translated by Stefan Hyner

On a truck
from Heraklion
eating little bananas
to suppress the tooth ache
in the back pack a blanket
a knife a wind breaker
a can of corned–beef
black bread two lemons
Kaddish by Allen Ginsberg
Antigone by Sophokles
and La Source grecque
by Simone Weil
  get out in Malia
     where, of the antique city
         between the sea and high bare mountains
            nothing remains anymore

translated by Stefan Hyner

Behind the village
   garden of paradise
        metal bucket painted in blue
              for the water from the well
white wall    garden with tomatoes and vegetables
  bower with the last yellow leaves of the grape
     the entire afternoon
          reading under a blanket
stormy wind outside swirls up the leaves
   Jacques is cooking tonight
      i pick up the Retsina now
10 minutes down the road
  to the shop of Alla Marina
     where the wind blows
        even colder
           even stronger

by Joanne Kyger

              See what happens when you waddle around
        beneath the bird seed table
    waiting for a hand out
You’ve become a sitting duck               a pile of tiny grey feathers

by Joanne Kyger

              “The froth of rapid associations”
                     is entirely in the mind
                          This ‘here’ is not moving

Our garden has become over run
with a new generation of scrub jays                

They make very loud sounds
and fly about aggressively
pecking holes in the apple tree’s apples

To make them fly away we clap our hands
or tap on the window
They mostly learn to shut up

The other day, our friend from Argentina
saw us run out on the deck
after lunch
and clap our hands

He thought it was some kind
of New Age California ritual
to end a meal

                               Time later to find out
                       what went right
and what didn’t go right, right