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.

Patricia Neculae

Gabriel Griffin

Elegie pentru un imigrant ilegal

Noapte fara luna, dar pescarii-s

obisnuiti; si cu marea incantand,

si cu al plaselor ritm. Puntile

argintate de versurile marii,

tonurile si trilurile pestilor

amutiti in repertoriul de gheata.

Carcit in plasa, izbindu-se

de punte, unul nu canta.

Urechile-i erau surde, ochi-i

orbi la oamenii stand roata

si nimeni n-avea sa auda

cuvintele-i poticnite-n gatlej.

Lasara caracatita alunecoasa

sa alunece spre marginea vasului, uitara

sa opreasca zbaterea arcuita a pestilor. Marea scoase un geamat, pestii

incepura sa falseze, pescarusii

tipara-n sunet de corzi vlaguite.

Oamenii se dezmeticira si aruncara

pe cel fara de glas, cel de necuprins in cuvant,

peste puntea suieranda. Azvarlira pe cel

fara speranta, ce niciodata n-a avut speranta,

inapoi in apa marii. Fara

cuvinte, fara imnuri, fara rugaciuni.

Dar zdrentele hainelor lui tipara. Marea

batu cu pumnii in barca. Si vantul se ridica

si rataci pana in zori.