The Space of This Dialogue

Excerpts from a Work-in-Progress

12/31/98

I am not lyric any more

I will not play the harp

for your pleasure

I will not make a joyful

noise to you, neither will I lament

for I know you drink

lamentation, too,

like wine

so I dully repeat

you hurt me

I hate you

I pull my eyes away from the hills

I will not praise you

I will never love you again

unless you ask me

You have made everything beautiful after its kind

the x molecule hooks the y molecule

mountains rise with utmost gravity

snow upon their shoulders

a congress of crows circulates through the maize

that grows sheeny through a breezeless morning

the ribbed leaf a spot of scarlet floats

on the shivering creek

each single thing so excellent in form and action

if by chance by excitement by intention

you draw along a dappled path the wren

to her nest, the fledglings cry, the tiger flows

rhythmically toward the antelope, the butterfly

beats stained-glass wings, the galaxies

propagate light in boundless curves

past what exists as matter, as dust

You have done enough, engineer

how dare we ask you for justice

1/29/99

dialogue

When you harmonize bitter enemies

yet resentment is sure to linger.

How can this be called good?

Lao Tse

I tried to invent new forms of holiness

after the event at the mountain

to console myself

behold I put before you

life and death therefore

choose life I said

but look at you

look at the stiffness of your neck

look at the desire of your heart

to wreck everything

dear one

I believe someday we will show each other our bruises

after this dialogue of the deaf

but tell me, when it is written

I found you in your blood, and I said, Live,

who speaks to whom

who forgives whom

1/31/99

It is written that when the temple was destroyed the shekhinah followed her people into exile, and that she remains in the world as the hidden one

hidden one: when the temple fell

when Jerusalem arose and fell and whenever

we were persecuted and scattered

by the nations,

to follow us in pain and exile

you folded wings patched coats

dragged mattresses pans in peasant carts

swam across hard seas, sick and homesick

landed in the golden land

they called you greenhorn

you danced in cafes

you went in the factory

bargained pushcart goods ice shoes Hester Street

put makeup on threw away wig

and you learned new languages

now you speak everything

lady, but part of you is earth

part of you is wounds

part of you is words

and part is smoke

because whoever was burned over there, you were burned

you died forever with the sheep

whoever survived, you speak in our tongues

open your wings

say what we are

do not confuse us

with the sanhedrin of the loud speakers

who have no ear for your voice

but we who thirst for your new

instructions, source of life

come into our thoughts

our mouth. Speak to us

O oice of the beloved

help us

say what we are

say what we are to do

COPYRIGHT 1999 Association for Religion and Intellectual Life
COPYRIGHT 2008 Gale, Cengage Learning