Poems by Jay Guberman
Yom Ha-Shoah 5750
thoughts while on Egged bus #29
Herzlia, 22 April 1990
Tell me mother
as you kiss your baby
that no one died today.
that no one was a martyr
or a hero,
and that all who now sleep will awake...
and that the sirens that now sound
will be the only death recorded...
and that the drivers without cars
and the cars without drivers,
will each find a partner
for as long as they need,
like the palm doves in the park.
Tell me mother
that as long as you
love your baby
all mothers will love theirs
and no mother will again mourn
the foreheads without a kiss
and the kiss that has no forehead
to receive it.
2. A Psalm of En Gedi
She said a prayer
to which I was not an answer,
and yet I burned
until I burned myself out
like a candle on shabbat.
And the words of her prayer ceased
and her lips were still
like the surface of the salt sea,
and yet I burned
like a wound exposed below
the surface.
And the words of her prayer
went unanswered
like the cries of my martyred dead
and yet I still burn
like the silence of a candle remembering them.
en gedi, august 1987 "The First Revolt"
Let us sleep
like the staircase
that once led up to the Temple Mount
no longer able to carry
pious feet to prayer,
but the well experienced cracks
over which they once walked
expose the heavy burden
of well worn memories
under which we now slumber.
Sunrise from Masada.
The view from the casemate wall
of Silva's camp below.
Shadowy ghosts
are cast and scattered
and given voice as the wind
shouts through the buildings ruins
"l'-- he-- rut Zi-- yon"
and there is no reply.
Only the songs of the tristramit
who mimic the voices
of every child martyred here, singing:
"shalom al ziyon, shalom al ziyon"
and there is no reply.
Only the dreams of the interrupted
and the disturbed peace
of excavated ruins.
Apple of my eyelike a fresh uneaten apple
on the end of a branch
hanging from the tree
my eye has become,
you branch out
sinking your deep roots
into my soul,
as every thought of you
bears fruit.
like the old man near death
who tastes fruit from the Tree of Life
and is revived,
your mere presence is enough
to make me a young man close to life.
like a fresh uneaten apple
harvested to make a bed of apples
to be devoured
by the bodies of lovers
who often waste the seeds of their fruit,
let us take and plant ours afterwards
to make beds of peace
for the whole world.
AnotherAnother woman
gave me the gloves
of another man
and I now take shelter
in these gloves,
and in the hands
of a different woman.
And I think about that man
and the insanity
which drove him
to abandon his gloves,
and I think about
that woman
and the sanity
that drove me from her,
and I think about my hands
in their warmth,
and about that woman
without me or the gloves,
and I think about that man
with his hands in his pockets.
...Jay Guberman
"My pieces have appeared in numerous journals in the United
State and abroad. I am a listed writer in the Directory of American
Poets & Fiction Writers. I live in New England with my wife and
dachshund. I trust you will find something of interest among this
selection and hope that you will contact me by return e-mail at:
Yofijr@snet.net or rguberman@snet.net
...Thanks. Jay Guberman
P.s. I would like to dedicate this grouping to my friend Willy Pistiner who
suggested that I submit a sampling of my work at your site. Mor epoems by Jay Guberman at Ariga
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