Friday, November 27, 2009

VaYeitzei (Song: Slippery Ol' Ladder)

Disclaimer: This week I have written a song. As the old adage says, songs should be sung and not read. Thus, the literary component of my work in my own opinion falls a bit short. All the same, the music is quite charming, a Jewish Gospel tune of sorts, of which I hope to post a recording/video on Sunday afternoon. Anyway, Shabbat Shalom!

Slippery Ol’ Ladder

Chorus:

Pulse up,
Pulse down,
Pulse all around
Like blood, like air,
Like waves of sound.
This ladder—
slippery old ladder.

Points up, points down,
Points all around,
Like David’s Star,
Or Shofar’s sound.
This ladder—
slippery old ladder.

Verse 1:

When sun had set,
And bowed its head,
He dreamed a world
Where angels bled

Through cracks of
Lonely universe
Like light through
Broken vessels bursts.
This ladder—
slippery ol’ ladder.

Chrorus:

Pulse up,
Pulse down,
Pulse all around
Like blood, like air,
Like waves of sound.
This ladder—
Slippery old ladder.

Step up,
Step down,
Step all around
But watch your
Feet when you hit the ground
From this ladder—
Slippery old ladder.

Points up, points down,
Points all around,
Like David’s Star,
Or Shofar’s sound.
This ladder—
Slippery ol’ ladder.

Verse 2:

His seed to be the
dust of earth,
This place to be
The shards of mirth

This stone—
A vestige
o’ things unknown,
a giant seed
heaven sown.
This ladder—
Slippery ol’ ladder.

Points up, points down,
Points all around,
Like David’s Star,
Or Shofar’s sound.

This ladder--
Slippery ol' ladder.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Toldot (Favorite Son)

In my memory, favorite son,
you melt like manna
left in afternoon fields-
my ungathered offspring.

You melt like manna,
hairy and dream-drunken,
my ungathered offspring,
who brought me my meat.

Hairy and dream-drunken,
where are the hands
who brought me my meat,
red, like fury?

Where are the hands
nails clodded with dirt,
red, like fury,
reeking of soil?

Nails clodded with dirt,
left in the field
reeking of soil
in my memory, favorite son.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Chayei Sarah (Eliezer's Prayer to the Shechinah)

Where the horizon aligns,
outside a city's walls,
camels collapse by the well.
Gravity swallows their pupils,
their mini-universes,
their exhausted event horizons.

In the twilight haze,
I gaze at
women
drawing water--

Serpentine strands of
ebony flitter,
unbounded and fluid
like a cicada's buzz,
swatting sand
from quasar eyes.

Here I am.

Here I stand,

A servant of the Spring
whose Overflow
is the Source of all.

Lower Your Jar,
Fair Maiden,
and let us

drink.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Va-Yera

Dans la chaleur du jour, où tous les vautours boudent,
Qui fait chanter nos jambes, qui fait briser nos coudes,

Il court de sa tente noire, en saignant le soleil bleu,
Peut-il etre un mirage, un sourire délicieux?

Bienvenue, vous anges, qui cachent vos ailes brisées,
Je vous apporte de l'eau et tous mes membres sont prèts.

Cette sable qui me frappe et rassemble à la poussière,
dans mon gosier devient une gouttellete de votre mer.


Un prophète, c'est celui qui choisit de suffrir;

Son livre, c'est la piste que nous choississons de lire.


(Translation)

In the heat of day, when all the vultures sulk,
that makes our legs sing, and breaks our elbows,

He runs from the black tent, bleeding the blue sun,
"Could it be a mirage, a delicious smile?

Welcome, you angels, hiding broken wings,
I'll bring you water; all my limbs are ready.

This sand that strikes me and resembles the dust,
in my gullet, it becomes a droplet of your sea."

A prophet is someone that chooses to suffer;
His book--that's what everyone chooses to read.