Joe Dolce: ‘From The Cavafy Villanelles’

From The Cavafy Villanelles

Fifty-nine Retired

Fifty-nine retired he hated clerking,
on his final day friends heard him exclaim—
At last! I am freed from the despised thing.

Three decades behind a desk accounting,
the mournful line of monotonous days,
fifty-nine retired, he hated clerking.

Months pressed into years such an endless string,
feeling like a poet only in name—
At last! I am freed from the despised thing.

He hoped to write more without stunted wings,
a hundred voices inside to declaim,
fifty-nine retired he hated clerking.

The Ministry of Irrigation’s din,
passing in distant echoes out of frame—
At last! I am freed from the despised thing.

More time for books and free time for writing,
more late night strolls to neighborhood cafés,
fifty-nine retired he hated clerking—
At last! I am freed from the despised thing.

At the Noisy Café

He sits alone at the noisy café,
old age a wound from a terrible knife—
he was younger it seems just yesterday.

The hair dye has hidden most of the grey,
how suddenly it came this change-of-life,
he sits alone at the noisy café.

A table-for-one, a vase and bouquet,
without children, a companion or wife—
he was younger it seems just yesterday.

He gives friends photos of his younger days,
to help them recall him in kinder light,
he sits alone at the noisy café.

He’s thrown so many early poems away,
clearly too consumed with lust then to write—
he was younger it seems just yesterday.

Now almost transparent, thoughts far away,
a breeze of Eros sweeps past in the night,
he sits alone at the noisy café—
he was younger it seems just yesterday.

Last Embrace of Alexandria

It’s as though he had never been away,
this last embrace of Alexandria.
The funeral of the poet was today.

His birth city on this marvelous day,
the blooms in April of wisteria,
it’s as though he had never been away.

Six years education sent him away,
youth in the England of Victoria.
The funeral of the poet was today.

Fine incense and candles, kneeling to pray,
angels holding the hexapteriga,
it’s as though he had never been away.

Icons honoring the Byzantine way,
a liturgical choir, the Glorias,
the funeral of the poet was today.

Soft Hellenic amber ending the day
across the hills of Alexandria.
It’s as though he had never been away.
The funeral of the poet was today.

Joe Dolce