Gabriel Griffin

Lament for an illegal immigrant

No moon, but fishermen

are used to that and the sea’s chanting,

the descant of the nets. The decks

silvered with sea verses,

the minims and trebles of fish

hushed into songbooks of ice.

Something didn’t sing, humped

in the net, thudding onto the deck.

Its ears heard no notes, its eyes

were blind to the men standing round,

its throat choked with words

that no-one would hear.

They let the sly octopus

sidle to the ship’s side, forgot to stop

the arch and leap of bream.

The sea moaned, the fish

slipped out of tune, the kittiwakes

hurled screeches like broken strings.

The men unfroze, thumped

what didn’t sing, what was lost for words, over the hissing deck. Tipped what had

no hope, had never had a hope,

back to the sea. No

word, no hymn, no prayer.

But the rags of its clothes cried. The sea

beat its fists on the boat. And the wind got up

and howled till dawn.

Ionela Adam

Gabriel Griffin

Lamentatie pentru un imigrant ilegal

Fara luna, dar pescarii

Sunt obisnuiti cu asta si cu cantecul marii, Descantecul plaselor. Puntile

acoperite cu versurile mari,

micimea si tremuratul pestilor.

ilustrate in carti de cantece despre gheata.

Ceva nu a cantat, nu a sarit

In plasa, zbatnadu-se pe punte.

Urechile lui nu au auzit sunete, ochii lui

nu vedeau oamenii din jur,

se ineca cu cuvinte

pe care nimeni nu le putea auzi.

Au lasat caracatita sireata

sa se strecoare in dreptul barcii, a uitat sa opreasca

arcul si saritura de platica.

Marea jelea, pestii

au alunecat din plasa, pescarusii

ramasesera fara glas.

Oamenii dezghetati de bufnitura

Ceea ce nu canta, ce era pierdut cuvintelor, pe puntea suieratoare. Aruncand

ceea ce nu avea nicio speranta,

inapoi in mare. Niciun

cuvant, cantec, rugaciune.

Dar zdrentele sale plangeau. Si vantul si-a revenit

Si a urlat pana in zori.