Thursday, September 01, 2005

Zelda, comrade

I´m the silver candlestick, the candle, the void in the empty dark(*)
Without the light I seemed to resemble
The winds fetch me waters in the roads
Beneath a sickly bulb, flooding in sad light
Mellowing these words that are feeble
Watering sorrow and disgrace
Watering childhood, even doubt
Falling on my own flesh
Disgrace
Looking outside
Recreating those pasts I never told
Not even to myself
Not even to my soul
In those letters you never sent me
But that I remember as well
Not for their precision of words I longed
But for those gray and mellow papers
Dust-smelling envelopes, souvenirs
My lust, my love, a silent light in the void
In the empty dark
In those eyes of mine that aren´t younger
In those eyes of mine that weren´t happier
Blurred as dew that hinders on the fog
Calm breathless Jewish eyes
Perhaps such as the sight of God
Deaf in their numbness, deliberately
Allegedly
Echoeing in timeless tawdriness
In bitter glasses of history
Drunken from their contempt
Driven out of their lives
Constantly hanging in space
Perhaps it still sparks, too
With a glass of schnapps
And I´m the silver candlestick, the candle and the voidin the empty dark
My dying light is outside
Craving in outrage
In the streets, past an alley
Somewhere in New York, perhaps still in Jerusalem.

(*) Thanks to Amos Oz for his book "A tale of love and darkness" that contains a chapter about the poetess Zelda Shneerson, and to Vitaly Usherenko for the inspiration on this poem.

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