Early Morning Down the Street

There, down the street,
I'm not sure you know
which place I mean,
after the houses end
and the forest begins,
after the scenic lookout
and down that road,
yes, straight down,
not the one that veers
to the right and goes up
to the army base,
the road that descends
steeply until the tar ends
and then becomes gravel,
the one that follows the fence
that prevents you from falling
down the cliffs and into the
valley, yes, that's right,
there are apple orchards
and the occasional peach trees,
and lots of boulders,
some look as though holes
were punched in them,
some are the colour
of the earth, sepia,
red-ochre, orange,
the kind you'd like to have
in your front yard.
Well, as you continue down
you reach the end,
and perpendicular
to this road is a dirt one,
unpaved probably because
no one ever gets so far -
to the left, maybe a hundred meters,
it ends, and up to the right
you get to the army base again,
as you curve around, climb up up,
and circle your way back to our street.
There, beyond the fence
that protects the hyrax
which gather on rocks
to absorb the rising sun,
before the hawks and eagles
awaken hungry,
above the drop into the valley,
beyond the reach of humans,
right there, he saw them,
unexpected, a stag, horns magnificent,
and three does -
at first they weren't aware of him,
these tawny fallow deer,
white-spotted, once extinct here,
now rare, noses aquiver,
they sensed his presence,
stiffened, raised off the ground,
white tails bobbing,
to regally disappear,
so quickly, so silently,
even his little black terrier
didn't notice,
then only the stillness
of the forest, the orchards,
the early morning,
the sun shimmering
on the fish ponds below,
on the mountains surrounding.
At the small army base,
the soldiers eat breakfast,
his wife, in their home on the street
leading to all this, still sleeps.
When he gets home he will tell her
and she will ask if he remembered
to take the camera; he will answer no,
and she will shake her head
and say, some people are blessed
by nature to have such encounters,
and the day will begin

Walking the Dog at Dusk

As dusk distorts perspective
mountains, colours, fields and borders
blend into two dimensional starkness
flat against a translucent sky
in monochromatic compatibility
outlined against the heavens
like a one-dimensional ancient icon,
or a theatre prop, or cardboard cutout
so that only the sky is real
and the landscape seems an image

It is a time when the sky is still light
but no longer bright
when stars are waiting backstage
for their cue to emerge
when subdued hues of pink and orange
have replaced its daytime blue
and birds have perched
in the numerous trees
to sleep chirpless until dawn

my heart pauses in awe
Write it! but the pen protests
Paint it! but the brush balks
such beauty cannot be captured
in any form

the dog and I continue
to walk lost in the astral
in companionable appreciation

A Reminiscence of Autumn

There is a reminiscence of autumn
in this beginning of August evening,
in the coolness of the air,
pure to breathe,
in the clouds, bellies black,
as though rainfilled, but not,
in the clarity that reveals distant,
usually invisible, mountains,
that outlines shadows sharply

There is serenity in this evening,
as a father and small daughter
wave from their tractor,
as the briskness of the wind
flips the dog's ears inside out
and she dances in furious circles
in perfect delight,
a little terrier whirlwind,
as the sun sets behind her and the dust,
illuminating both goldenly

There is purity in this evening
that infuses the colours of the countryside,
bursting with peaches and apples,
with peace and pride

It will not continue,
this cool interlude,
this clarity of vision,
this precious peace;
it will heat up again,

This is, after all,
the Middle East

Helen Bar-Lev was born in New York City in 1942. She has lived in Israel for 36 years. She holds a degree in Anthropology from California State University, Northridge, 1972. Since 1976 Helen has devoted herself to art: painting, teaching and writing poetry. From 1989 until 2001 she was a member of the Safad Artists' Colony in the Upper Galilee where she had her own gallery. In January 2007 she and Johnmichael Simon moved to Metulla, the northernmost town in Israel.

To date Bar-Lev has participated in 80 exhibitions, including 30 one-person shows. She was the curator of the widely acclaimed Homage to Yosef Hirsch exhibitions (appearing in 3 venues) in 2002 and 2003 in which 53 of Hirsch's former students participated. Her poems and paintings have appeared in many online journals such as The Other Voices International Project; The Coffee Press Journal; Boheme Magazine; The Poetry Bridge; Sketchbook; River Bones Press; The Hypertexts; Palabras-Press; Poetry Super Highway, Gostinaia, etc., and also print anthologies including Meeting of the Minds Journal;, Voices Israel Anthologies; Manifold Magazine of New Poetry (U.K.); Lucidity Poetry Journal, and Across The Long Bridge and Sailing in the Mist of Time, both anthologies of Award-Winning Poetry; Harvest International; Poesy first international issue; For Loving Precious Beast, An Anthology of Poetry edited by Yolanda Coulaz; Ibbetson Street 21; The Rogue Scholars, June 2007, Magnapoets; Eden Waters Press, Windsor ReView.

A book entitled CYCLAMENS AND SWORDS with poems of Israel by Helen and Johnmichael Simon has been published by Ibbetson Press of Boston, Mass. and may be ordered from the authors hbarlev@netvision.net.il. It is also available via Lulu. Her watercolour paintings and sketches are featured throughout the book.

Helen is a member of Voices Israel English Poetry Society and The Israel Artists' and Sculptors' Association, of the Canadian Federation of Poets and Canadian Poetry Association. She is the global correspondent in Israel for the Poetry Bridge and Editor-in-Chief of the Voices Israel Annual Anthology.

Email: Helen Bar-Lev

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