Natalie Ventura was born in 1943 in the U.S.A. (New York State) and died in 2021 in Crete. She moved to Europe in 1974 and lived in a number of countries and places, including Heidelberg, Germany, where part of her family comes from. She started writing poetry systematically on settling in Crete in 1983. Various poems of hers have been published in Greek, British and American journals, in the chapbook Three Women and a Lion and the anthology Abandoned Synagogue (2002). Her poem collection Orange Tree has been published in two languages, English and Greek, in 2018. A posthumous poem collection, The Final Poems was published by Adele Graf in 2022.

 

Natalie Ventura wurde 1943 in den USA (New York State) geboren und starb 2021 auf Kreta. 1974 zog sie nach Europa und wohnte in vielen Ländern und Städten, u.a. in Heidelberg, von wo ein Teil ihrer Familie stammt. Sie begann, sich systematisch dem Schreiben von Gedichten zu widmen, als sie sich 1983 auf Kreta etablierte. Eine Reihe ihrer Gedichte wurden in griechischen, britischen und amerikanischen Journalen und in den Anthologien Three Women and a Lion und Abandoned Synagogue (2002) publiziert. 2018 erschien ihre Gedichtsammlung Orange Tree in zwei Sprachen, Englisch und Griechisch. Eine posthume Gedichtsammlung, The Final Poems, wurde 2022 von Adele Graf veröffentlicht.

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MONOCHROME

 

Dry grass.

No flowers peeping through.

No shoots of joy

 

or bursts of color

differentiate the winter stubble.

Yet on it goes,

 

doing what it's meant to:

the grass grows (a leap of faith

says so).

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Will spring return?

Can we shake the cold,

incline a change of season?

 

Primitive hearts

danceplead the sun

for mercy.

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NOW

 

The sea, endless gray.

No turquoise-emerald pools,

no shimmering light. Fishing nets'

yellow, buoys' orange-red

too bright. Fears

rise to the surface like dead fish, cliffs

rise sheer from the shore, without

their reflective gleam of white.

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On the highland path:

sea-eaten rock,

an ancient gnarled olive tree,

a lone bird-call

trailing into stillness. Where

is your face now, the tenor of your voice

to dispel the numbness

and wake me from within?

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NEW VOCABULARY

 

"Estrangement"

plods along,

a stony soul.

The nearby rock,

remote.

The lone black beetle

threads an unsure path

among purple-flowered weeds,

seeks shade

from the rugged

seashore sun.

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From: Natalie Ventura,

Orange Tree, 2018, Heraklion

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