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Selected Poems from Voices Israel 1999
The rights to all poems belong to the authors.Please contact 'The Monthly' editor,Voices Israel to contact authors for permission to copy or use these poems.
- Popsicles by Susan Rosenberg
- The Wisdom of the Solomon
Islands by Zev Davis,
- Alone by Orit Pearlman
- Child's Gratitude by Sarah Meyer
- Projections by Ruth Tenenholtz
- Thorns by Tom Berman
- ants byLeslie Cohen
- The Proud Tower by Roy Runds
- on re-visiting the Dead Sea by Mali Joy Livingstone
- The Key by Pnina Yizchaki
- Terezin August, 1999 by Ezra Ben-Meir
- Car Wash by Lilian Cohen
Popsicles by Susan
Rosenberg, Haifa Group selection
Dripping
down
wooden sticks
faster
than
tongues can lick
the
icy
sweetness
melted
into
colorless
puddles at our feet ;
rainbow colors
chosen with care,
no longer there;
...................................
Some days are like that:
Unfinished business,
mild feelings of loss,
and nothing to be done.
THE WISDOM OF THE SOLOMON ISLANDS by Zev Davis, a Haifa group poem
They came in boats with sails
jutting against the wind,
crossing the expanse, bringing enlightenment.
How many shells does it cost, we asked,
That enlightenment of yours.
Shells, they said,
Is that money. They showed us ..shiny silver coins,
how they kept time,
and where they were going.
We knew where we were going
and we had all the time in the world.
They brought us enlightenment.
They offered us money.
We played our shell games.
One day big metal boats came
spitting fire, and silver birds dropped eggs
exploding on our island, and soldiers
with bullets ran, picking at each other.
We were enlightened.
After the war was over . . . we remained
as we are
as we were.
ALONE by Orit Pearlman, Jerusalem
The quiet you left behind
is deep, deep
the air has stopped its rustling
the phone sleeps it sleeps
the television is dark, a dark blank square.
Even the children with their flying objects
and chattery charades, are obedient:
hugging their sticky fingered hugs
climbing into the bath without a fuss.
Violins and flutes weave their way
into the cupboards, restacking the plates
in an orderly fashion, returning lost spice jars
and can openers to their rightful corners.
The quiet breathes huge rooms into my lungs
and only occasionally does death
peak through the curtains.
CHILD’S GRATITUDE by Sarah Meyer, Haifa
Taking the tiny plant
in little round fingers
pressing life into the
brown earth
she sprinkled water
onto her future
smiled
and said
"Now you grow!"
Projections by Ruth Tenenholtz, a Haifa selection
You and I have chewed the bitter weed
of speech
spit out the words
we can no longer swallow
And the darkness
is a Shinto dance
play on light
a pantomime
taking place on the wall behind
You and I have raised the
bitter weed
on soft fertile hidden
night soil
We pick its fruit and
Hold it up like
orchids
How blind we are
in the shadows
Not to see the
weed imitating
flower
spreading its pollen
on our breath
Thorns by Tom Berman, Cedex, France
Thorns in late autumn
Casting sharp gothic shadows
On a dust-brown path.
ants Leslie Cohen, Kibbutz Ein Hashofet
Conspiracies of ants congregate
in my kitchen corners; my mind
crosses centuries to the Conversos.
Conspiracies of ants congregate
in noiseless ancient ritual
hiding but persisting, to avoid annihilation
Conspiracies of ants congregate,
seeking refuge in my kitchen corners.
The Proud Tower by Roy Runds, Tel Aviv selection
Hewers of wood and drawers of water --
How right that they should serve us,
Their skins being darker than ours, their noses flatter.
How dare someone discover,
in South Africa,
the world’s oldest, smallest humanoid skull!
Adam and Eve were Africans.
We are all Africans.
There is but one race –
the race that preys.
On re-visiting the Dead Sea by Mali Joy Livingstone, Tel-Aviv
My tears have dried up,
I cannot fill a Dead Sea evaporating.
All that remains
Is salty shores vacant.
Birds do not fly here.
I am like this tired land,
Weary of strife,
Worn away by the absurd.
I sit in this desolate place
Once so beautiful
And mourn the lack of waters,
The loss of understanding,
The vanishing of unity.
The Dead Sea divided,
Not by God’s hand,
By man’s greed.
Bigotry resurrected,
Betraying the salt tears
Of generations denied this place
We so eagerly destroy.
THE KEY by
Pnina Yizchaki, Tel Aviv
The hem of her skirt
Skirts the minimal length
Thighs generously exposed
Sighs super-imposed
She is ready
The invitation screams
Her door is open.
Her eyes shaded and coloured
Glint in the sunshine
Wink in the moonlight
They beckon and flirt
Almost plead
She is ready
Her windows of opportunity
Are open.
Her full chest
Is a promise
of more than just
A bosom pal
Bulging over
The all but nude plunge
Of the transparent neckline.
The line between
The twin peaks
Subtly suggesting a bountiful peek
She is clearly ready
None of her doors
Are locked.
Terezin, August, 1999 by Ezra Ben-Meir, a Haifa selection
Sunflowers
yellowed-black heads in the sun-less sky
bent
ashamed of the journey we were making
Northwards
from Prague.
The Expressway this Sunday morning
was empty
but few cars passing.
Roadwork's,
then narrow though well kept roads
until we turned left at Hrdly.
Finally,
beside us
twin, rusting railway tracks
though weeds and Nature
have not overtaken them
in over fifty years
since last they were used.
I left a slow burning candle
five Czechoslovakian crowns
on the bed of a trolley
leading into a fan-blown furnace.
Guide books claim that racism
though much muted
in Prague
is against Black tourists
and other minorities.
After all
there are not many Jews left.
CarWash by Lilian Cohen, Haifa choice.
Under street pines
he wipes stray drops
from the car door,
lingers over contours
in the well of the handle
fingers tracing memory
of drying his children
soft towel stroking
ears that once listened ...
He flicks the cloth For comments/corrections on any page's contents, please email: ezrab@teacher.com
over needle-strewn asphalt
and turns away.