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Newsletter Dated: 7/27/2005 1:00:25 PM

Subject: Adam D. Powell en Argentina

Bilingual MCA

Bilingual Writers & Poets for Peace--Poetas y Escritores Bilingues por la Paz

by María Cristina Azcona
invitan a Uds. a la velada poética trilingue de Adam D Powell en las oficinas de CADAN, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Today presenting: Adam Donaldson Powell from USA and Norway to ARGENTINA
Come and visit Argentina.Meet ADAM D POWELL
Visite Argentina.
Venga a disfrutar de la velada poética trilingue de ADAM D POWELL en CADAN
TE 4374-7615 reserve su entrada gratis para Setiembre


an ancient epic

for modern man

an epic reconstruction of the Cretan myths

Act 3

Theseus 1: Appeal

Lulled by the gentle

Cradling of the waves

And the soft shimmer of

The early morning moon,

The sleeping ship coasts

Upon the foamy crests

In dreamy quietude.

The insouciant reverie

Is dutifully maintained

By the mesmerizing

Tonalities and rhythms

Of creaking planks

And ocean spray.

And keeping sole watch over

Survival and expectation

Are a lunching rodent

And the insomnious Theseus,

Kneeling in silent supplication

To the celestial guardians

Of love and beauty.

Ariadne 1: Infatuation

Today, Mother Goddess,

I fear that I fell quite foolishly

In love with an extraordinary new

Slave-attendent bearing wine.

No sooner did I take but one sip

Than the resplendent face of Theseus

Captivated both vision and dreams.

I swam in the cool underwater grottos

Reflected in his emerald eyes,

And basked in the dawning borne

Of his sweet parting lips until

The brightness of his celestial smile

Broke my reverie and I found myself

Scampering about on my hands and knees,

Retrieving my fallen cup and

Blotting the runaway wine from

His perfect feet, while stammering:

"I'm terribly sorry ….

I thought you were someone else."

Theseus 2: Thread and Dagger

Armed with clew of thread, dagger and

An invincible strength of purpose,

Theseus of Athens stealthily winds

His way through the maze of dark

Corridors cluttered with hair,

Excrement and mortal bones in search

Of the beast known as the Minotaur.

Verily, the Mother Goddess shakes

Her head in disapproval and shame,

For beasts and the imperfectly-formed

Have a special place amongst the

Beloved of her Kingdom.

Death of the Minotaur

Writhing and moaning

With human-like expression,

The innocent offspring

Of passion and lust

Succumbs to nonexistence

Without knowing why --

Sacrificing his presumptuous

Right-to-life in deference

To the overriding popularity

Of physical beauty

And social convention.

And in his confusion of

Pity, revulsion and respect,

The valiant young Theseus

Replaces the blood-soaked

Dagger into its sheath and

Closes the distended eyelids of

His disabled opponent in combat.

Escape from Gnossos

Stealing through secret passageways

Past sleeping palace guards,

Bare-breasted Ariadne leads Theseus

And the thirteen to safety

With feminine will and insight.

Her pride of success is tarnished

By the inexplicably strange feeling

That she is seeing her past and

Intended future for both

The first and last time.

As she glances back briefly

Upon the impenetrable dormant fortress,

A vagabond tear stains the kohl

Outlining her eyes and she quickly

Turns to resume her traitorous mission

Into the betraying clutches of loneliness

Known only to women who bleed for love.

Ariadne 2: Jilting at Naxos

With the passage

Of a single cloud

Over the persistent sun,

The image of a victim of

Psychological rape is

Eternally engraved upon

The chronicles of history --

As tearing out her hair with

Contorted face and gaping mouth;

And the incessant wailing of

Passionate desperation yields

To rage as the near-drowned

Nymph crawls from sea to land

In a half-hearted attempt

At survival.

Changing of the Sails

The appearance of the Port of Pireaus

On the horizon transforms mirage into reality

As the vagabond ship rocks steadily between

The waves on the 27th day of summer.

Burning rays of sunlight fuel the fervor

Of moving muscles on bare-backed men

Hoisting ropes and alternating sails

From black to white, thus signalling

Their triumphant return from the

Grasp of death into the bosom of victory.

And at the helm stands the young hero Theseus,

Staring without seeing and smiling with

Non-expression: his concentration is

Distracted by the solitary image of a

Young woman in love, screaming his name

In vain.


Sudden panic on the island of Atlantis

Is precipitated by intestinal gurgling

Within the volcanic cone of Mount Thira.

The impending cataclysm evokes terror

And fear amongst priests and sybarites alike

As the end of the world becomes self-evident.

In a final gesture of prayer and submission,

The doomed hostages of angry gods and nature

Kneel before images of the Great Mother

With fists to brow while the riotous movement

Of bubbling lava and gases escalates into

A hysterical danse macabre to-the-sea as

The earth is purged of decadent overindulgence.


Father and son fly high above the

Spray of the sea in an attempt

To escape fatidic injustice through

Science and romanticism.

The synchronous flutter of waxen wings

On these daring charlatan-birds denotes

An intentional defiance of nature,

Punishable by death or evolution.

And so it is, with destined irony,

That the triumphant exhilaration at

Conquering the elements is necessarily

Moderated by mourning and sadness

At the realization that life as known

Can never be the same again.

The Drowning

…. And the scribe of the gods

impartially observes for the

annals of history:

"Daedalus looks on with helplessness

and horror as the youth is pulled

into the blue-green depths and

consumed by the jowls of destiny."

Act 4

Daedalus 3: Elegy

Icarus, my son --

In all honesty I guess we were

Always walking on the edge.

Suspended tautly between highs

And lows, we feared mediocrity

More than imbalance.

For us, challenge was but

The means of attaining individuality;

A space unto ourselves and

Forever out of reach of

Those who dreamed but

Never dared to risk.

We soared like eagles and

We fed on desires that

Sting the heart, yet

We neither gave nor received

Beyond our passion for

Excellence through solitude.

And now that I have witnessed

The birth of my conscience,

There remains no other recourse

Than to reinvest myself in

The ongoing saga which is the

Phenomenon of life.

Heretofore, I'd always thought

That phenomenon is emptiness;

But having now lost all

That has been dear to me --

I realize that emptiness

Is a kind of phenomenon.

The Riddle

Leading the procession of

Thirty haggard mercenaries in

Tattered finery was a short,

Dark-complexioned man with

Dirty black curls and a

Glint of twilight and

Magic in his eyes.

The demeanor of this

Broken-down gypsy with

Affectations of pomposity

And courtly grandeur incited

Both laughter and suspicion

Amongst the curious Sicanians.

Yet -- his fixed smile and

Piercing gaze betrayed nothing

But charm as he extended his

Palm holding a simple spiral

Seashell, and said:

"I'll bet you can solve this riddle!??"

Vengeance 2: Sicily

King Cocalus was taken by surprise

In the twenty-fourth hour when

Minos and his band of thirty

Burst into the royal bedchamber

Armed with torches, swords and

A dagger positioned against the neck

Of the fair princess of Camicus,

Held in ransom for he who

Solved the riddle.

Looking into his frightened daughter's

Eyes, Cocalus knew at once that the

First battle had been lost but

Conceded with a smile as his

Bitter mind was already scheming

At a plan for final victory.


In an expression of growing impatience,

The disapproving gods comment with a sigh:

"Must we be continually aggravated

by these shadows of a man

of stature and consequence,

now diminished into comic parody

by desperation and delusion?

The truth is that no one

Really cares about a star

That has lost its shine ..

A king without a kingdom is

Either a pirate or a buffoon."

The Scalding

The slow dripping of water

Upon blistered skin and flesh

Stages the final element of torture

For the deposed king as each

Drop threatens to erode more

Permanently all hope for

Recovery and revenge.

Melodic shrieks of agony

Maintain symphonic balance

Against the rhythmic trickling,

Indicative of the ironic horror

Endemic to nature's inevitable

Triumph over civilization

And artificiality.

Perhaps the greatest severity

Is the cruelty of mortality;

For chronology minimizes

Individual humanity with

Each passing moment.

Daedalus 4: Lament for a Dying King

It shatters me to see you

Lying there so helplessly;

Playing the 'waiting game'

Without judgment or choice.

Fearing life now more than death,

You transcend the impatience of desire

Through constancy of pain and

Resignation to the inevitable.

In a singular gesture of compassion,

Your pale lips force a smile

Which silences the teardrop

Skidding down my face; and

Momentarily I turn away inside myself,

Embarassed by my own self-indulgence.

Still smiling,

You take me by the hand and

Squeeze a bit of your precious life

Into mine, as if to say:

"I know … I know …

(we all live on borrowed time)."

Ship of Fools

Guided by the constellations

On a voyage to nowhere,

The shattered wealth of the

Heroic age is now overshadowed

By madness.

All blood runs cold

On this ship of fools;

And yet, the vibrant calm of

Heavens and sea remains undisturbed

By the cacophonous wails and

Shrieks of agonized men

And impatient birds of prey.

Verily, the hand of Fate

Is severe with those

Who are slow to acquiesce;

For death without release

Is Hades itself.

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