NIGHT SKYE M.a.g.a.z.i.n.e
|
way of the footnote
i might take pen in hand, examine the clouds at hand.
scratch my chin,
contemplate the applicability of experience.
arrange the books on my desk to fulfill
some urgent symmetry.
i might pour a grapefruit juice
and think about the accretion of residue,
the peril of storage, the pleasure of hoarding.
i could also find some suitable clothes,
marvel at the fin-de-siècle dandy i have become.
i might nibble the pen,
contemplate the return of narrative verse
and the need to execute a certain parallel structure.
i might try to arrange the coils
and the ache around the edges of this poem
that threaten to reduce it to obscurity.
_______________________________________________________________
immigrant eyes, averted
we lived in small places,
sure.
the dangers (the fiery puddles all around) dotted the streets;
we had long been warned of their persistence.
but we could also let go, drink deep.
you see, this is how it was:
stories of supreme flying men and tenor-spirited
detectives could enter,
if not through the living room,
then over the wail of summer infant and the fire escape
and into the bedroom.
over potatoes and purple orbs,
we laughed at the broadcast solutions
that promised to lift up our shoulders and whisk away all burdens.
also--the snaking rhythms of the orchestras,
the girls with the good news, although we never saw their legs.
sometimes we even pondered the meaning of baking soda.
all of these temptations of the new land
left traces on the hands of mother and father.
but their eyes remained focused,
sought to rest only in dimly lit interiors.
and in those eyes,
in our own reflections,
we saw their determination and the mysterious rise of our faith.
___________________________________________________________
Dust Into Stars
who are all these little ones,
descended upon me from up north,
wrung from my fickle womb.
what are they looking for and what can i give?
once i knew the meaning of day without night.
i could wring silence from the most stubborn wail.
my touch was renowned.
now i stay with surface and response that i can foresee.
with polish, i fight the demons of disintegration and
create tapestries of dustlessness.
only in this scoured sweep can i
reach the expanse of comfort
that beckons to me over the kerchief of my hunched neighbor.
i offer no apologies; this is what is best.
listen, it is good to see so many familiar faces.
but this is hardly the place for you and
these strange and unprepared children.
first appeared in
The Salt River Review
Volume 4, Number 3, Fall, 2001
Yermiyahu Ahron Taub is a poet, a Yiddish translator, and a Judaica librarian. His poems have appeared in numerous
English and Yiddish language literary publications, including Five Fingers Review, Free Verse, and Prairie Schooner. In
2001, his poem "questions of dress" was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He recently translated 8 Yiddish plays,
including Der Yidisher Kenig Lir (The Jewish King Lear) by Jacob Gordin, into English for the Folksbiene Yiddish
Theater. He appears in and served as Yiddish subtitles editor for Divan (www.palinkapictures.com), a documentary film
by Pearl Gluck. His first book of poems, The Insatiable Psalm, is forthcoming from Wind River Press
(www.windriverpress.com).
