new work – On finding a kindred spirit in Sappho, then

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On finding a kindred spirit in Sappho, 
then knowing too much anthropology
to trust my own instincts
Elliott batTzedek

I have had not one word from her
Frankly I wish I was dead	
		Sappho (Barnard translation)

Times change
cultures change
languages change
but the human heart remains the same.

As if!

As if we don’t foolishly scrawl
our ignorance across everything
we encounter: 		
Kilroy was here to claim that he knows that you are
just like him.

As if the world weren’t 
bigger than big
"Shakespeare in the bush"
and all that
etc etc etc

Maybe it is only this foolishness
that stays the same:

a need for analogy
soldered to an evolutionary tangle
reading into what we can’t remotely understand
a meaning
to feed our own need—
the need of our time
our culture
our language, our heart.

new work – A Prayer of Petition

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A Prayer of Petition
Elliott batTzedek

is too easy—ridiculous, pathetic,
to consider that a request, small or 
desperate, could be answered

might be
would be

Save me. Help me. Stop them. Save me.

a child’s refrain

mine

They told me I had a Savior
so I called him every day
ringing ringing ringing ringing ringing
sometimes twice in a day
ringing ringing ringing ringing ringing
until one day
the line was dead
uuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I had to save myself

about which I remain somewhat bitter

If you can ask with a heart 
you still can open

I am jealous

I am broken

I am not like you

new work – Lullaby

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Lullaby
Elliott batTzedek

What is the oldest true thing
you know 	      and how
does it bind you?

Softly, I pray for you, gently—
Mississippi River silt, puppy ears, bunny fur,
Downy, Charmin, Palmolive

or if rigidly     	 then may it, I pray,
be the spine that keeps you upright
as the cedars of Lebanon

Mine wraps me tight	      so calm so
reassuring, lullabying its sweet refrain:
there is no place for you in this world

there is no    place         for you          in this world
there is no   there is no   there is no    there is no place
there is no   there is no   there is no    there is no you

Here

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                           Here
                    Chana Bloch

                      Anything
                even the black
         satin road where it catches
       the streaked oils of stoplights
          as I drive home alone
             from the hospital
        rain pocking the windshield
       tires slicing the pooled water
       to a spume taller than the car.
      Even that patch where the road
     fell in, rutted as a face, even that
             cries out: Look at me
            don’t turn away, admit
            the ravage is beautiful.
       The world insists: I was here
          before you and your pain,
                  I am here and I
          will outlast you. Yes, says
             the mind stroking itself
                   into life again
                 as a body, taking
                    what comfort
                        it can.

from Mrs. Dumpty, an astounding collection of poems about the end of Bloch’s marriage, about how love is born and how it dies.

The Fabric of Life

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The Fabric of Life
by Kay Ryan

It is very stretchy.
We know that, even if
many details remain
sketchy. It is complexly
woven. That much too
has pretty well been
proven. We are loath
to continue our lessons
which consist of slaps
as sharp and dispersed
as bee stings from
a smashed nest
when any strand snaps—

hurts working far past
the locus of rupture,
attacking threads
far beyond anything
we would have said
connects.

Bee! I’m expecting you!

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Bee! I’m expecting you!
Emily Dickinson

1035

Bee! I’m expecting you!
Was saying Yesterday
To Somebody you know
That you were due—

The Frogs got Home last Week—
Are settled, and at work—
Birds, mostly back—
The Clover warm and thick—

You’ll get my Letter by
The seventeenth; Reply
Or better, be with me—
Yours, Fly.

The murmur of a bee

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The Murmur of a Bee
Emily Dickinson

155

The Murmur of a Bee
A Witchcraft—yieldeth me—
If any ask me why—
’Twere easier to die—
Than tell—

The Red upon the Hill
Taketh away my will—
If anybody sneer—
Take care—for God is here—
That’s all.

The Breaking of the Day
Addeth to my Degree—
If any ask me how—
Artist—who drew me so—
Must tell!

Because the Bee may blameless hum

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869
Emily Dickinson

Because the Bee may blameless hum
For Thee a Bee do I become
List even unto Me.

Because the Flowers unafraid
May lift a look on thine, a Maid
Alway a Flower would be.

Nor Robins, Robins need not hide
When Thou upon their Crypts intrude
So Wings bestow on Me
Or Petals, or a Dower of Buzz
That Bee to ride, or Flower of Furze
I that way worship Thee.