November 2010
VOL XVIII, Issue 11, Number 211
Editor: Klaus J. Gerken
Production Editor: Heather Ferguson
European Editor: Mois Benarroch
Contributing Editors: Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald Le Winter
Previous Associate Editors: Igal Koshevoy; Evan Light; Pedro Sena
ISSN 1480-6401
INTRODUCTION
Zohar Teshartok
Touches
CONTENTS
Zohar Teshartok
The sooner the better
The secrets of the park
The lighthouse
Clara
A game of honour
DUSAN COLOVIC
A dream sketched
Even Before You Say It
The man
In Reverse
Joseph Farley
SCENARIO WITH SEX, VIOLENCE AND A CHASE SCENE
AN ITALIAN TOWN
Night Webs
Contagion
Monster
105 Degrees
Flat Earth
Dead Dogs
Cuticle Moon
Running At Midnight
Suppliant
POST SCRIPTUM
Joseph Farley
Ionosphere
Zohar Teshartok
Touches
I was busy writing this story and did not even notice that Noa, my partner, had come into
my study, but I felt the touch of her delicate fingers very well. At first she pressed the
center of my nape with one finger as if wanting to press a hidden point that would cause
me to stop my writing and pay attention to her. When she realized that this was of no
avail, she tried to cover my eyes with her shirt sleeves, longer than her hands, according
to the European fashion.
“I cannot write when you are covering my eyes”, I said, trying to push her, with her long
arms, away from me. “You don`t have to see in order to write, you can write with your
fingers on my naked body as you used to do before.”
When she realized that I would not let her draw my attention away from what I was
doing, Noa returned to her own affairs but she finally achieved her aim because the
interruption of the electricity supply as a result of the stormy winter weather, compelled
me to stop my writing and become immersed in thoughts about her touches and the way
she had come into my life.
Noa, my neighbour, had knocked at the door of my consciousness politely, about six
months ago, under the pretext that she needed a refuge where she could escape from her
parents. She said, that being a soldier about to be released from service, all her
conversations with them were accompanied by pressuring questions such as: Noa`le, have
you already decided what you would like to study? Have you started to look for a course
for the psychometric tests? Do you know that a journey to the Far East will only take you
further away from your goal? As if she was not under stress anyway.
Her explanations and the desperate look in her face left me no options. After a short
negotiation in my living room, we reached an agreement according to which the
unoccupied room and all the facilities of the house would be placed at her disposal until
she went on the trip to the Far East and in return she promised to help me with the
household chores on a regular basis.
In spite of the electricity interruption in the candlelight I decided to take my pen and
paper and continue writing the story. Soon I felt the touch of her fingers on my nape
again and this time it was accompanied by the exciting smell of her wet hair fresh from
washing. Small drops of water wetted the paper on which I was writing, and with a soft
breath she put out the candle.
Zohar Teshartok
The sooner the better
After having read the letter, there was nothing for him to do but burst out
crying and shouting to give vent to his bitterness. The passers by in the noisy
street paid no attention to him in spite of his distress. Had they known that
he had nobody left in the world they would perhaps have stopped their
activities for a moment to find out how they could help him.
The old man was so desperate that he had asked the “Hevra Kadisha” to
transfer the burial site he had purchased with the money from his pension
fund to the “destiny office”, in front of which he was sitting.
The wording in the copy of the letter, which for administrative reasons was
sent to a relative of whom the old man knew nothing at all, was as follows:
Dear senior, the destiny office has discussed your request and cannot
comply, i.e. we cannot arrange for you to leave this world even one hour
before you have fulfilled your destiny in this life. As for your second
question – we saw fit to remind you that we are not in a position to reveal
your destiny to you for reasons of public order and we thus inform you that
any person guilty of transgression will be subjected to criminal law.
Therefore, the only way open to you is to hurry up to fulfill your destiny…”
The secrets of the park
It cost me a great effort to discover the hidden secret of the things, but soon I was seized
with panic because without my realizing it, I lost the sense of their simplicity. On that
very day I went to a park that I used to frequent in the past, one of those that were the
pleasure and joy of my city, but this time without one of my favorite books, in which I
could find the hidden secret of the things.
I sat simply on a wooden bench in the park, in the shadow of a tree, without any thought
or contemplation bothering my mind, and let the panic vanish. I probably sat there for a
long time since the cats in the park ignored my presence completely, the leaves of the tree
dropped on me covering me, and my body became part of the park in its entirety.
A pair of lovers came into the park arm in arm without even noticing me. The young man
knelt in front of his beloved and addressed her: “will you marry me?” She did not waver
in her answer: “Yes, I am all yours, yours!”
Having witnessed this, the simplicity of the things came back to me and I was able to
return to my favorite books.
The lighthouse
Now both of them were standing next to a tall ladder that was leaning against the front of
the round house. Yalo looked at an undefined point on the steaming earth, hearing and
not hearing the reprimands of the man in the brown suit. His thoughts wandered to distant
lands, far and green; to a place where the sun does not blind the eye of the man gazing at
it even though it is in the center of the sky, and to the stream with its clear waters that
stroke the bathers. He longed especially for the moments that used to give him a feeling
of unlimited freedom when he used to play with Zukit. The shouts of the man grew
louder and louder and interrupted his thoughts: “I told you that if you did not pay your
debt in time according to our contract, I will come myself and demolish that strange
house of yours with my own hands”
Yalo. knew there was no point in trying to answer the usurer who had taken off his jacket
and started to climb the ladder. The usurer was known for his stubbornness but he was
the only person who had agreed to lend him a sum large enough to realize his goal and
for the lack of an alternative Yalo had signed the draconian contract handed to him and
had begun to build the house that he intended to serve as a lighthouse for people lost in
the yellow wilderness.
A blow was heard close to Yalo. The usurer, now standing on the roof of his house,
began shouting at him to keep away before a torrent of tiles hit him. The usurer continued
to tear the tiles from the roof and after he had gathered a nice heap, he threw them on the
ground with a visible expression of pleasure. “I should have listened to Zukit and not
gone out into the blazing desert. What would she have thought of me had she seen what
was happening?”
“Perhaps if you have to stay without a roof over your head in the blazing sun, you will
understand why it is important to pay your debts in time”, the usurer shouted at him in a
festival of madness. Yalo made a swift movement and thrust the tall ladder to the
ground. The man remained standing on part of the roof of the house, dumbfounded, and
on realizing the state he was in, began to wave his arms helplessly.
Now, after having borrowed the man`s car, Yalo was on his way again and that man was
still standing on the roof like a lighthouse waving his arms.
Clara
After the rain had ceased and the wind had stopped to bother her, Clara`s happiness knew
no bounds whereas that of her husband, Nahum, who was expected to carry out the
chores in the yard, declined steadily. The wintry weather and its stormy emissaries
created havoc in the yard. The easy chairs, the flower ports and the garden dwarfs lay in
disarray on the muddy ground.
Normally Clara was extremely proud of her tidy yard, and of the white fence with its
posts of polished wood surrounding it. This fence protected them from whatever was
likely to happen to their yard from the outside, since it bordered on an orange grove and
the children playing there in their free time were keen to extend the boundaries of their
playing ground.
Clara`s calls to Nahum to come to the yard with his tools grew louder and louder and he
was no longer able to ignore them. He got up from his bed, rather listless. He would have
preferred the rain to continue so that he could go on undisturbed with his afternoon nap,
but Clara – as her name suggests – was clear about what had to be done, especially since
the Sabbath was approaching.
From his place on the balcony, Nahum surveyed the yard in disarray and the children
who took advantage of the pause in the gloomy weather to return to their games. After
having arranged the necessary tools to restore order in the yard, Nahum reviewed the
different options – things will not return to normal on their own – and decided that it
would be a good idea to rest a bit before starting on the tasks before him. He took a few
steps towards his favorite corner in the yard – a stone bench standing permanently under
the giant avocado tree - and sat down on it. His eyes closed unintentionally and in his
dream he saw the garden dwarfs coming to life and diligently returning everything to its
proper place.
“Nahum get up, up up!” When he opened his eyes he saw Clara standing in front of him
with a furious expression on her face. Her glance made clear to him that he must find a
quick and creative solution to the chaos reigning in the yard. Clara was on her way to
return to the house and Nahum went towards the fence on the border of the yard
pretending to tighten its hold on the ground, but when he heard the balcony door close
behind her, he began to tear out the wooden posts one after the other. As he progressed in
his work of tearing out the fence, the border between their yard and the orange grove
began to disappear. After he had finished he returned to the avocado tree and climbed its
branches as high as he could, and when he had achieved a good balance between the
branches of the tree he called out loudly, “this yard has no owner!”
After a short time the inquisitive children, who had followed the incidents in Nahum and
Clara`s yard, swiftly went on to occupy the ground that had been closed to them up to
that moment, and restored its independence in their play.
A game of honour
He is standing naked behind the closed door, waiting. Every Tuesday of the week, Eliezer
surprisingly gets up from his bed in the evening and stands naked behind the closed
brown steel door. His shadow, liberated from the obstacle of his clothes, could free itself
from him and go on its way.
Now it was late at night. His shadow had already passed through the keyhole of the steel
door, slid quickly down the staircase and gone out into the empty street and into the café,
that was converted into a gambling club at night. Eliezer used to spend time there
gambling regularly before the medical experts decided that he was mentally ill and had to
be confined to his bed. His gambling friends in the club were careful to keep his seat at
the table and place a few cards and his usual drink in the corner of the table in front of his
chair. Eliezer`s honour, as the oldest player in the group and the arbitrator whenever a
conflict appeared in the course of the game, hovered over them till the break of dawn.
On the next morning the nurse returned Eliezer from where he stood, to his room and
during that time he told her all about the card game in which he had “participated” at
night and about his old friends. His stories were very detailed up to the smallest details
and anyone who happened to hear them would certainly have got the impression that
Eliezer had spent the night playing cards just as he had done in the past. When they
neared his bed the nurse dressed him in his pyjamas not before she had persuaded his
shadow to come back and cling to his body.
DUSAN COLOVIC
A dream sketched
The end of the holiday
The last silhouettes landscape
In the house lullabies
Under a soft pillow of
A dream sketched.
Even Before You Say It
Even before you say it
an unwritten poem whispers
on your lips.
Teach your heart,
the source of flame
carries wounds,
painful memories.
Say it, my love from the primer,
who recorded my dreams
where is my worn out life
stored?
We broke the bread of love
there where we
turned into the bridge of
departure.
The man
In the maelstrom of temptation
At the crossroad
Squeezed between
Thought and emotion
Caught in silence
Without answer
Warming his soul
With a sacred word
Coming from a cosmic temple
Washed in an elusive
Flame of night.
In Reverse
You two can calmly
page back
the age rings and fruits
of your trunk
the fragrance of early pollen
to sense the breathing
and the breath.
Through a clear memory
you hear the echo of your soul
to the last letter.
You too can
In reverse
Live your path.
Joseph Farley
SCENARIO WITH SEX, VIOLENCE AND A CHASE SCENE
Bleary eyed birds
sing at midnight,
tricked by the false dawn
of a porch light,
while hungry alley cats
take notice.
A thief on the prowl
stumbles over lovers,
mistakes legs for tree roots,
and continues unaware.
A lighted window attracts moths
and other peeping toms.
The girl is new
to the neighborhood.
She wears tight shorts and tank tops,
and hasn't discovered curtains.
High in the branches
of a neighboring oak,
binoculars study
the curve of her spine.
A burglar discovers
a lighted window,
but trips over a cat
knocking over a garbage can.
Operatic sparrows
topple from their perches,
pubescents tumble
from trees.
The blinds are drawn,
the police are called.
Sirens disrupt
dressing lovers,
headlights chase cats
from their spoils,
lights bloom in windows
causing more birds to sing
while lovers sneak home
to parental frowns.
AN ITALIAN TOWN
volunteered
to go
into space
my neighbors
never
volunteer
how lucky
we are
someone
is willing
to take up
the flag
spread
our
earthly
quarrels
to the stars
Night Webs
winter trees
branches turn to webs
a sycamore spider
has captured the moon
Contagion
crows perch on telephone wires
squawk to each other, unaware
of the silent conversations
whispering between their toes
words catch in black tail feathers
friends hear static on the line
later the birds seek new perches
and drop adjectives as they pass
these blow in jumbles through the streets
and drip from the tops of trees
bleak and lifeless viruses
needing sullen, luckless minds
before they can incubate,
blossom into the disease
called literature.
Monster
Is there a doctor in the house
who can save the patient now,
stitch it back together,
make it new
with parts stolen
from the tombs
of Shakespeare, Mallarme,
and the June Taylor Dancers?
Somehow it moves
with a life of its own,
hideous monster,
creaking on flimsy joints,
suffering from motion sickness,
pleurisy, and terminal ennui.
Its shadow brushes against truth
(or what passes for it).
A shudder passes
through the crowd,
suddenly revealed
by parting curtains,
as the monster lurches
through its lines
before a silent,
unmoved audience.
105 Degrees
105 degrees
on Broad Street.
cars sink
in asphalt puddles.
a black dog
dances
at the end
of a leash,
a slow death
by strangulation:
it's not just the heat,
it's the humidity.
Flat Earth
There is no future.
There is no now.
The past is over.
There is no future.
This is a closed loop.
We can go on forever
like this.
There are no questions
worth asking,
no answers worth searching for.
Somewhere between here and tomorrow
a fog hangs low against the ground
obscuring the place
where the guardrail is smashed through,
and the newly painted yellow line
guides traffic over the edge
and into a hungry, waiting abyss.
Dead Dogs
– For Michael Vick
The dog dies,
old and blind,
knowing his master,
or waiting his return.
Odysseus killed
his loyal greyhound
for fear it would betray him
with affection.
The Women's SPCA
at Front and Erie Streets
will kill your dog for free -
a humane act
by a humane
decompression chamber
to crush the lungs
of your boyhood friend,
or perhaps you prefer
the needle?
Death mainlined.
It's a dog's life.
In Korea they eat dogs.
The Aztecs ate dogs.
Eskimos eat their sled dogs
in a pinch.
A mutt,
half-spaniel/
half-shepherd,
plays tag
with cars
at rush hour.
Our merciful hero
saves the day
with a burst of speed,
a bump, a howl,
and the grinding
of wheels.
Cuticle Moon
Clipping my nails
to feed the cats
something of myself
when the refrigerator's empty
because I was too tired
to go to the store,
thought the woman
who shares my bed
would go on her own
in an act
of desperation,
but she also decided
there are other things
in this world to see
besides supermarket aisles.
Out on the porch,
Juan watches the sunset.
I've promised to get it
on videotape
to save us both
the time it takes
to reach its conclusion.
Fast forward and in reverse,
the horizon will shrink,
rise and fall,
the sun will bounce
like a yoyo
at the end of my
remote control. Sunsets
are all reruns anyway.
The cats lap stale milk
from bowls in the sink
left over from breakfast.
Shaohai stretches
against the window
eyes following
the growing sliver
of a cuticle moon.
Tomorrow will be
a different page
on the calendar,
a red date as opposed
to a blue one.
Maybe the change
will be enough
to burn away
the mists and cobwebs
clouding my life,
a spark in the engine
to get the world
moving again.
Running At Midnight
Deer feed
on traffic
islands
in the middle
of Holme
Avenue.
Raccoons,
big as dogs,
knock over
trash cans,
snarl when
startled
by the runner.
Suppliant
the emperor
walks
in the surf,
pant legs
rolled up,
toes digging
in the sand
a small crab dances sideways
away from a wave
the emperor
wipes
his glasses,
stares
at tiny
legs
on the empty
beach
Joseph Farley
Ionosphere
several overexcited atoms
were picked-up
at Front and Allegheny Streets
for ogling the girls.
Their electrons, frenzied
at the sight of legs,
shot through the ionosphere.
Safely in custody,
they stew in negative cells
hoping for a positive outcome
and a swift return
to a stable society.
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is
prohibited.
YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993 - 2010 by
Klaus J. Gerken.
The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's
World-Wide Web site http://users.synapse.net/~kgerken. No other
version shall be deemed "authorized" unless downloaded from there.
Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.
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