Poetry Friday: Seders

Born in London on the last night of the Blitz, Karen Alkalay-Gut has been living and writing out in the open ever since. She was reared in Rochester, NY, where she received her PhD from the University of Rochester. She has lived and worked in Israel since 1972. There, she has raised a family and had a career as a writer in both English and Hebrew, as well as a translator into French, German, Italian, Romanian, Russian, Spanish and Polish. Her 31-page  curriculum vitae details a rich and ranging intellectual life and career;  it is clear that it would take more reams of paper than that to contain what her heart knows. But we can sometimes catch her in spoken word, as  in the clip below from Bowery Poetry Project. WVFC was thrilled to receive an offer of the Pesach poem below. We bet more than one family will considers her words before next week’s Passover/Easter celebrations.

1957

We were slaves
to Pharaoh in Egypt,
we sang extempore —
each with a different tune
each with a different memory.

Born on the outer edge of war,
I envisioned only Cecil B. DeMille
and the myriads of extras drowned
behind a trick glass wall.

(No. That isn’t true.
Years before,
when we were in our old home
—flimsy and small—
I would fear
that when we opened the door for Elijah,
Hitler and his men would push in,
destroying all, but my consciousness.)

In the new house
with the massive cherry dining set
my father and I bought secondhand
and the flowered gilt dishes
my mother saved all year,
we were our own leaders.

Our guests leaned on their pillows
and admired the oversized turkey
(symbol I see now of America—
freedom and relief)
the tsimmis, the compote,
and all the extra courses
—fish, liver, soup —
they had only dreamed of
even before the war.

And while I focussed
on the Hagada drawings of Moses,
with his strong, Heston chin,
did my father
think of his years in prison?
Did my mother
recall the boat
that took them back
from the Promised Land to Danzig
on the eve Hitler came in?

On this night of nights
we sang together offkey
that once we were slaves
that now we are free

Poetry Friday: A Christmas List

Inspired partly by Jan Simpson’s cool Christmas-for-Theatregoers list and by new Christmas poetry lists from The Independent UK and the Daily Mail, the latter a listing of new love poetry, we at WVFC feel obligated to offer our First Annual Poetry Friday Christmas shopping list. Below, your quick-links to the most recent work by poets who’ve adorned our Poetry Fridays this year.

Click on the highlighted names to see video, commentary and sample poems of each (we promise you’ll have fun); then come back and click on each book’s title to fill your Christmas list.

Feel free to play in our Poetry category to find more gift ideas: Space and time prevented us from including all of the many Voices in Verse we’ve included since we started in 2005, and we also left out Poetry Friday participants who we found but who didn’t submit poems to us — such as Forugh Farrokhzad, Maxine Hong Kingston, David Tucker, Lisa Russ Spaar and John Keats. Happy holidays, and please enjoy…

Our very first Voices in Verse, Elizabeth Alexander,  rang in President Obama’s first inaugural this year; a fuller scope of her work can be seen in her newest book American Sublime;

Poet Laureate Louise Gluck and her latest collection, A Village Life:


Our own Susan Kinsolving and her recent The White Eyelash;

As Alice Pettway begins her adventure teaching English in Mozambique with the Peace Corps, you might consider buying her just-published Barbed Wire and Bedclothes;

Carol Muske-Dukes‘ many good works, including her lyrical Channeling Mark Twain, a Novel;

Mary Jo Bang and her  abecedarius (one for each letter), The Bride of E;

Karen Alkalay-Gut and her collection So Far, So Good;

Maria Luisa Arroyo‘s 2008 collection Gathering Words;

Christine Gelineau and her compilation of Franco-Canadian poems, French Connections;

Ginger Andrews and her An Honest Answer, which won the Nicholas Roerich Prize;

Sophie Cabot Black and her most recent published work, The Descent.

Stay tuned for more Poetry Friday recommendations from WVFC’s poets and readers! And please feel free to tell us, in comments below, who we’re missing in this year’s poetry releases.

Poetry Friday: A Prose Poem Question from Alkalay-Gut

The Belt

What if the poem leapt from its page and surrounded you – like a rope or a belt tightening around your waist – a pet snake charming the world to stay close and keep its distance, whirling you about to learn your meaning, your wholeness, your perfect self

Born in London on the last night of the Blitz, Karen Alkalay-Gut has been living and writing out in the open ever since. She was reared in Rochester, NY where she received her PhD. from the University of Rochester. She has lived and worked in Israel since 1972 where she has a family and a career as a writer both in English and Hebrew, as well as a translator into French, German, Italian, Romanian, Russian, Spanish and Polish. Her 31-page  curriculum vitae details a rich and ranging intellectual life and career;  it is clear that it would take more reams of paper than that to contain what her heart knows.

Poetry Friday: Karen Alkalay-Gut

Born in London on the last night of the Blitz, Karen Alkalay-Gut has been living and writing out in the open ever since. She was reared in Rochester, NY where she received her PhD. from the University of Rochester. She has lived and worked in Israel since 1972 where she has a family and a career as a writer both in English and Hebrew, as well as a translator into French, German, Italian, Romanian, Russian, Spanish and Polish. Her 31-page  curriculum vitae details a rich and ranging intellectual life and career;  it is clear that it would take more reams of paper than that to contain what her heart knows.

Why I don’t write formal verse

As long as I don’t have to follow any rules I’m okay,
This doesn’t include stopping on red but otherwise
I’ve got too many imperatives in my life to want to put them into poetry

What I want is the writing itself to tell me where I’m at,
What it means, where I’m going, how i can – eventually – make sense
As long as I don’t have to follow any rules I’m okay.

Because you know it really is getting harder to remember
All the codes, passwords, procedures at the bank:
I’ve got too many imperatives in my life to want to put them into poetry

Then there are all those medications I have to take
Before meals, after, before trying to relax.
As long as I don’t have to follow any rules I’m okay,

And the situation: what you do in case of a rocket attack
Biological warheads, dirty bombs, terrorist accidents.
I’ve got too many imperatives in my life to want to put them into poetry.

So I like to keep it easy and loose in verse
let myself rise above the restrictions in the world
As long as I don’t have to follow any rules I’m okay,
I’ve got too many imperatives in my life to want to put them into poetry

Ars Poetica
for Shmuel Shatal

“Where are you from?” the critic asks.
“I was born in London,”

Seeing he wants more, I add.

“Grew up in America,
raised children in Israel.”

“I mean your parents,
where were they born?”

“Lithuania,” I say.
“But where? The city, the city.”

“Lida,” I mutter, just a bit ashamed.

“Lida!” He jumps up,
with all the energy of a young man.

“I knew it! I always knew it!
from your poems I could tell!

You see, we have a connection.
My wet nurse was from Lida!”

Silence.  I wait,
Respecting his years,

The poems, the analysis
Of my work

His simple, profound wisdom.
Slowly, patiently, he goes on

“When I was a child
I had a terrible temper.”

“And when I’d explode,
my mother would shake her head

and mutter, ‘It’s the milk of Lida,
the milk of Lida.’”