Nothing For You (A Tale of Two Towers)

When Vassals Can Build Castles

When you first enter

the church you think

of a whitewashed barn.

You see pastor Debbie

grinning a satisfied smile

eyes atwinkle behind her glasses.

she is behind a small synthesizer

she refers to as an organ

Her chubby husband

stands near her

holding a cheap acoustic guitar

his red hair thinning

and streaked with gray

his face permanently flushed red

Guitar picks litter the area

like Easter colored wafers 

As he picks his way through

Leaning on the Grace of the Lord

You don’t think of Eric Clapton

The Blacksmith Shop

There were bellows

fastened by shipyard rope

controlled by a foot pedal

The fire was writhing . blazing

Held by tongs

a rail of iron

glowed red

made pliant for the anvil

Hammered into a horseshoe

then dropped in a bucket of water

It sizzled and steamed

And the horses

were hitched to a length of timber

tossing their manes

In the grass by the river

were plowshare and harrows

awaiting repair

Waves of heat

broke over my face

at the entrance

at my back

were white clouds and rain.

Czelaw Milosz (1911-2004)

Translated by Henry Kanabus

The Advent of Glass / GatherDead . Father

I remember The Days of The Death of My Father


My sister and I
were in Stanley Funeral Home
arranging for the burial
of our Father

I said:
           Why can’t he be buried
without the concrete encasement
The UnderTaker said it was a Health issue
and the law.

We picked out
a copper tinted casket.

He was buried at the Family area
family plot (I guess you could say)
at Saint Joseph’s Cemetery in Chicago

I remember
my eldest sister Theresa

glaring at my Mother
to make her feel guilty

But it was nobody’s fault

He had fought
with a virulent cancer
and died is all.

We ate somewhere
I don’t 
             remember that clearly.

He was dead
and life would
change a bit
and go on...

The Message

I agree to this landscape
which might not exist.

The father is holding a violin.
Children are licking at the sound.

A cold wind
brushes a garden of petals.

Then the wars . We lose sight of one another.
Huddled in full sentences, words are in hiding.

An empty room
parked in the twilight
of an old apartment house.

Please leave a message,
says Jaina.

 

 

Reworked from NIKT

© 2003, Ewa Lipska
From: Ja
Publisher: Wydawnictwo Literackie, Krakow, 2003

Fork

This strange thing must have crept
Right out of hell.
It resembles a bird’s foot
Worn around the cannibal’s neck.

As you hold it in your hand,
As you stab with it into a piece of meat,
It is possible to imagine the rest of the bird:
Its head which like your fist
Is large, bald, beakless, and blind.

 

 

© Charles Simic
From: Selected Early Poems
Publisher: George Braziller, Inc.

SHE COUNTS ON SEX

The Church persists that corpses be buried
explaining that Christ himself wanted to be
buried. Sure, I was going to
be resurrected, and not be reborn
from ashes like a phoenix, says Christ,
but it doesn’t mean that others can’t
be reborn from ashes like a phoenix,
says Christ and He’s really
pissed off at this stupid Church.
Like a phoenix. In four hours
I’ll see you, whatever
happens, I’ll see you
in three hours.

 

© Justyna Bargielska
From: Bach for my baby
Publisher: Biuro Literackie, Wroclaw, 2013