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.

Teodora Georgescu

Gabriel Griffin

Elogie pentru un emigrant illegal

Nu este luna, dar pescarii

sunt obisnuiti cu asta iar marea canta, cantecul plaselor. Puntile

tintite cu versurile marii,

doimile si tremurile pestilor

grabite in carti de cantece de gheata.

Ceva nu a cantat, a sarit cu zgomot

in plasa, s-a auzit pe punte.

Urechile sale nu au auzit note, ochii sai

erau orbi pentru oamenii din imprejur,

gatul i s-a inecat cu vorbe spuse in zadar

pe care nimeni n-avea sa le auda.

Au lasat caracatita lunecoasa

sa alunece intro parte a vasului, a uitat sa opreasca

arcuirea si saltul platicilor.

Marea a gemut, pestii

Au inceput sa falseze, pescarusii

au tipat precum corzile rupte.

Barbatii s-au dezmortit, au aruncat

ce nu canta, ceea ce era pierdut pentru cuvinte,

peste bord. Au aruncat

ceea ce nu avea speranta, ceea ce nu a avut niciodata speranta,

inapoi in mare. Niciun

cuvant, imn, nicio rugaciune.

Dar zdrentele hainelor sale au tipat. Marea

a batut cu pumnii in vas. Iar vantul s-a trezit si a urlat pana in zori.