2004 - Vol. 1, Issue 8

"Ode to New York"

New York is tough on its newcomers
from Lvov or Laos, or émigrés
from Ontario or Ohio.

My own Manhattan began circa 1980
with a ride on D Train from Brooklyn
to Lower East Side's Broadway

through a stroboscopic flicker of colors
beyond windows through the arch
of the Manhattan Bridge.

December wind lifted and pushed litter
inside the gloomy day, between cement
supports of elevated noise over my head.

Where was that famous Broadway I saw
in a glossy magazine on the plane to New York?

Store signs, street names on corner posts,
iron-wrought staircases growing from
the pavement, trains, rumbling something
urgent –– too fast to catch –– all was alien.

The windy street carried me on its back
into foolish bravery –– no fear,
no disappointment –– just open–eyed
curiosity beneath the overcast sky.

The past was a whole life ago
and here I went to build the present
on the mirror's side of my soul without
prophecy, regrets or premonition.

It wouldn't be a peaceful annex
to the house of David, but a part of the city,
strange, multifaced, unconquered.

Now, many years later I've fully tasted
the deliberate concoction of Manhattan,
its crowds, Carnegie Hall, Central Park,

lions in front of the Public Library,
garlands of bridges on its shoulders.
All was savory for my eyes, tongue, mind

for an hour, for a day, for life.

"Is There Enough Time between Words?"

Young,
I used to run before time
that had to catch up with me.
I dashed above its straight line ––
gulped the air of chances,
reached the crest of
my charm,
my brain's rhythm,
my libido.

I didn't breathe for the sake
of breathing –– I fed air into usefulness.

Now,
pace of my life has changed and
I slide down on the right side of
the bell–curve, below the line of time
passing above me. I'll never catch up with it,
trying to fetch its last dispersed light.

Soon.
My energy will thin out,
my breath will become louder and
the wheezing will cover all other sounds.

I will spool my soul and check its last repair,
and my daughter will painfully watch
how I am not myself anymore.

"Preparing for the Flatland"

You are sentenced to reality
in life with no possibility of parole.
The parole is death.
           ––Yehuda Amichai (1924-2000)

When I was young, above clouds
blessedly restricted my vision,
I didn't care what was below my lifeline.

Now I fear the Flatland below ––
two–dimensional, airless,
without a motion or sound.

I wish I could have instructions,
like Rashi's commentaries
on Talmudic writings, but not on

what is after the Torah and afterlife.
It will be a quiet day without shofar blasts,
when I slip out of myself into flatness,

leaving behind all reasons and laughs,
my daughter's sorrow and my poems,

except the one that I won't have time to write.

Notes:

Shofar: A ram's horn that is blown on Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement)

Rashi: An eleventh century scholar who wrote extensive commentaries on the Torah and Talmud

Torah: The Five Books of Moses –– the first five books of the Hebrew Bible (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy)

Talmud: A compilation of the discussions, interpretations, arguments, and theological explanations by ancient rabbis that make up Jewish law.

"Ode to New York" first appeared in The Review of the University of California.