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.

Dana Constantinescu

Gabriel Griffin

Elegia unui emigrant ilegal

Nici luna, doar pescarii

Cunosc asta, cantul marii,

Melodia plaselor. Puntile

Argintate cu versurile marii,

Doimele si gramezile de peste

Tainuite in volume de cantece ale ghetii

Ceva nu canta, umflat

in plasa, furisandu-se pe punte.

Urechile sale nu auzeau notele, ochii sai

Nu vedeau oamenii ce stateau in jur,

Gatul sau era sugrumat de cuvinte

Pe care nu le auzea nimeni.

Au lasat sireata caracatita

Sa umble sfios pe langa vapor, au uitat sa opreasca

Arcul si saltul platicii. Marea gemea, pestii

Au pierdut melodia, pescarusii

Tipau strident ca niste corzi dezacordate.

Oamenii si-au revenit, au aruncat

Ce nu canta, ce ramasese fara cuvinte, Peste puntea ce paraia. Au rasturnat tot era Fara speranta, ce nu avusese niciodata speranta,

Inapoi in mare. Fara vreun

Cuvant, vreun imn, vreo rugaciune

Doar zdrentele hainelor sale au scos un tipat. Marea plesnea barca. Iar vantul s-a iscat

Si a urlat pana in zori.