Savages and Beasts

excerpt

Indian kids; George’s Mediterranean spirit drawing strength and
inspiration from the four thousand year old Cretan civilization
and tradition rebelled at the thought that these children might
had been sexually abused and when he heard of it he jumped up
off his seat while his face was as red as the fire in his kitchen. He
looked at Anton’s eyes and said,
“If I ever catch someone abusing any of these kids I’ll kill
him, I swear to God I will exterminate him.”
“Relax George,” Anton said, “take it easy; we have to be
practical, not let our emotions make the best of us, we have to
be careful not to let anything go unnoticed, we have to be observant,
we have to act when we have proof,” Anton tried to calm
him down.
George nodded his agreement though his face was still
as red as the fire in his kitchen and his rebellious mind wouldn’t
let him relax.
“Why Anton, tell me why? Who are the educated ones
who do bad things like that? Why these kids have to suffer and
no one has ever done anything about it?”
“To answer the first part of your question,” Anton said “the
issue lies in the perception of today’s people, the English people
of British Columbia, we don’t have any French speaking people
here we have just Anglos and, like Tyson, still fondly reminiscent
the glorious era of colonialism when they would invade any country
and after plucking a wooden cross on the new soil they would
declare it property of the English King or Queen and all local
inhabitants were subjects of their King. Undoubtedly todays
Anglos still glamor these ideals with the results we find here.”
“I’m lost, Anton, truly I’m lost,” George said.
“Look, George, the concept of colonialism still abounds
and still floods the minds and hearts of the Anglos, the concept…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume VI

THE LIFT OPERATOR

Spring noon in an Athens suburb; now, with an extension of the train line, this suburb has become busy. Big commotion, although benumbed, new stores, aesthetic display windows with shirts, ties etc, kiosks, neon signs, three or four apartments with a few floors, real estate offices, tailors, lawyers and a bookstore on the main floor. Only the kites became fewer as if the children were all day long in school. The cemetery was moved a little higher, and only a few cypresses and pines were left on the fertile soil with the abundant verdure, like a strange, green, silent island moored at this suburb, encircled by a strip of sea, its old half-standing fence wall. It has been changed into a small park now with some benches, small signs, and untrimmed grass. They had also built a fountain, which was left, who knows why, half finished. A few old men find refuge here during the hot noon hours, unemployed men or some children with their tricycles or barrel rings and sometimes the polite, handsome lift operator of the apartment. When you see them sitting there, you think that they sit behind silence, or behind faraway windows, and they look elsewhere. Yet, you only imagine it. They look at their time, here, with their concerns, common or heroic, in the usual calendar of the regular holidays.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763785

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

Song for the Moon

The old moons, he answered, shattered and became
ightning bolts. Don’t you see that when it thunders
they shine like swords?
by Nasrudin

the most beautiful songs
are the moon songs
there are of course
many other
and beautiful
what am I saying,
fantastic songs,
but the most beautiful
we must accept it
are the songs
of the moon
when
tes seins ruissellent d’ argent
moons
as you didn’t fear the touches,
caresses and questions
of the Nereids
the crowing
night
rooster
doesn’t understand
anything
nor the forecast of the weather
they allow to it…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744799

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734

Poodie James

excerpt

heart attacks before. We would have lost two people if it hadn’t
been for Mr. James over there, and Engine Fred.”
“Engine Fred; is that name familiar to you?”
“He’s been one of our most faithful non-paying customers since
the 1920s. Every Great Northern detective from here to Minneapolis
knows Fred. He’s a favorite of the freight crews, right up there
with Sawdust Charlie and High Iron Jack. Now, I think he’s
moved into first place. I’m surprised that he showed up here. We
haven’t seen him on the road for more than a year.
“What caused the derailment?”
“Track separation. It looks like loose spikes gave way in a couple
of rotten ties, and that led to pressure on a faulty weld. It’s the sort
of thing we’d like to think routine maintenance would catch, and it
should have.”
“Could there have been some other cause?”
“Other cause, Chief? I’m a little behind you here.”
“Could a person have made this happen?
“Oh. Well, we always look for that possibility. We’ve had
derailments caused by debris on the tracks, but that’s when a train’s
highballing, not when it’s moseying through a town, like this one
was. And we didn’t find logs or concrete blocks or boulders. That’s
the kind of thing you look for.”
Poodie stood in the half circle of men watching the tank car’s
undercarriage dangle from the crane’s big hook.
“Mr. Hall,” Spanger said, “could someone have done something
to the rails?”
“Section of rail removed, switches opened, bolts cut; that sort of
thing happens, but not in this one. No, I’m afraid we’ll find that the
maintenance gangs overlooked a deteriorating situation. After so
many trains pushed on the weak section, it finally gave way and
that rail swung out of position at just the wrong time. I don’t think
I’d like to be the district supervisor around here.”
“You’re sure there was no sabotage?”
“I’m sure, Chief. That’s how it’s going into my report. But if you…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

HEAR ME OUT

excerpt

Revenge of the Overcoat
I came out of the shower, dried up my body, put on my cream, wore my perfume, opened the closet door and stood there for a while motionless wondering what dress to put on.
Opened the drawer with my undergarments, my eyes went through it quickly and got fixated on the hanger with your over coat.
Quick glance at the clock, I had to rush, had to be at the airport on time. His plane was on schedule. Stretched my arm touched the hanger with your over coat.
I put it on, tightening the belt around my waist.
Chose my six inch purple Jimmy Choo heels, purple bag, put on some lipstick, locked the house got into my car and drove out to the airport.
This way I thought of taking revenge on you, my love.
Wearing the over coat you bought for me, with no other garments under it and waiting for him to return from his trip and cuddle in my arms.
But I didn’t count it right.
Because at the end the over coat between him and I kept us apart.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562946

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763807

Fury of the Wind

Excerpt

Weary to the bone and anxious for the comfort of a soft bed, still
she went to the dressing table and picked up her hairbrush. As always
when she brushed her hair she missed the long blonde tresses
that used to fall below her shoulders when released from the hairpins.
During the war she had her hair bobbed in the fashion made
popular by the women of the armed forces and, to her chagrin, the
colour had darkened.
“Mousy blonde,” Margaret had described it one day. Sarah had
felt the urge to retort that mousy blonde was better than nondescript
brown but she held her tongue. One never got in the last
word with Margaret.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, laid the brush
down and placed both hands flat on top of the dressing table. As
she leaned forward it suddenly struck her that the face staring back
at her might have been the face of a stranger. Who was that person
whom she thought she knew so well?
Sarah Roberts, twenty-nine years old, spinster.
Sarah Roberts, graduate of Tillsonburg High, class of ’37.
Sarah Roberts, schoolteacher, holder of a teaching certificate
from Normal School in London, Ontario.
Sarah Roberts, mail-order bride.
In reality, only the latter Sarah Roberts was the stranger. What,
she wondered now, had led the popular student, the successful and
dedicated elementary schoolteacher to lower herself to this? Whatever
madness had possessed her to respond to the advertisement in
the personal column of the Winnipeg Free Press had stayed with
her through months of a correspondence which led her to believe
she was in love with someone she had never laid eyes on.
And this is where her impetuousness had brought her – to this
backwoods of the Saskatchewan prairie, to a man she had promised
to marry as soon as she arrived.
She would, of course, tell him tomorrow she was sorry but she
had changed her mind. She would tell him – kindly – that she felt
he had misrepresented himself, to say nothing of the deception he
had perpetrated concerning this farm. She would ask him to drive
her to Nimkus where she would catch the eastbound train and be
home before anyone missed her…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

Twelve Narratives of the Gypsy

FRONTIERSMEN
Having no ears and no eyes
oh you bony populace,
close your praising mouths
and stop jumping from joy.
A wild drunkenness drags
everything to theatres and
taverns the palatial Polis
and the King.
And they mix with the reigns
of the horse of the crowned
charioteer, the precious and holy.
The African men have arrived!
The Turks destroyers of
the world surround us
the destroyers of nations
the Asian conquerors.
And we the frontiers men
with our silver-made spears
the golden saddled horses
have been utterly discarded.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D3LP7NW6

Troglodytes

III
Deep wounds inflicted by the ancient symbols
on the soft petals of the crying rose
the cross outlines a crucifixion
the crescent embalms a beheading
spring dresses in chiaroscuro.
Deep wounds inflicted by greed and
symbiotic animosity of two insignia
spreading the monopolized sanctity
over the eastern horizon and further.
Bottomless wells blooming in blood
passions crashing the toughest stone
all dreams dip in sulfur
colourful brilliance of the sky
fading slowly behind black curtains.
Undulating horrific shadows
compliment the headmaster’s desire
as blurred eyes can not
see through a foggy conscience
memory of short laughter and
long peaceful nights vanish
when the kissed lips of the virgin
become a meaningful reason
for the upcoming execution.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186583

Tasos Livaditis – Selected Poems

LONG barbarous roads: they slaughtered the harmless animals
in the backyard, behind the columns, lenders gazed at the city
spitefully, merchants and travelling seers always see bad omens
and black women and children in the agora
at the hour when from inside the cup that the enraptured raised
to drink the key to the kingdom suddenly fell.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562930

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

Constantine Cavafy

This much I Gazed
This much I have gazed on beauty,
my vision is filled with it.
Contours of the body. Red lips. Sensual limbs.
Hair as if taken from Greek statues,
always beautiful, even when undone,
and falling, a bit, on the white brow.
Faces of love, as my poetry
wished them…in the nights of my early manhood,
in my nights, secretly, met…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562856

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