Kornaros's Classic Poem in Longhand by (an 12-year old resident of Crete) Manolis Emmanuel Aligizakis
Greek Canadian Literature Libros Libertad Manolis Aligizakis
MEMORY
Stop the melodious chords
of the guitar.
They remind me of my youth
and grieving heart,
my youth that passed
so fast before me
and left behind
not one consoling thought.
The traitor only left
a wretched meditation
that expertly foretells
the hour of my death.
Here is the eye that craves
to see the sun again,
here the mouth that yearns
to take its final breath.
“Where did you get hold of that? Where?” He just kneels there stupidly,
clutching the remote control like a protective talisman. “You’ve been scavenging
in my bedroom. My personal space. You’ve been going through my things . . .”
Her voice swells with anger. “I don’t believe this,Lucas, it’s really hurtful, my own
son fingering through my private stuff, it’s horrible. You’ve no bloody right.
What the hell’s got into you these days? Why do you do these things?”
“I was just looking for a used tape. To record Solaris. I didn’t bring any of
my own tapes with me.” For a moment he is feeble with pretence and
self-loathing. But he’s right, he has a basic right to know, doesn’t he? Doesn’t
she support the universal right to knowledge? Isn’t that her business? He’s
going to put it to her but she’s already away, firing on all cannons.
“I suppose you just found it accidentally. On purpose. Maybe you’re compiling
a dossier on me. Parental failures you have known . . .”
“I just remembered bits about the show. As a kid . . . Look, I only wanted to
know . . .”
“You didn’t have to watch this far. You could have had the decency to stop,
couldn’t you?” She’s quivering with anger, hurling down her jacket and bag as
she paces furiously about the room. She starts to snatch up books, magazines,
papers—and as she swings round and thrusts his tattered college applications
into his face, he can see she’s in tears. “It’s not as if you didn’t have more
important things to do. That is, if you want a future of your own. Instead of
rummaging about in other people’s utterly finished business.”
“But it is my business . . . And Dad’s, as well. Look, Pauline, I’m not trying
to take sides . . .” He’s not sure if that’s true. His parents can’t both own the
truth. Maybe somehow they’re both wrong, and nothing is true. But somebody
owes him an answer. Something that will structure his shadow . . . This
dark matter is clouding his life, it’s in his blood, so what the hell are the material
facts?
She’s gone into the kitchen. She’s lighting a cigarette, the first for months,
and her small fingers are trembling—but to hell with her fragile game, sometimes
you have to break heads, break the silence. He’s sorry, sorry, Mum, but
he can’t let her get away, not now.
“I just don’t get it. You could talk about Dad, Nick, call him what you like,
to thousands of invisible TV voyeurs. That’s what you’d call them now, isn’t
it? You could share him and his illness, no, let’s get it right, his madness, his ‘
mania’, those were some of your words, you could share him, warts and all,
with all those TV amps—but years and years later you still won’t tell me, your
son, anything, not one damn real thing. I’m not a camera, I guess. ”
“That film was a violation, Lucas. A travesty. It misrepresents me. I’d been
promised greater control, but—”
excerpt
“No, there is nothing wrong. I’m thinking it would be a good idea to get away
from all of this for a while. I’ll have the chance to show you the Gulf, remember
our discussions about the Gulf? Perhaps we can even swim. A couple of weeks
and we come back; Hakim and Jennifer are going to be ready to move into their
new place and we’ll give them a hand with that. By the way, we’ll go and have a
look at the new apartment this week sometime. Before we go away, I promised
Hakim we’d do that.”
“Okay, honey, but what about the expense?
“Leave that to me. I’ll take care of it.”
“Look at this,” Emily says to him and shows him the form she received from
Bevan.
She explains to him what the form indicates regarding pension and severance
payments she will receive.
He smiles.
“Ironic, isn’t it? People you don’t expect to be caring are more caring than
you think they are. Yes, it is ironic, but it’s a pleasant surprise.”
She hugs him and kisses his lips, saying, “This means I need to pack up and
organize my things before we go.”
excerpt
IN THE JUNGLE, thirty hobos sat at long
tables set with white linen, china and
silver. Poodie was at the head of one
table, President Truman at the other.
Each of the diners had a crystal goblet
and a pint of Harmony at his place. Men in white jackets brought
dinner from the President’s observation car, steaming plates of
beans and bowls of stew. Dan Thorp placed a golden delicious by
each man’s plate. Ruth followed with a basket of carrots and stalks
of asparagus. The Thorp children cleared the plates between
courses, and the dogs sat watching on boulders. Conversation at
the tables alternated among French, Latin, English and Spanish.
Old Sam stood to offer a toast, placing his baseball cap over his
heart and hoisting his bottle of Harmony. He thanked Mr. Truman
for being a gracious host and Poodie for being the President’s
friend. Mrs. Truman came onto the observation platform, wiping
her hands on her apron and beaming down at the diners. Engine
Fred offered a toast to Mrs. Truman, who led everyone in a chorus
of “The Bum Song.”
Come all you jolly jokers and listen while I hum
I’ve got some more to tell you of a great American bum,
On the highways and the railway tracks you’ll find them everywhere
They’re shooting snacks and smoking pipes, they’re bummin’ for
a square,
Oh, some folks like their high class stuff, and lots of service too…
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 