VII.
Existential Questions
I
EXISTENTIAL QUESTIONS
“Whosoever saves one life …saves an entire world”
Who am I? I am
Somebody. But who?
Billy the Kid, William,
Outlaw, laying low
hiding out in New Mexico,
Maud Martha, or just
Calamity Jane
Drinking herself to oblivion
on the Midnight Train
not left, not right,
not orthodox, nor anti-faith,
The Spirit is strong with this one,
One, whose soul is greater
Than the sum of her limbs
Beyond bones, above flesh an blood
Who am I? Eternal
Beyond the bounds of galaxies,
Eternity is already in me
– Brenda Appelbaum-Golani
TESTAMENT
I was unkind
to my sister
failed to praise
when she desired
assurance.
I have been disinclined
to march in step.
I tend to leave early.
I always thank.
I don’t require compensation.
I quit smoking in 1978.
I vote.
I have a composting bin in
my kitchen, compostable bags that slip right in.
I recycle, I tip,
I light candles,
send checks.
help zealots
be more effective.
I would consider
picking up
someone waiting
at a bus stop
but I wouldn’t do it.
I’m not perfect
but I try my best
to be ready
for my audition with God.
– Florence Weinberger
APPETITE
Sometimes a hunger comes
For bitter, not for sweet—
A first full course
Of rue, regret, remorse,
And all the crow that you can eat—
A plate of seder crumbs
Of maror bitterer
Than what was left by her;
Than every hope's defeat.
Sometimes you long
For bitterroot to burn
To ashes on a tongue
That tastes their acrid turn
From dirt-tart tang the flavor
Of an acid herb
To the acerb,
Scorched bits you crave to savor—
That caustic fare for which you yearn.
– Len Krisak
BREAKING POINTS
To love a tree that you planted,
watching it grow above you,
spreading its shade with clusters of leaves,
is not nothing to take for granted;
it will last a long time, ringed with hope,
longer than your heart grieves
its passing seasons too.
But to love something that doesn’t live long—
the little boy in your son,
who played with his truck toy
alone in his room, so grown and gone;
or Tug, the cat that, gently with a paw,
would touch your face in bed and then ‘meow’—
those moments break you now.
– John Delaney
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
The Wind in the Willows.
The Catcher in the Rye.
Far from the Madding Crowd.
A Moon for the Misbegotten.
The Sound and the Fury.
For Whom the Bell Tolls.
How to Win Friends and Influence People.
Doormaking: A Do-It-Yourself Guide.
The Essential Vegetable Cookbook.
The Chicago Manual of Style.
Savage Beauty, A Beautiful Mind.
The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.
Human Development: Means and Ends.
Hope that inspires. A good that transcends.
– John Delaney
walking the hypotenuse
you think you're so smart
walking the hypotenuse,
saving steps as you go
don't you know
a simple ant
knows that,
was born knowing?
and you, with a brain
as large as a grapefruit!
– Batsheva Wiesner
OFF-KILTER
As I’ve been now,
For some time.
Weight of the world
Stretched across my back,
And each point north—
This weary, unsteady head,
Always a wobble away.
Often, I take stock,
Set myself level,
Engage in what day remains,
Before the night falls,
One shadow after another.
It’s just how it is…
The more you advance,
The likelihood you’ll be
A beat and a half off—
Six steps south of Sunday—
Wherever you’re destined.
Normally, I’m okay with it.
My break and sudden shake,
Remaking all I knew.
Yet I could find solace,
If there was a straight line
Between here and tomorrow.
– Bart Edelman
[untitled]
(Not being [I am] being not
[{In-between}] contradicted
Or [seeming] contradicted—me,
Laws, God, blown out, restricted.
(So it goes. “Woof!” I
Insist. Or “Moo.” [Chewing on
My barley. {Will no one feed me wheat!?}]
Let me sing an antiphon:
(“I do! I think! My mind, it melts
Into my heart [and then I start
To worry…?]! Let me stand on my island.
Let me trust! I’m taken apart.
([Have some oatmeal?] [No, wheat
Berries!] The bird is singing in
Our land a mind-expanding vista,
A galaxy, a hadron spin!)
– Yaacov David Shulman
A WOMAN’S SONG
On Yom Kippur I stand
on the balcony above the holy scrolls
surrounded by a host of women
joined by remembered souls.
Our dresses white like shrouds
we rise up on our toes, soar in the air.
I sing out like the seraphim
I offer my own humble song and prayer.
In my mother’s womb You formed me
in my mother’s arms I first felt your love.
Mother left me, You still held me
showed me mercy from above.
When my own child stirred within me
when I held her in my own arms
how I wondered at the glory
all creation reaffirms.
Through eons of time you hold dominion
galaxies spin at your command
Though I’m now old and weary
You still hold me by the hand
gently lead me from despair
comfort me in warm embrace.
I offer up this simple prayer
it lingers in this sacred space.
How can I sing of the Almighty
whose existence transcends time?
I’m a tiny speck in all creation
what can I know of the sublime?
Yet my prayer swirls like incense
with ancient whispered prayers it blends
like the scented cloves that still my hunger
it revives my soul as it ascends.
Rochelle Kochin
Refrain for my life:
a sound like gunshots
a sound like a child falling from a height
an angry voice
wind on a cold night
and a fast car carrying
it all away
– Kelley Jean White
WORD SONNET
upon radiation treatments
Blessings,
like
angels,
radiate
sheaves
of
light,
linger
on
eyelids,
kiss
my
blue
eyes.
– Ruth Fogelman
THOU
I don’t know how to pray. I don’t know how
to turn to You, or if I turn at all.
But other things I know — to fail; to fall;
to lie; to hide. Am I supposed to bow
before You? I'm not sure I can; for now
let's talk, all right? Although I'm very small
and You are very great, most people call
You merciful, so may I call You "Thou"?
I'm sure Thou knowest I have a basement, right?
Thou knowest my basement has a sea no boat
or raft can ever cross — and this is where
I have been living / swimming / drowning, night
by night, year by year. Please — keep me afloat;
I turn to Thee, the Thou who knoweth prayer.
– Yakov Azriel
wf heineman –two
poems
the
aging mystic
confirmed his
bones were
not
sagging.
they
are separating
and the
space of
awareness
is
widening.
not
sagging.
2022
*
out of the blue it
showed up.
my out of body
experience returned home.
he was extremely
upset.
ranting.
cursing.
i had rearranged the
furniture.
i had sold his
favorite old chair.
i had converted his
bedroom into a study.
the bathroom had
been repainted with unmanly pastels.
the big game hunting
posters had been removed.
nothing but
anger and frustration.
that is his
part of it.
for my part of it
he did not bring back a single present or
memento
from
the souvenir shop in the great beyond.
not
a single photo.
not
even a simple revelation.
he expected me
to pay the bills without answering a single question.
what was he
doing in places like that.
who was he
doing it with.
how can you call those purchases accessories.
he had smuggled his suitcase through customs
and hid it from me.
i refuse to become paranoid
but the next time he goes on
a cruise
i am going to buy a new house
and
not leave a forwarding address.
rethinking paranormal obligations.
wf.h.
2022
ONE MAN WHO SUCCEEDED IN FALLING
There is one man who succeeded –
A thousand generations failed.
And if not for that man,
Creation would be a failure.
One man succeeded in falling,
Falling like a feather.
When there is no resistance a feather falls to earth
like an iron ball.
And iron will kiss the earth like a feather.
Only cancel out the resistance
And the ball of iron in your heart will turn into a feather.
– Imri Perel
translated by Esther Cameron
284.
Because I do not struggle
But gratefully accept
Whatever my fate provides,
I cannot feel the pang
Of sacrifice and pain,
Nor great success and pride.
I cherish simple comfort,
And if I have succeeded
It's because I never tried
– David Weiser
POOR GOD
Poor God
He’s looking
He’s begging
For people
In His image
After all
To believe in Him
Even just a little
Even less
He can’t find them
He has to settle
For someone
Like me
And because
Of that
Just a little.
Poor God.
I’m sorry
You can’t
Do better than me
But here I am
Filling this space
The only space
Available for me.
– Paul Raboff
BEYOND A MIRROR'S LIGHT
"And He said, ‘Hear now My words; if there be a prophet among
you, I the Lord will make Myself known to him through a mirror, in a dream I
will speak with him. Not so My servant Moses; he is trusted in all My
household." (Numbers 12:6-7)
Some prophets see the mirrors of the night,
While others glimpse the mirrors of the day,
But Moses gazed beyond a mirror’s light.
The prophet’s soul, a lens enhancing sight,
May catch a flash reflected on the gray;
Some prophets see the mirrors of the night.
Words glow on day’s mirrors, black fire on white,
White fire on black, and blaze the prophet’s way;
But Moses gazed beyond a mirror’s light.
What visions show, and prophets’ pens must write,
Reveals a mirror’s sheen, where angels pray;
Some prophets see the mirrors of the night.
Above the Throne, above the Chariot’s height,
All mirrors swirl as Torah verses sway;
But Moses gazed beyond a mirror’s light.
Instead of myriad mirrors, dull or bright,
He heard one Voice that told him what to say;
Some prophets see the mirrors of the night,
But Moses gazed beyond a mirror’s light.
– Yakov Azriel
LIKE AN EYE BEGINNING
So faith is what it's about
-- A friend’s young daughter instructs me at the International Exhibit
Competition at the Carnegie
I
This painting is
a dark tingling about the impasse
of blackness; it's
something that startles us to
stare at a blank, al-
most, impossibility.
Nervously the voice
of light pinches, peaks
in its stippled pricks.
The wind-waved,
laved-lacquered, sting-
steepled canvas
can do this, even as
paint's veiled, velvety texture
urges, Ur’s us if you will,
beckons us up close to
the painting's points, where
its waved-tipped black
snarls push
us away, then don't,
like a seashore; it's light
arises out of a black surf
of surfaces. It
pulls one in, like the
first tide when the black
moon rose over the still
unsunned, unstrung-by-lyre light
Earth. In the beginning,
all was darkness, a black painting, this.
Then light shone forth, as if
from within. So faith. . .
II
This one’s a parlor-patch
of ottoman-sized, toad-
stool-like shapes;
resin-shiny as soft rain-
fall; grape skin
thin; with many colors scent-
lessly repre-
sented; diaphanous,
like an eye beginning
to cataract.
Despite their syn-
thetic materiality,
they seem like wonder-
ful, gummi bear flavored, fun-
gusy, galvanized-with-
life-lived-in-
organic creatures
biblically umbili-
calling themselves
to the earth
of a planet, like ours. . . . is what . . .
III
This rusty patch of steel, crossed by cable
is a piece about forbidden spaces,
the way a museum is about
forbidden spaces, just as are
these coffins for all shapes,
all things, for
bidden spaces. . . . it's about
IV
And this big table and chairs
make us feel like Jacks and Jills in a gi-
ant's dining room.
It's the idea of child
they mean to regain in us,
of a world gone ga-ga
in bigness. Every detail, even the but-
tucks grooves in the giant chairs, is
faithful. I'd love to sit up there,
So faith. . .
just to let my feet dangle,
like a cigarette
from a giant's lips. . . . is. . .
V
And the Brazilian woman in love with color;
and the Russian man with his film pastiche on waiting,
of lines, and the people in them, lines
snaking, skirting, squirting in-
to alcoved streets, jettisoned by lines
of cars, and us, in line, watching;
. . .what. . .
and the orchids of the dying Japanese woman
contrapuntally arrayed with i-
mages of her life -- her wedding photo
and the shy, purple blush of orchid above;
the lime tree-sashed-with-yellow
orchid, and her below,
sitting on her tombstone;
and the hush of a white orchid, and
she's gone from the picture; . . . it's about.
and the Israeli film out of kilter,
so that night closes in, but doesn't,
over a sotto voce voice over of prayer,
the night of Jerusalem bubbling in,
out of focus, uncut, beaded
by streetlamps; now an upward flurry
of camera and night
appears, black, starless,
but touched. So faith is. . .
– Stuart Lishan
THE SILENCE
It is a fact
You know it for truth
Death comes early here
Through the dark nights
It wraps you in its embrace
Even in the sun’s caress
Its wind is icy to the touch.
But tomorrow you and I could
stand up
and embrace life
trust the smell of salt tears
mixed with daffodils and the iris,
the inevitable living.
We could, if we desire,
wrap ourselves in our grandfather’s tallit,
remind ourselves of love
and in the prayers of the heart
silence would sing
love songs.
– Estelle Gershgoren Novak
PRAYER
Where is the Source of Good?
The Beneficent One
In Whom the soul could rest,
Its searchings done.
I turn my eyes away
From life’s dark thickets dense
To all the good you’ve given,
Which in my veins I sense.
God whom no bounds define
Teach me to be like You
That I may see Your creatures
With unobstructed view.
Lift me above my will’s fences
That leave me caught in strife
To the heights of Your will, from whence I may spread
Your mercy over all life.
– Eva Rotenberg
translated by Esther Cameron
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