Tom-Seidman-Freud, From Tales of the Hare or in the original, Hasengeschichten
Three Ways to See the World
This coming week is rather somber; spring hasn’t quite established itself. Passover, celebrating the escape of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt coincides with the week leading up to Easter, which is unusual. But Christ has not risen; he is about to be crucified against the better judgment of Pontius Pilate. And I still feel old and enervated and ill. So while we are waiting for the promised Resurrection at Easter, here are three poems that I wrote during my thirties. After that, I wrote no more poetry for the next fifty years. It seems that I only write when I feel threatened, beleaguered, and angry, as I so often do in these late days of the waning western empire.
1. Sunset at Jericho Beach
The mountains are/a soft blue hue
Painted by a famous West Coast artist
Becalmed windsurfers paddle/slowly to the shore
Children glistening like seals/Scream and shout
The bare brown midriff
Of the beautiful girl/lolling on the log
Grows goosebumps
In the distance a guitar thrums/and giant shadows dance on the dirty sand
Your twilight eyes/amorphous in the late light
Shimmer on the leaden waters/Leading into darkest night
2. The Mark
You touch me/and it’s a universal question/mark
I hesitate to answer
Do not ask what is it
I do not want to make that visit
Still
Ask me again/when I am building my ark
3. Old Woman Dreaming at the Window
Late afternoon/the liquid sun pours over the trees
Dancing solitary plies
It is time/for the soft swoop of doves weaving spirals
Around the trees and me
Soon they drop/into their coop
Soon I must grow wings/it is time for my ascent/ from my cooped up yesterdays
And become one
With the Sun