Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume IV

Our Life in Phares
After all the misfortunes we became very superstitious.
We pay attention to the shadows of birds and leaves
we hear unheard off sounds, we step back,
late in the dusk, on tiptoes, we enter the temple
we burn incense on the altar, we fill the lamps with oil,
we place our bronze coin offering on the altar
we near the god’s ear and whispering we ask: “when?”,
“from where?” “with what?” And then we seal our ears
shut and leave. When we reach out to the marketplace,
we unseal our ears at once — the first word we hear
is the answer of the god. That word is never the one
we wished to hear, perhaps we misheard. Then again
we restart the same tedious process — the temple,
the candles, our bronze coin offering and the marketplace
up to the hour that the stores close, they turn off
the lamps, and we, alone in the street, walk along
the walls, perusing that word letter by letter, reversing
the syllables, without ever reaching that which we prefer.
Thus, as you say, we spend our lives now in Phares
between the deserted marketplace and the inauspicious
oracles.

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Orange

Thoughts
All night long, sleepless,
his last day
swirls in your memory
he looked uncomfortable.
Cynical thoughts overtook
your mind
he tried to smile
awkwardly. How weak
he was.
You touched him, saying
something about
your grandchildren
a black thought of death
kept you aware of the white walls
a sponge bath perhaps, would
make him feel better
prepared him for his final voyage.
Does Hades care for
one’s last moments
in a satin bed sheet?

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

excerpt

mysterious fusion of lotion, cream and paint, the ancient alchemy of
pulchritude. The new hairdo balanced precariously atop her head, a
plumage of swirls and frizzy ringlets, every strand tinted and teased.
Mirror, mirror on the wall . . .
My brother appeared shortly, two pals in tow. Burt was 16. The
tattoo of a cobra snaked up his bony arm and under a Harley-
Davidson T-shirt. The fuzz germinating on his chin had the lax bristle
of pubic hair.
– Home, Ma!
The walls trembled as the trio stampeded down the basement stairs.
– Where the heck have you been? my mother asked sleepily. The
pills the doctor said would help control her mood swings had kicked
in. So had the delayed reactions.
Burt emerged from the basement moments later, a bulky paper
bag tucked under an arm.
– Later, Ma!
– TV dinners are in the freezer, she said. Or you can warm up the
meat loaf.
Myfather had promised to be home by six; I heard him. Quarter past
seven finds my mother positioned at the living room window waiting
for the Plymouth to slide down Mons Drive, the slamming shut
of its rusty door, his workboots on the porch. She sucks on a Pilsner,
shredding its label with swipes of her sharp crimson nails.
– Better be home soon, she mutters, throttling the bottle’s neck.
Bloody well better.
By 9 p.m. a half-dozen empties collide at her feet. Images from the
black-and-white TV cavort across the walls. Whenever she darts to
the bathroom I hear the tinkling of pee, a rattling of pills.
I have a morning paper route and must retire early. From my bedroom
directly below I hear her heels pacing the floor; they sound like a
pair of spikes being driven through lumber. Then she moves to the telephone
where she begins ordering the Legion bartenders to page Dad.
– You think I don’t know he’s there? she accuses. Think I don’t
know what he’s up to?
The last sound I hear before drifting off is a bottle cap skimming
across the floor, a stone skipping the surface of a pond.

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Savages and Beasts

excerpt

“Come on George, don’t let this upset you so much,”
Anton suggested but George wouldn’t have any of that… “How
could I let it be, how couldn’t I be upset when this animal, who
doesn’t even speak his own language properly, can’t wait for me
to open my mouth and say a word he already has criticized it
as being wrongly said? These are the animals who believe they
relate to people, but you don’t have to go too far, look at how they
abuse these kids here on a daily basis, how they treat them and
all that under the auspices of their mighty Church. Go figure!”
Anton didn’t wish to carry on with this conversation so he
turned his head the other way and sipped his coffee. Anton would
prefer some action on the subject rather than talk about it, but
he kept his thoughts to himself, at least for now.
The sun shone outside the walls of the mausoleum and
truly these two men had been affected by the heat, or the heat
of the kitchen ovens which most likely had gone to their heads,
Anton thought, there shouldn’t be any other explanation for their
argument. George, seeing that Tyson didn’t say a word to his
point, felt that he had the upper hand and carried on with his
convincing metaphors.
“Yes, you brute, when we immigrants came to this country
we took you all down from the trees where you dwelled with the
apes, and we made humans of you; now of course you have the
upper hand, yea, you have the money and the guns, that’s what
you have and see everyone else as inferior, as second class.”
Tyson smiled ironically to George’s comment and went
back to his kitchen to keep busy with other things rather than
to listen to a man he had hard time understanding, so strong was
George’s accent; and yes, he never tried to make the effort to
understand him, anyhow, why did he owe that to the immigrant, he
thought, he only had to do his job and what George would say was…

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