Soca
Calligraphic buttocks
sway under sun’s
auspices a bit to the left
a bit to the right down south
up north earthly grooving
sway of Eros stretching a golden
bow and aiming at lascivious
bodies with his arrow dipped
in fiery stark colors of lust
the street bounces in its
eagerness bending to the
soca tune rumbling like thunder
from speakers atop
the passing truck with
young men screaming something
about life being so beautiful
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STONES
Satisfaction
Not that it was promotional, recognizable or exemplary —
the sound of the key in the lock — that sound in the night,
an idea of the shape of the key, its simple mechanism,
and the secret exactness and obedience. Of course it wasn’t
promotional; besides who would you have to promote it to?
The one holding the key was unknown and the door too.
Perhaps the only pride: that we retained that sound
while at the far end of the hall the old-caretaker passed
naked with a white towel covering his head.
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(excerpt)
After a short six month period to orient himself with the new parameters of the Canadian company and after he learned to communicate better in English Anton’s father started earning a full mechanic’s wages which was a good amount of money each month. His father stood six and an half feet up and his wide shoulders filled the small door of their house each time he went in or out. A man of true European style taught Anton his ways and means and with the help of his wife Adina, they raised a sensible and down to earth young man who took after his father and grew high like his old man.
After Anton finished high school and the University of British Columbia, in Vancouver, where he graduated in social studies, he did odd jobs, since he never bothered finding a job in his field as social worker, and under his father’s advice he applied for a position at CP Rail where he stayed for almost two years. Having a steady job he managed to get a bank loan which he used to buy his first vehicle: a black GMC pickup truck which he still drives. Having no inclination to become a CP Rail engineer at the advice of the CP Rail yard foreman and seeing no future working for the railroads he decided to try and find something else. He took a couple of courses via correspondence: an electrical apprenticeship and a plumbing apprenticeship and being a smart and observant guy he hoped to land a job soon.
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I’M THE GARDEN
I’m a garden where flowers once bloomed
filled with the joyous chirps of birds
with secret whispers and soundless kisses
at night love walked around my shadows.
I’m a garden stuck in the same place
for many years in vain waiting for a return
and instead among the flowers I’ve been buried
in the thorns my nightingales have been silenced
and I’ve been choked by the snakes
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Mini
Put on your mini-skirt
make your eyes impeccable
wear the thin bra to allow
your contours to be seen
by the hunting eyes of men
mascara accentuating your
eyelashes and please don’t forget
when you sit opposite me
in the room full of friends
to open your legs
for just an imperceptible moment
and let me admire
your concealed femininity
I vow I won’t miss it
aren’t my eyes to
be always fixated on
your exquisite topography?
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George, the Cretan cook, was more animated than any other time in presenting his argument “Let me tell you stupid ass” he said addressing Tyson, “say you travelled abroad, anywhere on earth and you stopped someone and asked, if I mention to you the word Greece, you know the country in the Mediterranean, what comes to your mind? The person surely will answer, civilization, philosophy, Acropolis, and arts; then if you asked the person, if I mentioned to you the word Canada, you know the country in North America, what comes to your mind? The person surely will answer fast food, hockey and beer. That’s what you’re all about here in your Canada, moron, that’s your civilization and your arts, and your philosophy. That’s who you are.”
Tyson didn’t say a word; only he turned and like a dog with his tail between his legs he distanced himself from George, the Cretan cook.
THE GATE
Excerpt XXVIII
V
At that exact moment the huge harp, leaning softly
against the breast of the chimney, was heard from
the roof,
as if the chimney with its black peplum was
the harpist; and
the harp, its sound, and the chimney were clearly
visible
and with five flashes at the edge of each note they
multiplied into comets
criss-crossing long white ribbons and
a light small woman’s kerchief floating across
the horizon, just a few inches over the harp.
Maria’s candle was out. Helen wasn’t laughing
anymore; cigarettes were burning on the ashtray.
Then suddenly the chords were heard breaking
one by one, noose after noose, small nooses fluttered
in the air, catching head and hand.
Be careful, he said, don’t look only upward, don’t
listen only to upward. The saw knows better;
the same movement forward and backward, it cuts
the tree, the second plank in the needed size: table,
bench, bed
where we lie to make love, to give birth, to sleep;
the law of usefulness, he said, discontinued
continuance; lasting knowledge.
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Manolis Aligizakis 