Ray Greenblatt | Mediterranean Poetry

Ray Greenblatt has lived in New England, the West Indies, and along the Eastern Shore. He has written short stories, essays, and poetry which have been published across the U.S. in periodicals as diverse as America, English Journal, and Joseph Conrad Today.

He was nominated for the Pushcart Prize and won the Anthony Byrne Prize. He was also the editor of the magazine General Eclectic. A teacher for many years Ray Greenblatt has taught writing in the Philadelphia Writers Conference as well as spoken at the John Steinbeck Festival in Salinas, California.

CARCASONNE

The dozing blue sky
a baby boy’s blanket.
Contrasted blazing white
stucco which leeches
over sills into rooms.
Melange of foreign tongues
rises from the streets like
tang of exotic foods.
I write and write trying
to accurately get down
the varied characters:

the swivel-eyed postman,
woman wearing French flag dress,
fruit-seller with his cart
(a character in itself),
my landlady where I rent
with the drunken brother
always dropping by for a loan . . .
all of them make up
just this block
on this street.

EARLY MORNING ON
THE MEDITERRANEAN

The awnings unroll
dew wiped from table and chairs

the first cup of cafe creme is the best
a sip of cognac to clinch the deal

I train my binoculars on the sea
so far only one sail

I am waiting for you to come down
after washing your hair

coolness tumble over the slopes
behind our pink guest house

soon we will pack a luncheon for the beach
the Med singing its silver waves.

THE LAST HIGH: GIBRALTAR

Filled, replete
with langouste and fine wine
memory recalled ports-of-call:
Istanbul, Ephesus, Heraklion
Malta, Syracusa, Paestum
Corsica, Valencia, Barcelona.

We tumbled up the gangway
into snapping evening air
and clutched the rail:
there loomed the Rock
backlit by a soft full moon
a silence filled with history,
as gigantic as the shadow
of a 6000 passenger
cruise ship passing, but
out ship much smaller
as we preferred it
a former ice-breaker.

We imagined monkeys manned the lofty post
(from all the tales we had heard)
waving their rifles at us
as in Planet of the Apes
in distant recognition—
our last high.

For other contributions by Ray Greenblatt, please follow the links below: