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ZEV DAVIS Z"L: A RETROSPECT
Zev Davis was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1943 and lived in Upper Nazareth until his death in 2019. He published one chapbook, Some Other Day (Cyclamens and Swords, 2012; copies may be purchased from Miriam Davis, miriamd1948 at yahoo dot com). Zev was a steady contributor to The Deronda Review beginning in 2012. The first poems he sent us were collaborations with a California friend, Steve Toth, whom he credits, in the introduction to his chapbook, with getting him back to poetry after a long dry spell. Beginning with free verse, he soon turned to formal writing. He wrote prolifically, often sending his poems out to an email list. Despite living far away he often came to Jerusalem for poetry events. Zev's gentle, humane voice, with its mixture of humor and spirituality, will be greatly missed.
UNDER MY BREATH
As I breathe, life is a team sport, a collaboration, an instrument of love, living the joy of shedding my larval coating to begin air breathing. I haven't looked this way for a while. Who will be my highest bidder this time? I see you're reading poetry again & this is just the beginning.
As I breath the land underneath the rubble endlessly searching for fresh grass mingles with the smell of fear & an instinct to stay close. You have decided to destroy the world before anyone else. What provided for you has become a symbol of your limitations. It doesn't matter, yet you think you're awake.
As I breathe hapless shadows in love with the sun nod, wink, a time to fly, to get going, get eaten. Are you in charge of this morning? Only the earth drives so deeply. There is a certain power telling the truth--any truth. You see there are no bystanders in poetry You're either a drummer or a dancer.
--a collaboration between Stephen Toth and Zev Davis
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WAITING FOR THE TSUNAMI
The rain stopped today so we pull our cart behind us, downtown as far as we can get. The tsunami siren blares & the Coast Guard at Ninth Street hovers over the intersection, blocked by a fire engine in both directions-- at every intersection occupied, on the street, over there, evacuated.
A friendly fireman says that you can sneak through but that would not be smart and our cart looks as if we're homeless. "We've seen some of the surges from here" He elaborates & points with eyes down H street "They come like a river, flowing, pull out all at once. One went in & out four times before it was finished"
A voice from the radio he holds says, "The harbor is gone. Thirty-five boats have sunk . . . Three out of four grocery stores are evacuated. We head for the one that is open.
We stand on a cliff, outside of the town, "Look at that." A man with a long beard says, "There haven't been that many flying together like that" We look up, a flock of forty cormorants fly in formation past us from the south, "They sense the energy, so they're going.
See that rock," he points to the ocean, "It was quiet all the way back. Then it came up like a wall. See how high it was over there. The lucky ones got their boats out in time, now there's no place for them to tie up & they're running out of fuel."
--Steve Toth and Zev Davis
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ONE MORE
FLOWER ***
ONE MORE MILLENIUM
All of a sudden you look back how time has travelled . . . almost nothing is left. No more room, everything in little boxes, memory chips in jars with machines that record them. History, a playback
generations, like a talisman you wear on your neck, reminding yourself, pearls of wisdom that you carry around. Sitting on a park bench far away in time, repeating what each one tells what itched . . . you scratched, as sweat the size of worry beads, one more link in the chain.
That was a funny joke, you laughed, when it was fresh. Eyes follow the images the You Tube inside your head the doctor ordered. It keeps you happy when you are down and out . . . one more prayer, one more reason to forgive. You smile
to survive here is to know the stuff you hold means something. There is a reason for you to be, to keep what was there here and now forever.
***
AFTER THE QUAKE
Treading carefully, down we go, a picture frame, a president, Kennedy, saints and sinners, worry beads, a pile of rubble where the earth recedes, objects scattered about this abscess, we come
a president, Kennedy, saints and sinners, worry beads play out their archeological stories, recommends objects scattered about this abscess, we come to gather up what's left, that we might spread . . .
play out their archeological stories, recommend the wisdom of what happened, off to send to gather up what's left that we might spread the lore, their vital statistics, all about them,
play out their archeological stories, recommend, a pile of rubble where the earth recedes, the lore, their vital statistics, all about them treading carefully, down we go, a picture frame.
***
DIRECT LIGHTING
Anyone else would say it was indirect lighting, the way you came in , no switch, no flame. Inside was outside, outside was the same wherever you went for forty years, you trekked,
followed the pillars that protected you along the way from the shores of the Reed Sea to Plains of Moab camped, the Enlightenment was always there with the Almighty's stamp of approval, a testing ground to show you wouldn't stray
from Him, to take the promise to the other side, stretch the Tabernacle to fill the width and breadth of the land where you might trod. Confide
in its deepest secrets, gather its bounty provide, dwell there, abide by that path, take the Words He said keep the message You brought forever open wide.
***
As White as Snow after an account there were no casualties reported in the Syrian Civil War in the wake of the recent snow storm—2015
Little miracles happen sometimes, flash before me. Snow falls, rain pours, and it's cold. Heaven's gone insane, all of the cache, little miracles happen sometimes. Flash winds call as combatants hold back, crash, good soldiers, stand, so stark and so bold. Little miracles happen sometimes, flash before me. Snow falls, rain pours, and it's cold
outside. Where almost nobody goes, it's safe. Hot soup, warm tea, a pillow to rest, serene dreams of days, of a tranquil, quiet life outside. Where almost nobody goes, it's safe to watch the small white flakes as they weave a pattern. When the storm ends, it stays clean outside. Where almost nobody goes, it's safe. Hot soup, warm tea, a pillow to rest, serene,
I can walk about, hold out my hand, reacquaint myself with someone I know from across the fence. Explore, expand, I can walk about, hold out my hand, his arms, the words he speaks, how grand the clouds, our breathe creates condense they show . reacquaint myself with someone I know
see the sheen of the white, reflect the day. Why must we defile this perfection, look at the berries that peek at us , they say, "See the sheen of the white, reflect the day.. that's red enough for me, and sweet. Let's play as if what divides us was a closed book. See the sheen of the white reflect the day— Why must we defile this perfection, look .
***
SAFE INSIDE YOUR HOUSE "And I come to Your altar, with joy and gladness, I praise You with my harp" (Ps 43:4)
I'm safe now. The walls around me, quiet, a space filled with vision and love rising
upwards. The heavens reign down upon me here. It feels good to contemplate the words
that flow from inside, what you placed there when I arrived here, and I cried out . . . It's time
to start and it's hard at first. Beginnings nothing that you expected, and slowly
I learn the venues, where my feet take me stepping carefully, and I know the way
to find You, to get to the gates, enter, let my voice burst forth, my heart run free.
***
SO MUCH CLOSER
After the Har Nof Massacre 5875 "I will be sanctified by those that cling to me" (Lev. 9:3)
They were closer to You, they spoke, how can it be that innocent souls whose lips that called Your Name each day, and nothing else. They fell to a fire of them that spread, profane
thoughts wrapped with gilt edged exteriors, so pure it seemed, guile deceived as sanctity, ah yes with the ring a sharp sword meant to bless the wounded with words that fall. It was a cure
perhaps, at the perimeter, at the cusp of where they sought to touch, a kiss, to somewhere else the space between the gaps
to Eternity, it was their time to clasp hands, to touch the Endless plane, all of this, all at once fill the gaps, take hold, and grasp. . ***
SOMETHING INSIDE ME "Light shines in the darkness for the Righteous, that are kind and merciful, and good" (Ps.122:14)
I step ever slowly. My eyes peer through the dense atmosphere, deep, yet I can sense something
Can't say what all it is. Nothing seems to stop me. I feel that somewhere there is a light in spite
of what is not there, yet, it is all so clear. Yes, I must be doing something right, Perhaps.
Never sure about that— I mind my p's and q's, pause and think before I act, and watch out
both ways. Listen, careful of what I hear, discern words that I hear and absorb them. Let them
show me, and I wonder . . . this is no miracle, always there guiding me, a voice within.
***
WITHIN AND WITHOUT
I look about me, clarity and light, softness, kindness intertwines with sparks that fly into this atmosphere. No trite growth of verbiage. I know it works
in this luscious space, as I delight where the colors flow, push back the dark. I look about me, clarity and light softness, kindness intertwines with sparks
ignite sensations inside me, all the bright things, bring out the fire, raise a quark, and yet another, combines, a flame embarks on an adventure, body and soul in flight,
I look about me, clarity and light softness, kindness, intertwines with sparks.
***
Cross-Pollinization They that lack the heart to know, don't fear to ask, gather at the dust of the feet of the Sages where they might learn (Pele Yoetz, Reason, 2)
So you don't understand. It's too hard, a jigsaw puzzle, pieces spread apart . . . as on a meadow. Butterflies catch the scents of blossoms. You start
just out, in the air. You rise, flustered, confused. Relative to your size, a picture, a panorama. So big as you count, the flowers wave. Surmise,
enter a tree, branches so thick, catch the dust, something special. Lick the sweetness, another, think, drink, and down to the field, feel the colors drunk,
learn this universe. Discover the link between where you were, and what you bring.
***
Between the Lines
In matters that relate to the material world, a person might consider the purpose a person of his actions, that it might deal with the Almighty and take us to the Divine” (Pele Yoetz, The Love of God)
Each word weighs, each world takes a step in the right direction. Feet follow, consider thoughts, concrete, on after the other, each side breaks
a step in the right direction. Feet follow the next space, a reason, a break into another dimension. Makes a difference beyond, where I sit
Fill the next space, a reason, breaks the mold and looks for the next, a difference beyond, where I sit and reveal what's inside, make the tracks,
the mold, and look for to the meet thoughts, consider, follow them, concrete, and reveal the inside, make the tracks, each word weighs, each word takes.
***
Nothing Added “May my heart fulfill Your laws that I will never be ashamed” (Ps. 119:80)
It's all there in the package, nothing too fancy. A plain, wrapping, not ostentatious. The outside
The same as the inside. Yes, according to the way the Manufacturer made it, and it works
all the time. Every morning I open it, lay it down, arrange the parts as per the rules
and I go through the day, know what to do where I find myself, and never confused. Everything's clear before me,
understood, no problems, and it's fine. It's fair, it's good. They explain unexpected things, yet, even so,
no matter, it's no bother to anyone, even me. At the close of the day I retire.
***
It Shouldn't Happen to My Worst Enemy
“Palestinian violence is a justified popular uprising.” (President Mahmoud Abbas, the president of the Palestinian Authority)
So you think you're Gavrillo Princep that prowls the streets of Jerusalem, Tel-Aviv, off and running, to look for occupiers, to show your cunning, your mighty auto, your shiny blade, as rout that Hatfield, has to be neutralized. You, McCoy
forever. This turf is not theirs, It's a ploy, I came here, I dreamed to take away What your God Almighty conquered. Whatever I say, as I wait for a bus, I'm cursed. You destroy one more cipher in your struggle. I know why.
Your wisemen tell you how I darken the sky with clouds of infidelity. I blot the land, the ladies go about shameless, don't understand, faithless men speak heresies. You cry the way they hold you for hours at check points, a crime
that I remain here. Yes, I admit the time I spend upon this land is an unlawful act, a valid reason, you feel to make an attack. If you had an army it would be sublime, you've seen it in Rome how Titus carried me off
you'd like to shatter my shop window. Still not enough, do what they did then, what they do to those that don't belong, that dispute, that you who chose your Almighty God that chose you to snuff out the stuff of me. It doesn't figure. I always thought
Whoever made me and you is the same. I'm taught. I disagree with you, you know. I know, so it is far too long , I try to make sense of this , yet , for some reason I don't exist. You wrought a ghost on a map with a subtitle etched with a knife
and an automobile aimed at me, at my life. Guess I'm a zombie, a Syrian fossil that's left, a cheeky skeleton, dry bones, not quite bereft come flesh and bone, an affront. You strive with shouts, and photoshops, and crowds, a mass
opinion that reads how you suffer, a class, malcontents oppressed by boll weevils that want a home. As you go out with home-made weapons and roam the streets, to take me on, I let your blood— I couldn't help it . I guess it's my fault you're dead.
***
The Promise of Sunset after a painting “Abstract”* by Yoram Raanan
It appears at dusk on the horizon slowly slowly. Falling in the sky as wispy clouds pass. My eyes are drawn, it appears at dusk on the horizon, as I attend, engaged. As they respond, this mystery that repeats itself each day it appears at dusk on the horizon slowly slowly. Falling in the sky
with red and gold and blue displays. Above, endows my mind the rest of the time plays out the truth of what is me. Of where I strive, with red and gold and blue displays. Above, me. Projects, recurrent images that revive a daily miracle that reveals, no doubt, with red and gold and blue displays. Above, endows my mind the rest of the time plays out
all through the hours as I progress. I fill the moments with that radiance That keeps me going, and I know I'm blessed, all through the hours. As I progress. discover meanings. As the shadows pass into the afternoon until days end all through the hours as I progress. I fill the moments with that radiance
off to some other venue . . . as I spy a faint light in the window. A newness begins what I saw earlier, then, a blazing in the sky, off to some other venue . . . as I spy what starts again, a miracle. I understand why— a cycle repeats itself. As the globe spins off to some other venue . . . as I spy a faint light in the window. A newness begins
* http://www.yoramraanan.com/dancer
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Friday Night Setting Sun
“The sun sets below the trees, it departs as we watch, the angels offer peace, “Welcome, oh Sabbath Queen, welcome oh Sabbath Queen . . . “ (Bialik)
I The routine of Creation closes out as from the window, the sun sets and a band of angels gathers about
spreads a gentle canopy, they caress . . . the Sabbath Queen arrives, she comes, “Peace, rest from your labors, this is a time to bless,
reflect upon the venues you've begun.” We never cease to wonder, our minds traverse, look up, our eyes see what's yet to see beyond, yet to be released,
another soul comes down, its flickers, rise, a candle fills a special space. All aglow, she shows us the World to Come, tantalize
here, a taste of serenity for one day. All of us, now encapsulated, away, in this special place, we grow
II a constellation we can't imagine, elsewhere, a sacred precinct sheds messages. Of signs of holiness set off from the week, we share
the gifts, as we delight. The evening sky reminds us where we began, a universe we create on this day that we usher in, here we're bound,
the Sabbath Queen leaves us for the others who await her, to offer her kindness, she commences her path where we rest, in between, we sate
our souls. Take the lessons, the pleasures that swath of supplications engages our hearts. We sing into the evening, our aspirations and watch
the Divine that descends upon us. It brings a sense of warmth, a shower of compassion rings
***
YOU AIN'T SEEN NUTHIN' YET
It doesn't look like much, these sprouts they hold, up. What I see seemingly is the same, in stasis in the winter air. A game, they play possum, wink at me in the cold,
lazy. They wait for the sun, the rain to fall, to fill them with chlorophyll. They grow, the roots stretch down, as the stems push from below, together, increase. Slowly, steadily, gain
hibernating, invigorating, pull imperceptibly before my eyes, nothing that I can gage, measure the size, as these small things advance—April Fool!
they tarry here, but it is just a guise, come Spring when I return, how high they rise.
***
GROWING SEASONS
They say there are plants that need shade to grow reminds them of the place where they have been, the secrets inside the seed call out open a screen on the instructions, there to put on a show
in the garden plot. I look up at the sky, what lies beyond. I consider the Plan, the beginning of Everything, Light, Dark, and that all the things You Created moved and changed
as that Spirit moves me what I see is a parallel come closer, joins, it blends and is much alike, coalesces messages sent similar sounding different, spheres, they agree,
In concert, reflect Creation, sublime, sends a message of Existence that never ends
***
Tomorrow
It's another country upon a map I draw upon a page in the future, take a pencil let the lines reach. There, carefully draft the outlines, wrap
each place with imaginary scenes, anything at all that comes to mind, sometimes. Perhaps a dream to remind me of what I thought that redeems
the days that got lost. Make up for the past, for the errors that I made. Recoup the moments that fell away. Out of the loop onto surer shores, to be free. At last,
maybe, in a place, reorganize. Regroup for a while, though I know it's not the first stop.
***
One With the Elements "The essence of a person is to serve their Creator, as if they were a Temple, as it is written, "You shall build me a Tabernacle, and I will dwell within it" (Pele Yoetz Good Conduct)
The instructions are there, I watch them as my eyes tell my hands to move, where to place my feet. Engrave in my head. Lead out like a stem
grows, immerses, a part of me. Learns new patterns, a catalog, adds items, I take to it. So glad and break out, renew, on a burn,
what was beyond me, ingest. Things mix, match and become what wasn't a part of me. Rest
comfortably inside and impressed as this newness settles. The sum of me evolves, changes. I'm blessed.
***
Reconstruction "Small children are exempt from learning (to tear their shirts upon seeing Jerusalem). There is no need to teach them this custom." (Yalkut Yosef, Remembering Jerusalem)
Piles of rocks, large and small, remains of something. Small hands clear away the broken pieces. Sort them, play what's bigger, smaller, each one piles gains breadth and wisdom, a space to reveal
carefully compile, they feel them, dust the sand, set them up from memories of picture books, outcroppings, what it was from inside out, steal future plans, half hidden, build
what they remember, the sacred space defiled, still they sing, and gather stones from inside out, they start, all along . . . who cares, whose watching. Beguiled, more room, count the precious pieces
how the walls encircle, creases carefully enclose this sanctuary, rests, they sand back, make a wish, behest the structure they composed might release sparks, fireworks in the air, effuse.
Piles of rocks, large and small, remains of something. Small hands clear away the broken pieces. Sort them, play what's bigger, smaller, each one piles gains breadth and wisdom, a space to reveal
carefully compile, they feel them, dust the sand. set them up from memories of picture books: outcroppings, what it was from inside out: steal future plans: half hidden: build
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