Politics is a duty, poetry is a need. —Alexandros Panagoulis
The poem “Poet of Impossible Love” was first published in the May 2002 issue of Quill & Parchment.
On the sidewalk outside a certain fin de siècle café, whose tables are taken by stylish idlers, the randomly chic, there might from time to time be seen a young woman of quiet intensity, in rough attire, jeans worn with patch and fade, a corduroy jacket, sweater, crouched, light brown hair cascading her pale, rapt face. She draws pastel portraits on the sidewalk of the ones doomed to be ravaged by love— Isabelle Adjani as Adele H., Jean-Louis Barrault as Baptiste the mime, young Isadora Duncan as herself. Some few of those who pass drop coins into the red beret that lies beside her black portfolio with her sketchbook and her pencils. Most, though, grip tightly precious bags and briefcases and pass with lowered eyes, as if her presence, her being herself, the vision she renders corporeal, lies so outside the ken of their thinking and stands so hard against their subjugation to meaningless work and ownership of things as to make eerie the world where they once were at ease and unsettle their sleep at night. I drain my cup, pay the check, so that I might follow this poet of impossible love when she moves on. Without a word she beckons me to that uncanny world where one might live for art, a fair passage hard found and fleeting that gleams a great beauty spectre'd through dense morning fog.
Keep the faith. Stand with Ukraine. yr obdt svt