Tag: boucherie | 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.

A DIFFERENT WORLD: SAN RAPHAEL

Sky puts aside its feathers
and becomes more overt.
I wander dazed as I have
the last few days—
it’s so different here!
They shop every day
buying fresh food at
many stores in town.

            The boucherie . . .
            The fromagerie . . .
            In the patisserie . . .
            quiches, tartes, croissants . . .
            The sidewalk bazaar offers
            marbles, shoes, candy,
            tools, woolens, sheet music . . .
            So relaxed, people talkative,
            I could amble forever,
            The Med just beyond . ..

THE ORACLE AT DELPHI

The Sovereign or King or Emperor
huffs his way up the steep dirt path
in the brutal Greek sun
seemingly forever,
then begins to puff up
the rough-hewn stone staircase
until the winds craze him;

at the top in the blackest cave
in a long black cape the oracle
awaits him: she a young woman
the old Priests have been grooming,
one prophecy a day so as not to tire
they have told her the question
gathered from sentinels below;

she leans over the fissure in the rock
through which the vapors endlessly rise,
her eyes tearing
her mind muddled
she moans a sentence—
nether yes or no
neither right nor wrong;

the fatigued listener must
interpret to his own uses
as sly, as arcane as an actual God.

THE DAY TO SAY GOODBYE

(I could sleep in Naples)
I sat by the window
with friends of wine and smokes
until the garden and woods
below took on their own shapes;
then with backpack bulging
with food they had gifted me
as if an elfin treasure
I walked through the village,
past the castle and
the tottering tower,
over the stone bridge
the river forever haranguing;
I would never forget those
people at the albergo,
Paola with ruddy arms
Tonio’s curling mustache,
the children and pets
all too numerous and gay;
I might never return
but I took them in my mind
hoping they would find
longevity in their lives
as well as in my poems.

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