Thursday, January 17, 2013


When you can endure. by Hafiz

The words stop
And you can endure the silence

That reveals  your heart's 

Of emptiness
Or that great wrenching-sweet longing,

That is the time to try and listen
To what the Beloved's

Most want


love, and deep appreciation
of these
moments, of 

Wednesday, January 16, 2013


by Marc Chagall

Long, long ago the marble slab on the grave of my little sister, Rachel, disappeared. She wasted away as the result of eating charcoal. At last, pale and thin, she breathed her last sigh. Her eyes filled with the blue of heaven, with dark silver. Her pupils became fixed. Flies hovered around her nostrils. No one drove them away.
I got up from the chair, drove them away, and sat down again. I got up again and I sat down again.
My eyes were scarcely wet when I saw the candles lighted at the head of her bed. An old man stood by her side guarding her all night long.
And to think that, in few hours, that little body will be lowered into the earth and men's feet will trample on it!
No one gives a thought to dinner. My sisters have hidden behind the curtains at the door, they weep, press their ten fingers to their mouths and dry their tears with their hear and their blouses.


the Na language has no word for jealousy

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

the painting

findings and forgotten heartbreaks amid sun drenched pages of art at the national library. blessed

If only my sun had shone at night.
I sleep - steeped in colours,
In a bed of paintings,
Your foot in my mouth
Presses me, tortures me.

I wake up in pain
Of a new day, with hope
Not yet painted,
Not yet daubed with paint.

I run up
To my dry brushes,
And I'm crucified like Jesus,
With nails pounded in the easel.

Am I finished?
Is my picture done?
Everything shiens, flows, runs.

Stop, one more daub,
Over there - black paint,
Here - red, blue, spread out,
Calmed me.

Can you hear me - my dead bed,
My dry grass,
My departed love,
My new come love,
Listen to me.

I move over your soul,
Over your belly -
I drink the calm of your years.

I swallowed your moon
The dream of your innocence,
To become your angel,
To watch you as before.

Marc Chagall

Monday, January 7, 2013

קולמוס הנפש

how can i explain to you what was going on?
insanity, basically.
total. utter. insanity.
ok. this old Rebbe like man. spoke. he sat down at the piano.
and older roly poly man stood by his stand-up base
an israeli with longish hair split down the middle in a dark button down shirt sat down in front of his cello
a lanky israeli with short curly absentminded hair sat with a viola in his lap
a more seriousish israeli man sat in front of a mic
they spoke and cried and sang and screamed and fought and danced
in contrast and in unison and together and apart and in harmony and in dissonance