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.

Geanina Casleanu

Gabriel Griffin

Bocet pentru un emigrant ilegal

Nu e luna, sunt doar pescari

obisnuiti cu-a ei absenta si cu al marii cantec monoton,

cu melodia plaselor. Puntile

argintate cu versurile marii,

cu doimile si falsetele pestilor

redusi la tacere in cartile cu cantece din gheata.

Ceva nu a cantat, si a sarit in plasa,

facand puntea sa rasune de la bufnitura. Urechile lui nu percepura nici o nota, si ochii nu se intalnira cu ai barbatilor ce stateau de jur imprejur,

si se simti gatuit de cuvinte

pe care nimeni nu le putea auzi.

Lasara vicleana caracatita

sa se tarasca pana la marginea vasului, uitara sa opreasca platica din saltul ei boltit.

Marea a gemut, pestii incepura sa cante fals, iar pescarusii

scoasera tipete ca niste corzi rupte.

Barbatul s-a dezmortit, a lovit

tot ce ce nu canta, tot ce ramasese mut

pe puntea ce suiera. A aruncat inapoi in mare tot ce nu avea si nu avusese speranta vreodata.

Nici un cuvant, nici un imn, nici o rugaciune.