Ana’s Character Traits

Ana was creative

Truthful

Imaginative

Fun

Psychologically astute

Difficult

Disturbing

Self-destructive

Obsessive

Embarrassing.

Perhaps she embarrassed other people but not me! She was though sexually expressive, a good lover, and a fantastic partner. We found out that we fitted extremely well together. More and more, from an initially casual affair, a deeper sexual love grew on both of us. She meant that I loved her deeper than she did. Perhaps, but how could one measure love?

However, she had cast the magical spell of love on me and I experienced a satisfactory erotically tainted togetherness with her for the first time. This developed further as we arrived at a love-sit-in for 20 days and one. My senses danced to recordings of Maria Callas, an expressive voice in the world of opera that seemed perfectly fitting with its passionate engagement to our affair du Coeur. It still was an affair although A talked about children she would have liked with me.

Then in those 20 days plus one it came to me as an inner seated knowledge deep in my soul. What I have found with A. in love related to a special gift, a miracle, something that brought up the Triade in love relations. Something referred to when body, heart, and soul became equally balanced. A. looked up my character traits in a sun sign book, in order to match her own characteristics to mine. Well, I said, this serves only as an indicator to any matching efforts for a relationship. But A. thrived on it as it fulfilled all her expectations.

Our first meeting on the Internet happened when I was looking to find a friendly talking partner and A. had similar endeavours. We conversed about our lives, just as everybody does when meeting for the first time and we compared our likes. A. decided to exchange the history of our lives through photographs. She wanted to know how I grew up, how I looked at stages in my growing up. She posted me her current photograph. I found her attractive and took immediately to her. She responded to my present photograph, liking me as well. We fell in love. I made the first move she thought of being bold. The new Internet comm’s chat enticed us to venture further.

I wanted to seduce A. We had our laptop cams and our fingers to type love words on the keyboard. It all happened rather fast. A. fell for me and we loved each other through the camera’s eyes and the words we expressed. Masturbation – the word she disliked – was banned from our conversation and I used autoeroticism. It became more intense with a partner one loved. It was clear to me that we matched, but I waited for A. to tell me the same from her side. She did and also called it a win in the lottery: Imagine, in midst of all these milling millions of people on the www we have met! And I am glad you were more serious than most of them.

The moment A. sent me her photograph when she was 18, I instantly had a hard-on for her. I had fallen for a woman who created poetry from an early age, just like me. But A. won a national poetry competition, while I would have to wait for the acknowledgment of fellow poets. I wrote love poems for A. She not only sent me her photographs growing from a common duckling into a beautiful swan, but also sponsored my poetic development with poetry books: Giorgos Seferis, Odysseus Elytis, Yiannis Ritsos, Constantine Cavafy, and Andreas Embirikos and others. Many of Greek’s best-known poets, with Two Nobel laureates and one Lenin price winner. Besides our frequent love sessions, A. advised me in poetry forms and styles, explaining to me the poems of Giorgos Seferis, the Nobel laureate whose poetry she loved above all others. She spoke about it often to me, especially ‘The King of Asini’, apparently his masterpiece. It aroused her and we made love with our words and our live cam transmissions.

I had forgotten about my financial worries, my loss of a well-paid job, and the pains of a physical imbalance of my wife that caused her depressions. She was under constant medical observation. All I wanted is to love A. and I thrived in creations of great poems, she enticed me to write. I did not yet know that I would take off on a journey of a writer, focusing my creativity, I could not exercise in my profession, into this genre of art: Poetry and story writing. Besides these efforts, I was drawing and painting, as if a great dialogue had evolved between this genres. The dam of suppression of creative art through my chosen career – Mom had decided for me to become an architect – had been quickly drilled open by my friend A. until it had burst in an emotional bang through my new lover, Anna.

This explosion in our relationship lifted me high up and filled me with exuberance. Feeling like a revolutionary I was part of overthrowing a dark, ancient system to steer toward the bright light of freedom. In Google, I looked up the Greek word Eleftheria – EΛΕΥΘΕΡΙΑ! Yes, the Greek word that should later become burned into my soul.

Anna encouraged me. She sent me daily prompts and I wrote and wrote. It became a training, just like an athlete’s to gain confidence and become faster and faster. We loved each other. There never thoughts of an end, but the nagging question how we could keep up our love weighed on us. We did not wish to end like thousands of other Cyber-lovers, who ended their relationship having tasted the cup of online passion. A had a notion of introducing a better cam, one she would buy for us both. It had a better video quality and came with a better sound transmission. Great. The first time we switched the gadgets on, we were so enthusiastic about it that our love games brought us to a common climax. It was incredible. “I want to see you in real life”, I said to A one day and she would like that as well, I could sense it. We carried on exchanging poetry and A explained to me the way she wrote short stories.

The day I met A for the first time, in flesh and blood, as she used to say, the world stopped revolving around me. I have written about it often, but I have not been able to distance myself from this unusual love enough, to enable me writing about it. Yet my first novel about an unusual love followed the Elegy of an Unusual Peak, I have written beforehand. I was truthful. A told me the story of her life with the good, the happy, and also the sad events. I always treasured this character trait of hers. This contributed to our continued togetherness and kept our love young, fresh, and open for surprises. Yes, she had a register of love games up her sleeves. A with her beautifully shaped breasts, her toned and well-shaped body with great legs. She was my ideal woman and also my Muse and model, a Salome-inspired seductress. She was on my mind, in my soul and I could still feel her body on mine, long after we had parted, and especially at night in my dreams. At times also at daytime when I immersed myself in a creative artwork.

A used her imaginative talent for writing, but she would not write about physical lovemaking. “I see that you are doing that. I leave that to you”, she used to state when I queried her themes of writing. So I endeavored to become a poet of love. A and A2, her first cousin, loved my poems. They were close like sisters.

A was fun. One day we had been at the National Library. When I had finished reading up on the Acropolis of Athens, she grabbed my hand on sudden intuition and once I had returned the books at the entrance counter, she pulled me out the door and we raced down the marble steps like children, not minding the very hot July air of Athens ridden with plumes of bad exhausted gases from continuous traffic. We challenged oncoming cars on Patisio Avenue crossing in jaywalking-running, like in the movies, to seek refuge in the shade of an open-air café where we had an espresso and lots of iced water, like most Athenians. Her happy mood sparked mine off and at times when she slid off into a depression, my happy mood enticed her to smile. A smiled a lot when we met in Athens in a yearly ritual of love. Having fun with A came naturally without any trying and any force. It happened like a sudden spark, the one that sets hearts on fire.

A was psychologically astute. She had a natural gift of sassing out strangers. She told me about my way of body expressions I never observed myself. How could I? But she did absorb me and I lived under her skin. She was tender and I always felt her desire for me. We acted like a changeover switch in a constant on-off oscillation. A was feminine and highly attractive. Her daily tightly fitting garb expressed her sensual body, still sexy with its curvaceous lines at her mature age. She kept her mind occupied with reading and writing poetry and short stories. A healthy diet kept her in good shape.

A smelled good and I loved tasting her body odors. Is this the perfect love of one in a million? When will we experience losing our paradise we had created in our minds, matching our bodies, hearts, and souls?

The answer hovered our heads like the sword of Damocles. A spoke more and more often about the Greek drama. It worried me as I was aware of Greek mythology we discussed at times.

A was also difficult and she lived with sudden intuitive thoughts about something, she wanted me to involve me in. But when she became a visit from a girlfriend, I felt jealous and tense all of a sudden. This feeling was new to me. I tried not to fall prey to jealousy, but the devil reeled me in. We started to argue about small things like one would in a long-lasting marriage. This escalated into a fight and more fights followed, as A arranged to meet her girlfriends. She would send me photos posing with her favourite girlfriend. I felt sidelined and stopped seeing her, started to write and wrote for days on end. Then for more than a week. A sent me Email telling me that she would go for a holiday.

We did not see each other for two weeks. I was growing irritable and became resentful toward her and my anger caused my psychic imbalance. Even B, my spouse, noticed my changed behaviour. ‘I think we have to travel to Greece’, she said. My face lit up. ‘OK, we’ll travel’, I replied. I sent a message to A immediately and she responded that she’ll meet me. Did my dream of embracing her in flesh and blood finally become reality?

 

My heart was pumping as I waited for her at the famous Aerides monument. We embraced and kissed like friends, without touching further. A was afraid that somebody could see her with me. ‘The windows have eyes’, she whispered. We celebrated our first meeting in a nearby café, where A sat close to me and we could touch secretly below the table. Then on sudden impulse, we left and A walked with me up to the Acropolis. Arriving at the platform that leads to Hadrian’s theatre, she took my hand and pulled me into the shade of cops of trees. Finally, all stirred up, we could freely embrace. I kissed her. I kissed her more and she kissed me back and we – two unusual lovers – petted wildly like teens. A had a climax, as I inserted my hand into her pants and touched her intimately. I wanted to sleep with her. ‘No’, she said ‘I will not go to a hotel’. Then I recalled her writing pad outside the city and I asked her to show it to me. She agreed. ‘Tomorrow’, she whispered. ‘I have not done this since my student days’. She meant our hour-long petting below a monkey bread tree, with a view of the western gable of the Parthenon. This loving, standing up, has engraved itself in my mind as if chiseled into marble and exhibited permanently in the gallery of my soul.

It began to drizzle. We had to arrange our crumpled clothes and head back to town. A was disturbed. She had neglected her family for me. I frankly could not care at that moment. I was selfish in my desire for her having tasted a promising love. I wanted to possess A although I knew that this was impossible, yet I tried embracing her at all times. My friend called me later pussy-mad. Yes, A had a beautifully shaped pussy. Her daughter had been delivered by Caesarean section. A flowed freely at our first touches and I fell insanely in love with her wanting her all the time. My inner voice cautioned me: It’ll end in drama. But I could not stop and A enjoyed our love plays until she was physically exhausted. Was A showing signs of self-destruction? No, it was perhaps something else. Has she fallen ill?

A slowed down and her initial liveliness had left her. During my third visit to Athens, she became physically ill. She was saddened and asked me to love her gently and with my whole heart. She did not have to ask, as I did it anyway. I never stopped loving her through the thick and thin of our relationship. Indeed we had a great relationship. My naturally driven obsession with her jumped across her and she wanted me, once, twice, and three times. I became exhausted as well from a love that – although balanced within body, heart, and soul – would end in a catastrophic event, a shock in a brutal life-extinguishing cut, leaving behind two dead bodies. A talked about love and death: ‘Is death love?’

I couldn’t answer her but referred to her experiences other writers had written about. A meant that as of now, as she had contracted cancer of the pancreas she’ll jump off the cliff at the top end of the Acropolis and could together with me experience the last thrill. I thought about doing it but refrained at the last minute from this thought. I had a duty of looking after my spouse. This responsibility I had promised her Mom to keep at all times.

A wasn’t embarrassing me with her tight pants, where even her pussy lips would show through when she sat down. But other older folk took offense. Neither did she embarrass me when she touched me, as I wanted that and we made love next to a thousand-year-old Byzantine church in the heart of Athens as if A would call for the blessing of the gods. In love, nothing embarrasses one from the unorthodox behavior of a lover.

A had to go to a hospital. She suffered and I felt it. Her first cousin, I called A2, had given me the message that I should stay away from the hospital, where A spent her last days, in order to keep her picture in my mind when she was well, good-looking, and radiating in our love. I left Athens with a heavy heart. On my mind, I saw ourselves jumping off the Acropolis. A week later she died, or as she preferred to say it, passing on into the ‘Big Void’.

Who will be the lucky ones?

At times I’m called up by Mr.T

But for a mere two hours of

Assistance to his letter writing

Not worth my while.

 

Mrs Ira is the person to check

With at all times lately

And I have neglected that

Not to annoy him

As I would step over his head.

 

So we agreed to meet in town

On Wednesday and have a peek

At Mrs. IRA’s renovations at a

Well known small building style

Allotment just across the

Danube’s side arm channel.

 

Well she has her own strong

Mind set on matters that

Take prime spot in her interests

Like renovating her summer

Repose

Adjoining a whole village of

Similar buildings.

 

How long will it still be possible

For me to accompany Mr.T?

As long as possible I guess.

For as long as Mrs.IRA will play

Her selected assistants left

From the original seven.

Who will be the lucky ones

To stay on?

D the driver and girl Friday

L the cleaning woman

V the computer woman

N former fulltime secretary

occasionally popping in and

Z the consigliere and friend?

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

 

 

 

Looted Art

Nothing is ever finished

Even if we think it is.

My grandfather killed by

Nazi fanatics

Lives on in a special way

In a pomegranate tree

Planted for him in Israel.

 

My partner B has survived

Her personal labyrinth

Tossed into a shed-like place

Having to stay as a dislodged

Victim of an inhuman woman

In a southern suburb of the

New faced Athens.

 

My art joins the list of

Looted Art –

However I’m still creating

My art in spite of this brutal

Shock to me and mostly to B

Who tried to save some of

The items from her greedy

Fingers

That were collected over

Our lifetime.

 

Still I’m glad we didn’t turn

Bitter

But it’ll take a long time to

Digest the immoral grab of

A hostile host: The long list

Of valuables left to the dogs

Of the rental business.

 

Svetlana’s parties are never

Finished –

Saturday we had some drinks

Buffet style foods and

A joking threesome in

Andre’s inherited red cabaret

Yet black humour I couldn’t

Appreciate.

But we have to count ourselves

Lucky people

For not being attacked by

Knife-wielding foreigners.

B’s loss of personal possessions

But gains of a minimal subsistence

For a survival.

 

My own art robbed without even

Payment as agreed

But if I think of it as being traded

Between interested parties

The artist thus appreciated.

ART.TRA

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

LENA

Finally domestic peace followed

A sudden downpour

Atmospheric pressures had her

Close to the ground

Crying out in pain

 

I couldn’t console her

Thinking of a vivacious woman

Called Lena

Who is attracted to me

Just like I’m attracted to her.

 

Like no other woman

She massages my knotted back

Strokes magically my senses

To bubbling sensations.

 

She works hard to have fun

Or she might be riding on a height

On getting her men and women off?

Since some time I’m thinking of

Starting an affair du Coeur with her

And ask for her place to meet.

 

While my partner B whines in pain

On and off beside the courtyard split

I listen to the Duke’s piano

In my mind’s eye I am denuded

By the play of Lena’s hands.

LENA.ANEL

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

JOY.YOJ

The day that started bright

And sunny

Turned gray with heavy

Darkened clouds

Lightning rods flickered

Thrashed about the ghost-like

Skies and heavy rain followed

In a soaking downpour.

 

Regardless of the weather

The Festival of Joy will start

We were told.

But common sense was loud

And clear: forget tonight’s

Participation

Unless you’d like a cold

Indeed!

 

Watch the festival on the

Heldenplatz on TV

Where people cowered

Below blankets and had

Raincoats and parka jackets

Donned

Like the president in a thick

Worsted wool coat.

 

Mr.T agreed it was wise

Not to go

But still he murmured his

Disappointment not having

Participated in person

Joining presidents and friends.

 

Watching TV and sipping

Water

Mr.T snoozed off and the poet

Encouraged to try some of

The red wine

Joined Mr.T with a light

Slumber until midnight.

JOY.YOJ

zoltanzelan      ZJG-POerty’18.

Habitat Habitat

On a bright early summer’s day

The muggy air won’t be cooled

By a few drops of rain

Now and then.

 

B was adamant to go by bus

To Klnbg and view a flat of

Three rooms

Advertised in the local paper

Of the county.

 

I smelled a rat but played along.

Am I not interested to go out

From a fridge-like room?

Of course I’m interested

But I wanted to know what I’m

In for?

 

Leopoldstrasse is a city address

In the second heart of the city

The upper part.

However by bus it’s half an hour

 

Arriving at the address it’s rather

Disappointing as one of the tenants

Does not allow us to have a peek

Into his flat.

 

An old building with concrete stairs

One would have to ask the county

Office on Friday

As Thursday is a public holiday.

 

The environment reminds me of

A flat in the sixteenth district in

Vienna

Built around the 1940’s to take

The reflux of expats from the

Collapsed Austro-Hungarian

Monarchy.

 

Back then as a student I felt comfy

With my freedom

But now?

Well all these older flats are to be

Inspected carefully

As there’s so much half info.

 

However it’s also important for B

To be satisfied with a less humid

Flat as we have at present

Also one we still can afford.

Let’s first see and find out and

Then act.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

 

 

MAUTHAUSEN II

There are no birds around

There are walls of stone

Hewn by inmates.

 

There is no birdsong

There are no green fields

But split dust and stone

 

There are no colours of

Spring or the seasons

Only one colour is present

That of grey.

 

There’s no human aura

But the stillness of desolation

And the stench of violent

Death.

 

There’s no sweet air

But the cold wind of death

That curls your hair and

Creeps down your spine.

 

There’s sadness and tears

For the thousands

Whose life were sucked-out

Of their emaciated bodies.

 

But there’s joy in the present

Spirit of survivors

The righteous people

And the emerging youth

Celebrating life

Defying the master-thugs

Of the Schoah:

MAUTHAUSEN.NESUAHTUAM

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.