Issue 47 — 

John Taylor


John Taylor



Featured on ArLiJo


from Wild Seraphic Fire by Veroniki Dalakoura


Visions


In a strange dream, numbers replaced my words.

Not knowing how to express truth by equations, I preferred to use down-to-earth notions that would not wound sidereal cogitations.

The friends of planets got angry, vipers spit their venom at me, axioms of superb minds continued to flee from orifices.

“We are alone, dear Cor(ruption),” whispered my companion into my ear.

I observed him. He was very tall, dark green in color, and ashy sparkles flowed for miles from the pupils of his eyes.

“Girl of the Compassions,” I corrected. “Girl of the Compassions who seeks love in pieces of fruit.”

—by Veroniki Dalakoura, from Agria Angeliki Photia (Wild Seraphic Fire), Athens: Agra Editions, 1997.

—translated from the Greek by John Taylor (2011).




Woman Friend

A single ray of light was shining through the entirely white forest from one end to the other, and this increased the bewilderment in that the mass of the firmament was still reasserting its darkness.

The sun had not yet risen. The snow was weighing down the branches and had drifted up to the first step, preventing our door from opening easily.

This segment of the day, which was supposed to be early morning, was immaculate, fragrant. A cherub bent on rousing insects kept repeating: “Steadfast love, resplendent body.” I recognized Sonia’s voice. As I approached, she appeared ever further away, but the tracks that I noticed in the snow, in the forest clearing, were hers.

—by Veroniki Dalakoura, from Agria Angeliki Photia (Wild Seraphic Fire), Athens: Agra Editions, 1997.

—translated from the Greek by John Taylor (2011).




I Play and I Lose



Under the light of a lunar night, a silent man bends over and draws cards from a deck. His face has the intent look of a card player, yet the man, lost in his calculations, is dwelling, with the greatest discretion, on the next day.

Is it maturity or coincidence that has pushed me near him, during this stroll in the depths of a city belonging to him?

Scattered words, transgressions, throbbing heartbeats, widespread disorder, and then She who slaps me in the face crudely and pathetically, biting my lips, yet seeking what?

“Mother,” I stammer, exhausted, “it’s not my fault if I have lost my way in a red fog. Look!”

An astonishing assertion of self.




—by Veroniki Dalakoura, from Agria Angeliki Photia (Wild Seraphic Fire), Athens: Agra Editions, 1997.

—translated from the Greek by John Taylor (2011).

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