chest with a bent fork.
“Just weird shit. Specially for you.”
The chest contained thick folio-sized notebooks, bulging box files, a crumpled
set of plans or blueprints, and half a dozen books in uniform bindings,
ex-lib, half-calf and purple clo, gilt lttr, top edge gilt, gilt device on sp, approx 200 pp,
frnt brds sl warped and stained, torn frontis in Vol I, some neat inscr, otherwise v good,
ideal for a proper bookseller with a catalogue, not my Surprise Book Bins.
“They’ve been in storage for years . . .” Larry sniffed defensively. A yellowed
newspaper cutting fell out. ‘Fears of Red Atom Bombs’.
He told me he’d acquired this heap of forties memorabilia as payment for
some dope. I asked him which clients usually paid in waste paper.
Larry looked uneasy. He liked to keep the different strata of his life separate.
“A photographer that my gorgeous creature did some work for. A young
guy. But ugly, thank God. She says he snuffles while he’s setting up the poses.
Like a great rat . . .” He sucked the joint and giggled. “He’s heavily into cuisine
and wine. I guess he can’t perform vintage sex.”
Despite the dope I was getting impatient. I might raise something on tomes
with fancy bindings, but as for wartime diaries, old blueprints—I inquired as to
where the stuff originated.
“Some old attic, south of the river. Like Norwood, or Streatham Common.
ForGod’s sake, Nick, I only went there once. One of those high old houses with
stained glass in the porch window. A Victorian rose-window with cruciform
panels . . .” He exhaled slowly,seemingly bemused by the sudden emergence of
this elegant adjective.
“I suppose there aren’t any pieces from the windows in that trunk?” I was
seized with entrepreneurial glee at discovering yet another way of repackaging
splinters of the past, little sunset glints of nostalgia for an already uneasy seventies.
“Too late. His gaffer was tearing the place apart, converting it into a shop
Troubadour
Troubadour tunes chords chime on
the listening wall of loneliness
clouds attend flimsily
just enough to grasp a few notes
the red ‘do’ or the shrouded ‘mi’
when the blue eyes of her highness
shed brackish tears
dubious fidelity
as the amorphous grasps
a shape a headless idol while
crusader sharpens
his command and
sword another head served
on a blasphemous altar
son of man exiled
leaves ravenous void
I Want You ‘Now’
Now, here, next to me!
I don’t want you to come tomorrow. I don’t want you to tell me what time you’ll come.
I want you to come in the night and ring the doorbell, suddenly, when I’m asleep.
Without me knowing it!
Unexpectedly!
To come and ring the bell and as I would open the door half asleep and startled you’ll slip under my blankets and I would never wake up until morning and in your arms.
I want to wake up and smell the fragrance of your cologne when you shave in the bathroom.
You’ll kiss me as you leave and I shall go back to the unravelled bed sheets. I’ll hear the door close behind you I’ll smile as if I’m in a dream, while I would still be asleep.
And when I get up hours later not to know whether it was a dream or reality that I dreamed or I truly experienced all this.
excerpt
“That’s all, Dad. We’re not going out anywhere, I promise.”
“Fine. Give Lyssa’s clothes back to her. Now sit down and let’s get
started before everything gets cold. All right, Bobby, go ahead.”
Once again they joined hands around the table and bowed their
heads for Bobby’s shortened grace.
ͣͣ
With the twins settled in their beds – but not without complaining
that it was still light outside – Tyne returned to the kitchen to pour
two cups of freshly brewed coffee. She added fresh cream and carried
them outside to where Morley sat on the porch swing.
“Where’s Bobby?” Tyne asked as she handed him a mug and sat
down beside him.
“Doing a final round in the barn and taking Sparky for a run.”
Tyne sighed. “Poor old Sparky. I don’t think he’ll be with us much
longer, do you?”
Morley took a sip of coffee and shook his head in the negative.
“No, I’m afraid not. He’s lived longer than most big dogs live. But he’s
not suffering, just losing energy and his zest for life.”
Tyne placed her hand on Morley’s where it lay on his knee. “It
will break Bobby’s heart when Sparky dies. They’ve been inseparable
since the day I brought the kids home for what was supposed to be a
temporary stay with us.” She laughed lightly with the memory.
Morley took her hand in his big one and squeezed it. “Almost ten
years ago. Can you believe it? I sometimes wonder how we did it all
with everything that went wrong that first year.”
Tyne smiled and turned her head to kiss him on his stubbled
cheek. “You know how we did it. Only with prayer and God’s faithful
guidance.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes as the swing moved gently back
and forth. The only sounds were the familiar bawl of a calf in the barn,
and from the chicken house close by, the rising and falling murmur of
excerpt
Cougar
The Circle H Ranch
Willow Springs, Montana
It was noon the next day by the time Joel returned to the ranch
from Cindy’s place. Fortunately, it was a Sunday and there were
not any plans for work. Thanks to the foresight of his father, the
pastures were configured so that they had their own natural springs
that continued to run even in the driest years, so there was lots of
good grass in the fields for his equine friends to feast on.
After a lovely breakfast with Cindy, Joel had bid her goodbye,
leaving Cindy to retrieve little Lila from her grandmother’s care.
The day went by quickly, and other than a little clean up
around the yard, including firing up the lawn mower, cutting the
grass around the house, and watering the flowers, Joel spent most
of the day reveling in the activities of the previous night—and
what a night it had been!
As he climbed into his own bed, he could still smell the fragrance
of Cindy on his skin. He was thinking that he may never
shower again, and then Joel pleasantly drifted off to sleep with
memories of the previous night dancing in his mind.
The scream could only be described as blood curdling. He had
never heard anything like it before. He woke in an instant and
was soon joined in the bedroom by Buddy, who was so terrified
that he was shaking.
There the scream was again. Joel didn’t know what it was,
but he sure didn’t like it. As he climbed into his jeans and
threw on his shirt, he didn’t have a clue of what he was about
Paper
Part of the newspaper unfolded like an umbrella in the rain;
a squeezed piece of paper like a human heart.
What I do frightens me
but what I don’t do tyrannizes me;
(we share pain along with things
like the garbanzo beans during the Saint Marina’s celebration.)
A piece of paper I placed in the wet ditch
and now I stretch it on my knee
to become like an ironed shirt
that even if the by chance word
you wrote once was forever erased.
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Translucent
Restless wind ally of rocky
monsters let reasons be learned
and fear vanish from my child’s heart
that only you remain by my side
a jester who believed in games
result of the abstract I am
in your incessant longing
destined for movement
grafting my measure of joy and
festive adornment of
your eternal beauty, oh, tree top
dance upon the shining rays
sometimes jealous of your reflection
upon the laughter of the sea
Manolis Aligizakis 