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Like the golden bangles on the arms of a Bedouin woman, the hills of Gilboa bind their bracelets about the valley of Jezreel in the golden hours of late Adar evenings. Then do the women go down to…
Over the wall, through holes, and past the guard,
Through the wires, ruins, and fences.
Plucky, hungry, and determined
I sneak through, dart like a cat.
At noon, at night, at dawn,
In snowstorm…
Why is my back loaded with fine flour, while in my mouth there is no bread at all, but only straw? I drink well-water, though I carry wine. And the stick goes on fracturing my skull!
I live in rubble…
Credo in a kind of
American jewish Hamlet-like
bagel, too round for action
yet leavened enough by contact
with the near-dead past—you call it
landscape, I call it history—to provide
a layered vantage…
On the holiest day we fast till sundown.
I watch the sun stand still
as the horizon edges towards it. Four hours to go.
The rabbi’s mouth opens and closes and opens.
I think: fish
and little steaming…
Farewell, you cheerful folk of France,
My brethren’s merry throng,
A foolish nostalgia drives me hence,
I’ll be back, though, before long.
Imagine—I yearn beyond belief
For the smell of heather and…
Here I begin; listen to me, great and small.
Once there was a mighty king—as in the stories begun by girls. His peer in virtue was not to be found. He had a land that was stately indeed. He…
At home I have a blue piano,
I, who cannot play a note.
It stands in the gloom of the cellar door,
now that the world has grown coarse.
The four hands of the stars play there
—the moonwife sang…
Someone gathered rich apples, rich corn,
Grown of your heart and your brain,
And in me, as a loft, has stored
Some of the fruit and grain.
The loft smells sweet with its store:
The corn for making…
(Short Poems in Prose)