Magnapoets Japanese Form

Behind Leninsky Prospekt in Moscow there's an orthodox monastery with a small necropolis.  The first time I saw it I was astonished: in the courtyard there was a tank!  An old tank, painted white.  Only its involvement in Russian history justified its presence among the elderly ladies that in silence entered that sacred place.  " Oh! This tank is blessed... it  fought in Stalingrad against the Germans...", Valeria explained to me.  I have a lump in my throat. The thoughts are piling up, I think about history, millions of victims, real dimensions of the human sacrifice, a priest blessing war weapons as if they were bread or water... as if it was the only thing to do... I cry... subduedly.

This was my first meeting with the orthodoxy. In that August Valeria and I visited other orthodox churches in Moscow: I recall many icons... incense... songs and silences... 

monastery necropolis;
on a Red Army soldier's tomb
an orthodox cross

Before our marriage I was restless: I had to confess my sins before the ceremony.  I thought that Priest Igor spoke a little English , and therefore we were able to communicate.  But Valeria submits me a long text in Slavic that, on advice of Father Igor, I had to pronounce.  I took three days to translate it all from the Cyrillic to the Latin characters and to repeat it with Valeria in order not to blunder the pronunciation.  I tried to learn it by heart even  knowing than I could have my notes with me. The day of the marriage, in a half empty church, I approach Father Igor.  He looks at me and says:  " Would you speak English?" 

Gosh... 

I am speechless like a fool.  ALL my mnemonic efforts wasted... we stay there in an awkward silence.  I try to say something, but the only word in English that goes out of my mouth is a feeble: " so...". Father Igor looks at me smiling and giving me a slap on the back says:  "Ok, ok...  Only God knows..."

Lithurgy ends--
my candle
finally lights up

empty nightclub--
the stripper looks at
another woman

italian version:

vuoto cabaret--
la spogliarellista guarda
un'altra donna

a flash of lightning

revives the colors

of the national flag

 

Frogpond, Volume XXVIII, #2, 2005

first sculls of the year
my arms ache
just waving

- originally published: Simply Haiku (Winter 2005) -

grandma's roses
still standing
bocce balls back in their sack

poem: DAVID GIACALONE
photo: MAMA G.

(contrast with prior sunday afternoon haiga)

Ft Lauderdale, FL