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Poetry || SubmissionsMy heart has turned youJay Guberman Return, Return Let us gaze at you! -Song of Songs 7:1 My heart has turned you into memories; my mind, into a pillar of salt. When I think of you in the present, or spend nights alone with my dreams of you, my mind rubs against my heart, like salt in an open wound. My mind has turned you into a bow; my heart, into strings. When I speak of you it is in past tense, though you are very much alive--- it hurts less. As my mind rubs against my heart, striking a melancholy song: Shuvi, shuvi, V'nechezeh bach! London & Jerusalem for Ronda You told me of your love for London and I, of mine for Jerusalem. And we speak of our second homes and our first loves, and how those memories should be left for the archaeologists, and how we must for the time being carefully avoid the subject each of the other like diplomats in London or Jerusalem busily seeking positive signs, in one and the other or those things we love elsewhere and wish we could have here at home. While Abraham was binding Isaac While Abraham was binding Isaac to Mount Moriah he was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Who could this be?" he thought. "We don't even own a door," he cried. So he continued binding Isaac to the altar. Again, a knock that could make the deaf hear. Abraham had to stop and look for the door. He yelled, "Leave me alone, I'm doing God's work!" and returned to continue the akedah. And again a knock interrupted him, and again, and again----Abraham did not know what to do, whether to laugh or to cry. And then he thought: "This will be the history of my children. When we will be doing our work or God's work there will always come a knock at the door to interrupt us. . . whether we own a door or not." And it came to pass that the history of the Jews is a history of interruptions. Eyeless in Gaza The noise isn't so loud when you stumble in the dark eyeless in Gaza not seeing the coming destruction but participating in it anyway. The noise isn't so loud either when you eat---- toothless in Gaza wasting the fruit of peace because you can't taste it, and with false innocence you lick the skin like a puppy with a stranger whimpering a wish for teeth. If you had all the eyes that were lost in a moments vengeance you would have no need to see only one point of view. If you had all the teeth knocked out in a moments violence, you would have no need to eat one nations food nor taste the blood of anothers. Now, if we could only see we could use our eyes to compensate for all the eyes closed in our lifetime, to do the work yet to be done, though for now, I am afraid all that will remain of us will be our broken teeth and many tired eyes closed. Until Until I lose my voice and no one listens the unsaid words of love will accumulate inside me, and will appear on my face like the flashes from an electronic sign whose bulbs have all blown except for two or three intermittently appearing like a code that no one but you understands. Until I lose my mind with no one's help, the unthought thoughts will accumulate and be sacrificed like my great-grandfather, an Isaac who wasn't spared. And I, an Isaac who was, was born under the sign of the ram, to be sacrificed in other ways. >About 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 All the above poems are original works by Jay Guberman. I wish to dedicate this grouping to my parents, Syl & Maury Guberman. More poems by Jay Guberman Today's Situation
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