Showing Results 1 - 10 of 13
I forget meticulously
I forget scrupulously
my native landscape
my daily landscape
I forget the ragged
I forget the billowy
clouds in a sky
clouds over a town
I forget to the end
I forget…
I think of my father who believes
a Jew can outrun fate by owning land.
Slave to property now, I mow
and mow, my destiny the new Egypt.
From his father, the tailor, he learned not
to rent but to own…
Farewell, farewell,
Tomorrow I depart.
I’ve sewn myself a pack
And had my hair cut off.
I’ve got myself a belt
That’s tethered to my chains,
Said good-bye to all my neighbors
Through the wall that…
The wilderness is not just a desert through which we wandered for forty years. It is a way of being. A place that demands being open to the flow of life around you. A place that demands being…
On the roads of Siberia
Someone may still uncover a button, a lace
Of my torn shoe,
A leather belt, a shard of a clay mug,
A page of the holy book.
On the rivers of Siberia
Someone may still…
Oh my God, my God,
Mighty One of my existence,
have mercy on Your lost son
who has wandered from the ancestral path
and, exiled to cold and unfamiliar climes,
sought to be close to You,
but has not…
In the 1970s, Gitlin was one of several Israeli artists in New York who began to challenge the conventions of minimalist sculpture that favored a stark aesthetic and the use of materials such as iron…
I will not dwell too long on the bitter theme of the many purely external difficulties with which the writer in exile must contend. I hope that those who have not experienced these difficulties…
My own efforts to wrestle with the Ishmael story came from my fierce fears and hopes for modern Israel, my urgency to discover how Israel could live in peace, my efforts to talk with angry, fearful…
Like a sparse string of lights, scattered but connected
belonging to a strange and darkly snowy train station
that suddenly pops up among the winter fields,
forgotten somewhere between New York and…