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BECAUSE
“Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.”-Shelley I write because words must be said words must be said …
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BEGGAR’S TALE
I speak clearly, concisely in an ancient, long forgotten tongue that none understand. I tell my tale, leaving out nothing, a summoner in a deaf world, whispering of coins, pulled from an empty pocket and cast at your feet, soundless. I point to signs, lettered in my careful hand, without meaning, cryptic to you You…
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PAPAL EDICT
She said “now what they’ve taken away limbo” sounding a bit depressed, “not that you proceed express to the ferry dock, but that was a snap, all you were carefully taught is suddenly wrong or irrelevant. “It would be like Isaac,” I say, “climbing Mount Moriah with Abraham finding a ram tethered to a waiting…
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YIDDISH
My grandmother lapsed into Yiddish only on special occasions “where other words won’t fit” she said, where there is no English to describe the indescribable, blessed be He, but we knew that it was merely a convenient way to keep us out of the conversation, while they clucked. Mah Johng is a game that can…
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PLEASE CONTINUE TO HOLD
The thing I don’t get, he said, is why whenever I put in a call to heaven a male voice answers, and says he will transfer me. Usually the wait time is too long but occasionally a woman will answer and tell me the Queen of Queens, blessed is she, is busy but she…
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HOLOCAUST
Years later on, having walked calmly away from my former faith, I am left still pondering where you find the words to describe, to teach the unspeakable, and how you use them to reach children who have no right to know the unspeakable, but who must, lest they later speak it. It was a generation…
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AN OFF YEAR
The was a winter, once where even in the north the snow refused to fall and ice rejected jamming the culverts, the sky stared down in amazement. That was the year trees would not bud and flowers fled deeper into the sweetness of the earth, grass singed and lay indolent. It was a year my…
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MARKED
The oddest thing about being Buddhist is what I once was, and not just in a prior life. Born, it turns out, and adopted into a secular Jewish family, I must still be Jewish even if I might have lapsed back to secularity, they say, because my Jewishness is a mark, Cain-like it seems, though…
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ANOTHER GHETTO
She sits in the bookstore cafe her head covered by a linen kerchief bobby pinned to the mass of walnut curls. She cradles the cup of cooling coffee and stares down at the slim book of Amichai, yielding to the Hebrew letters that seem to dance across the page. I sit at the adjoining table…
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an old writer and his words 