“Noah . . . sent forth a raven; and it went to and fro until the waters were dried up from the earth” ”Genesis 8:6 He loosed the window latch And then he loosened me, My grim cavort The first report, Now made belatedly. From gopher wood and thatch I plied by eye and wing, The ruffled weather, . . . . Continue Reading »
I commute to work on the NYC subway system every day, a routine no longer subject to the provisions enumerated in the UN Convention Against Torture owing to a jurisdiction dispute. One of the ways the Transit Authority mollifies those of us trapped into favoring it with our custom is to post . . . . Continue Reading »
Jerusalem, fulcrum of our uplift, Is not this rough plank the Cross, laid aslant Golgotha, The lever with which the philosophers boasted They could move the world? — Amit Majmudar Photo by Stefie Zawa on Unsplash. Image . . . . Continue Reading »
Lord of the storm, spare Kingston’s unkempt port, spare Spanish Town and even Montego Bay. Open your eye only on empty sea. Let vessels reach their quays unscathed, and lashings never snap. Let shantytowns stay roofed, and coconuts not cannonball through walls. Almighty, if it pleases you to rip . . . . Continue Reading »
Robert Frost: The Poet as Philosopher by peter j. stanlis isi, 350 pages, $28 Poor Robert Frost. Nearly half a century after his death, he is still suffering at the hands of both friends and enemies. Frost brought much of this problem on himself when he selected a troubled young . . . . Continue Reading »
When I am in the mood, I go explore entirely alone and ascertain the prices set for vegetables and grain. As evening falls, I often wander through the sketchy Circus and the Forum too. I stand beside astrologers, then troop back home to have some leek and chickpea . . . . Continue Reading »
1 The walls hear The windows see Inside I burn No one comes To rescue me It is my turn 2 Like a gutted house I am burned out By love — Samuel MenasheImage by Pixabay. Image cropped. . . . . Continue Reading »
A bloody handprint on a windowpane Beneath which, blood-scrawled letters spell Beware. Across the street, a pumpkin with straw hair Gathers his seedy thoughts like Harvest grain. Then, like an evening shadow, Halloween Spreads darkness down the block, and black despair. The bloody handprint on the . . . . Continue Reading »
We never heard what my mate heard descending to the Dead Sea by bus: a jet fighter far below him streaking north gomorrah and SDOM! Our trip was nearly in peacetime. I remember my surprise at my first view of our goal, not a white brine pan, it twinkled cheerfully blue like any sunny lake. It . . . . Continue Reading »
Czeslaw Milosz was born in Szetejnie in 1911 and raised in Wilno, both of which are in present-day Lithuania. His family was part of the large Polish-speaking population of that city. For this reason he identified himself as a Polish writer. Living there through his university education, he was . . . . Continue Reading »
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