The Letter I Like to Imagine My Father Wrote to President Truman in 1947

The White House, 
America 

Dear Mr. President Harry, 

My English not so good but 
I want to write you about problem I got. 
I know you a good man and you listen. 
I go to America in 1912. There 
I work hard in lumber camps. 
In 1917 I join Army 
And become proud natural citizen. 
Army send me to Europe to fight Germans. 
War over I come back to America. 
Work hard again. Save little 
Money and go back 
To Greece 1936 for find 
Good woman and make family. 
Have two boys now, 9 and 3. 
War and Germans keep me here. 
In Greece then life very hard die many people. 
War over now but things not good still. 
People poor hungry no jobs. 
No money for return 
With family to America. 
You and America last hope. 
Send tickets please. I honest 
Swear I work hard pay you back 
Every cent because I want you know 
All my life I never vote Republican. 

God bless you, 

Anastasios G. Zambaras, 
Loomi, Messenias, Greece

Dawn by the House of Stone That Jack Built

Bent over, carrying 
The slate-grey 

Sky with me 
As I descend 

The winding steps slowly 
Into the garden, 

I cannot pretend 
It’s been easy 

From beginning to end, 
Nor can I not 

But hesitate at the last 
Step and look back on 

To where the house, 
Smothered 

In a sea of jasmine, 
Floats ambivalent, 

As if hewn out 
Of clear blocks 

Of diaphanous air. 

The Massive Poetic Time Bomb Missive

Dear Tom, Dick and Harry:

Strange you should ask 
What it is that makes us 
Tick—and boy have you 
Ever got me there— 

But I do want you 
To note that 
No sooner do 
We think we’re close 

To taking apart that 
Blankety-blank clock 
Than the alarm goes off— 
No time 

To gather the odd 
Bits and pieces, no 
Time for no 
Bodies like us 

To even blink, 
Let alone think. 

On a Phrase of Aeschylus*

No sea in Syria, no sea 
In Afghanistan, only 
A sea of suffering 
Humanity and if it is 
With difficulty we see 
‘The Aegean flower 
With corpses’, it is not 
Because we have to 
Wade through 
A sea of the world’s 
Indifference to witness 
It but also because 
We do not wish to hear 
The siren-beset ship we are 
Sailing on is well 
On its way to Lethe. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 *Agamemnon, l. 659
 
 cf. the following link to see how George Seferis uses this phrase in one of his poems: 

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-manner-of-g-s/

Stopping by a Grove of Ancient Olive Trees Near Twilight, I Think Myself Fortunate

Lost in recollection
Amidst deep ancient wrinkles, 
This is where one should spend 
The dying minutes of each wasted day.