AWARD-WINNING POEMS
A light burns above his [the fetus’] head and he looks and sees from one end of the world to the other…he is also taught all the Torah from beginning to end….
As soon as he sees the light [of this world] an angel approaches, slaps him on his mouth and causes him to forget all the Torah completely.
Babylonian Talmud, Niddah 30b
Not Yet
Not yet, he said,
you can’t leave yet –
I’ve not finished teaching you
mysteries of the universe
or secrets of the seraphs with flaming swords…
Not yet, he said,
you can’t leave yet –
I’ve not finished showing you
every living creature
on earth and in the seas…
Not yet, he said,
you can’t leave yet –
there’s more you need to see –
jungles, deserts and Arctic snow,
caves with underground streams…
Not yet, he said,
you can’t leave yet –
there’s more you need to know –
how to fix a world that’s torn
and not yet healed…
As waves came and pushed you out
the angel was left
no choice. He slapped your lip.
You – eight days old –
still grasp these secrets
that have not yet slipped away.
This poem received Honorable Mention
in the Lindberg Peace Foundation Poetry Contest 2010
in the Lindberg Peace Foundation Poetry Contest 2010
Rachel’s Eulogy for her Grandmother
Grandma, how I miss you! I sat at your knee
telling you my dreams. You
smiled and nodded knowingly,
singing of a land where summer grass is topped with dew –
you read me Aunt Rivka’s scrolls
from the land where date palms brush the sky. You knew
I loved your lullabies of young men whose souls
soared to heaven as they sat learning in a tent,
and your stories how Uncle dug wells – deep holes –
from which water surged, and oases bloomed, and how Aunt went
and fell off her camel when she saw
Uncle, like an angel, praying in a field. You spent
hours with me as I played with new lambs near the tent door!
And you consoled me when Leah married the man
I loved. You too will have him, a little patience, dear, you said before
the morning star appeared. You persuaded Father; you ran
to my tent that night, held me in your arms and let me cry
into your embrace as you revealed your plan.
Oh Grandma, you consoled me in my barrenness, you hugged me when I’d sigh
upon hearing that my sister had birthed another boy.
But Grandma, who will console me now? How can I say goodbye?
Grandma, how I miss you! I sat at your knee
telling you my dreams. You
smiled and nodded knowingly,
singing of a land where summer grass is topped with dew –
you read me Aunt Rivka’s scrolls
from the land where date palms brush the sky. You knew
I loved your lullabies of young men whose souls
soared to heaven as they sat learning in a tent,
and your stories how Uncle dug wells – deep holes –
from which water surged, and oases bloomed, and how Aunt went
and fell off her camel when she saw
Uncle, like an angel, praying in a field. You spent
hours with me as I played with new lambs near the tent door!
And you consoled me when Leah married the man
I loved. You too will have him, a little patience, dear, you said before
the morning star appeared. You persuaded Father; you ran
to my tent that night, held me in your arms and let me cry
into your embrace as you revealed your plan.
Oh Grandma, you consoled me in my barrenness, you hugged me when I’d sigh
upon hearing that my sister had birthed another boy.
But Grandma, who will console me now? How can I say goodbye?
This poem won first place in the Reuben Rose Poetry Competition, 2006
Comments of the judge, Vera Rich:
Emerged early on as the clear winner. Really excellent work, both thematically and technically. The terza rima is beautifully and subtly handled – so much so that at first reading one is hardly aware of it – and at the same time this strict rhyme-scheme is counterpointed with the varying line-length.The language, imagery and content strikes me as totally congruent to the era of the patriarchs (I wondered for a moment about “scrolls” – and a purist might argue against it - but then I recalled that Abraham’s family could have become familiar with the use of papyrus while in Egypt. The language is pared-down to essentials – while still retaining the underlying music intrinsic to poetry. A really splendid piece… it is the one that I really covet to publish.
Emerged early on as the clear winner. Really excellent work, both thematically and technically. The terza rima is beautifully and subtly handled – so much so that at first reading one is hardly aware of it – and at the same time this strict rhyme-scheme is counterpointed with the varying line-length.The language, imagery and content strikes me as totally congruent to the era of the patriarchs (I wondered for a moment about “scrolls” – and a purist might argue against it - but then I recalled that Abraham’s family could have become familiar with the use of papyrus while in Egypt. The language is pared-down to essentials – while still retaining the underlying music intrinsic to poetry. A really splendid piece… it is the one that I really covet to publish.
Hanging Rainbows
When the sky is grey and there’s no sign
of the sun shining through –
can I hang rainbows on the line?
When the day grimaces and you
think there’s no chance of light, no chance
of the sun shining through,
can I still get up and dance,
tossing such thoughts across mountains to the seas –
that there’s no chance of light, no chance
of gold-winged butterflies riding the breeze?
Can I drape indigo, violet and pink
and toss such thoughts across mountains to the seas,
knowing that the sun can smile in an eye’s blink –
azures and reds of morning –
can I drape indigo, violet and pink
on miracles unfurling?
When the sky is grey and there’s no sign
of azures and reds of morning –
can I hang rainbows on the line?
When the sky is grey and there’s no sign
of the sun shining through –
can I hang rainbows on the line?
When the day grimaces and you
think there’s no chance of light, no chance
of the sun shining through,
can I still get up and dance,
tossing such thoughts across mountains to the seas –
that there’s no chance of light, no chance
of gold-winged butterflies riding the breeze?
Can I drape indigo, violet and pink
and toss such thoughts across mountains to the seas,
knowing that the sun can smile in an eye’s blink –
azures and reds of morning –
can I drape indigo, violet and pink
on miracles unfurling?
When the sky is grey and there’s no sign
of azures and reds of morning –
can I hang rainbows on the line?
This poem received Honorable Mention
in the Reuben Rose Poetry Competition 2006
in the Reuben Rose Poetry Competition 2006
Comments of the judge, Vera Rich
“Hanging rainbows” counterpointed rhyme and repetition against varying line-length, producing a kind of jerky effect beautifully evocative of the behaviour of washing hung out on a windy day’
“Hanging rainbows” counterpointed rhyme and repetition against varying line-length, producing a kind of jerky effect beautifully evocative of the behaviour of washing hung out on a windy day’
