Poetry || Submissions

Riva Rubin

I. Surfer
Earthed, he is the slender wand the wave desires
to close a magic circuit,
to make the passes
that set a foam-rhombus spinning
at the end of the emerald tunnel he must travel
before he can be delivered to light,
earthed.

II. Bell
Swung on the water bell
the surfer
opens his throat
in a separate resonance
that isolates
the click and tinkle on shore
the clack of bats
the unheard strike
of grain against grain of ever-flowing sand.
His eyes grow wide:
his day drains away:


III. Acolyte
Iron-dark, stone frozen
chant of priests
of terrible cults
in caverns where no-light vaults
beneath secret swells,
such a sound of chains
rough murmur of armour in motion:
the surfer,
forced acolyte,
is drawn down.

IV. Untouchable
Who is it that steps over the threshold?
Stunned untouchable.
His neck like a shriek rises to the head,
the steep shaven nape articulate
as a blade, as a flame.
Violation and insult
thud inside him.

V. Sleeper
Like a bird that rests on the swell
the surfer sleeps.
He sleeps but his heart is aware.
Around him swirls the wind
a white wind of
bones washed and powdered
into a white wind like wine
on the planes of his face
as he dreams of a fence of people
barring him from the shore.
Fifteen thousand or more or not more
line that beach, their backs to the sea
faces to the flaming city.
He sleeps but his heart is aware.

VI. Impact
Dawn and waves like helmets
dully mirror royal blue princess pink shot through
and through
and he heraldic on the gauntlet of the tide
all at once bates, upside down in the wave,
his feet
clawed around the surf - for he, unhooded an instant,
saw:
Four on the rise ahead of him
burst by the impact of what hit them.
Surfer in the night tangles and screams.


VII. Priest
Withholding wonder, his feet on foam,
surfer rises, his lips
wreathed with whispers
whitening around a pearl.
He will not lose it in speech.
He glides till night
fills the hollows behind his knees
settles in his tear ducts
like ink. He would sing a cold song if he could
sing. He skims, tacks tight zig-zags,
and salt crusts his lips, fuses
the moonwhite pellet in place.
First light wells to touch his fingers
spread two-two-one (his grandfather blessed
the congregation under pearl-
white silk) until it is done:
Night wave and pearl
dissolve. In the shallows he laughs;
his mouth splits like a pomegranate
his eyes fly like wasps.

VIII. Inland
At the highest point where all the green world
unrolls under the midday sun
a pale melon -
to and fro, rocking, all its seeds spilled:
NOT A MELON,
seeds not seeds -
maggots feeding, seething:
I AM TANGLED INLAND
my dreams not dreams but
waves receding to mount and crash
on my pale head.

IX. Dreamsong
Surfer's homesick song swells in the hills:
Through the tunnel in the sea
I go myself to underlight. Find there
my own true kind, my own all
except for HIM of course.
In underlight where sun filters down
through mother-of-pearl I'm at home.
There's a cluster of cats, sad as sheep,
and HIM, dark by the chimney
and light blinds the windows.
By the fire we drink
our tea and tell about things, like
HIM of course, like HIM
STANDING AT ATTENTION
- sick, we laughed ourselves sick -
HIM STANDING AT ATTENTION INSIDE
HIS PLASTIC SACK.
In underlight it's afternoon sleep, afternoon
naps by the fire, where often I think of HIM
SITTING UP LIKE A FRANKENSTEIN MONSTER IN THE MUD
UNDER THE TANK TRACKS TWO DAYS DEAD, HIM.
Among the hills like waves surfer longs
for his tunnel in the sea.

X. Himself
He would be the swift shadow on the sea
his meadow, his holding.

His the fin and fabled razorback,
sting and tentacle, dart
and spike.
His the passion, the pulse and the power.

He would sing himself,
a simple, separate person.

From: THE SMALLEST DOMAIN - COLLECTED POEMS

Riva Rubin, born in South Africa, came to Israel in the 'sixties, writes in English. Received the Israel President's Prize for Literature, 1999, for her poetry, prose and Heb-Eng. translations.