Category Archives: poetry

November 28, 2016 · 10:46 am

Yahrzeit

by Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)

In my changing neighborhood
the Asian dollar store has replaced
the old Woolworth five-and-dime.
I go in and ask for a Yahrzeit candle.
The owner quizzically looks at me.
“A memorial candle,” I explain.
He finds one on the back shelf.
It’s the anniversary of my father’s death,
and I have bought the candle to say Kaddish.
Is one candle enough to honor
the man who helped raise me?
Pluses and minuses, Dad, if you must know.
I have trouble lighting the wick;
I struggle over the Hebrew words.
Shouldn’t there be more
in the way of ritual and remembrance?
Light a candle, just one candle, they say.
As I stand over the flame,
I am still debating whether one candle
is wholly insufficient or entirely too much.

The author of twelve books for young adults, Mel Glenn has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years.  Lately, he’s been writing poetry, and you can find his most recent poems in the YA anthology, This Family Is Driving Me Crazy, edited by M. Jerry Weiss.

If you’d like to learn more about his work, visit: http://www.melglenn.com/

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October 31, 2016 · 9:13 am

Release from Dachau

by Janet R. Kirchheimer (New York, NY)

“I had a dream last night,” my father tells me.
He dreamed the kapos woke him up at four o’clock
in the morning, on Friday, December 23, 1938,
made him strip out of his uniform, made him
wait in line for an SS doctor to examine him

for bruises and frostbite, made him listen to speeches
by the SS warning him to get out of Germany and never
return. They warned him if he didn’t, he’d be sent back to Dachau
and never leave. He dreamed he was assigned a place
in another line, waited to return his uniform and get his own clothes,
shoes and coat, and that the SS drove him to an area about four miles
from the Munich train station, then made him march the rest of the way.

The sky was so black, he couldn’t see the man who gave him a ticket.
It took twelve hours, and he changed trains twice. He had no money,
no food.
The train arrived on Shabbos morning, and he didn’t want to see
another person’s face and took the back way home through the fields,
crossing eight railroad tracks, careful not to get caught

in the track switches. His father was the first person to see him
as he opened the shutters he closed each night so no one could throw
rocks into the house. He went through the front gate into the house,
saw his mother had baked challahs, and ate an entire one. He went to sleep
at eleven o’clock in the morning and slept until the next day.

“That’s exactly how it happened,” my father tells me. “That’s how I
got home.
Can you believe I still dream about it sixty years later?”

Janet R. Kirchheimer is the author of How to Spot One of Us, poems about her family and the Holocaust.  Her recent work has appeared in The Poets Quest for God and is forthcoming in Forgotten Women.  Janet is currently producing AFTER, a cinematic film about Holocaust poetry.  https://www.facebook.com/AfterAPoetryFilm/

 

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October 10, 2016 · 10:43 am

High Holy Days

By Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)

It is suggested in the High Holy Day Prayer Book
you should carry two scraps of paper,
putting one in each pocket.

One paper should say:
“For my sake the world was created.”
And the other one should read:
“I am ashes and dust.”

What kind of choice is that?
Are we the sovereigns of our own planet,
or nothing but little fragments,
ready to be blown away at the wind’s notice?

On this holiday we reflect:
What is our purpose in our limited time here?
If you’re expecting some kind of answer,
I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong synagogue door.

Our purpose, it seems to me,
is not to find ultimate answers,
but to continue questioning,
with respect to our terrestrial place,
recognizing awe for what we can never fully understand.

I think I will need more than two scraps of paper.

The author of twelve books for young adults, Mel Glenn has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years. Lately, he’s been writing poetry, and you can find his most recent poems in the YA anthology, This Family Is Driving Me Crazy, edited by M. Jerry Weiss.

If you’d like to learn more about his work, visit: http://www.melglenn.com/

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October 2, 2016 · 9:44 am

The Call

by Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)

Preface to a Poem:

In the Bible long ago,
Samuel heard a voice calling his name.
He thought it was Eli, the High Priest of Shiloh.
But it was not him. It was the Lord.
Who shall listen when his name is called?
Who will go quietly, and who will object?
Mortality is such a fragile thing.

So, I am trying to fall asleep
when I hear a voice saying,
“Wake up, Mel, it’s time you joined me.”
“What? Do you know what time it is?”
“Irrelevant. You are called.”
“To what?”
“To me.”
“Who are you?”
“Isn’t it obvious, even to you?”
“I need to see some I.D.”
“That won’t be necessary, you know who I am.”
“Yes, I know, but now?”
“It’s an honor to be called.”
“I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Take a few minutes. I’ve got all day.”
“Do I have to listen?”
“Eventually, yes, but you still have some time.”
“How much?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“But there is so much I haven’t done yet.”
“You should have thought about that earlier.”
“I thought I had a lot more years.”
“Not your call, I’m afraid. It’s not that bad, really.
You won’t feel a thing, trust me.”
“But I have to get my affairs in order.”
“Doesn’t matter, others will carry on for you.
If you’re lucky some people may remember you,
with affection, I might add.”
“But…..”
“There are no ‘buts,’ sorry. Are you ready now?”

Postscript to a Poem:

And in the end, I, like poet George Herbert,
declare: “Methought I heard one calling ‘Child!’
And I replied, ‘My Lord.’”

The author of twelve books for young adults, Mel Glenn has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years. Lately, he’s been writing poetry, and you can find his most recent poems in the YA anthology, This Family Is Driving Me Crazy, edited by M. Jerry Weiss.

If you’d like to learn more about his work, visit: http://www.melglenn.com/

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September 12, 2016 · 9:14 am

Sabbath Candles

By Rick Black (Arlington, VA)

I tell myself these are candles of joy.
Of peacefulness, quiet and repose.
Of blessings, rejoicing
and song.

Usually I light yahrzeit candles,
memorial candles, Yom HaShoah candles.
And they rekindle memories
of those I have lost.

But tonight I light
the wicks of Sabbath candles.
The scent of their smoke lingers—
the smoke itself, too.

I recall my mother,
lighting candles years ago—
closing her eyes to usher in
the angels of peace,

the living and the dead.
Indeed, how many years is it?
The Sabbath candles alit
and their glow.

Rick Black is a prize-winning poet and book artist. To read a few poems from his award-winning collection, “Star of David,” please visit http://www.turtlelightpress.com/products/star-of-david/  Currently, he is at work on a limited edition artist book of Yehuda Amichai poems entitled, “The Amichai Windows.” You can learn more about it at his blog, www.amichaiwindows.com.

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August 29, 2016 · 6:36 am

Worthy Enough?

by Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)

It’s hard to be a Jew,
even a bad one.
I do not go to synagogue.
I am not kosher.
I rarely celebrate the important holidays.
I do not yearn to go to Israel.
I have rejected most of my father’s teachings,
and am constantly plagued by religious doubts.
But still, but still…
I am tethered, connected
if only by a blue and white thread
to a people and culture I do not fully understand.
Even though I continue to walk
around the periphery of the temple,
scarcely looking in, scarcely a part
of the services conducted within,
I wonder in the quiet moments of the night
am I still worthy in the eyes of God?

The author of twelve books for young adults, Mel Glenn has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years.  Lately, he’s been writing poetry, and you can find his most recent poems in the YA anthology, This Family Is Driving Me Crazy, edited by M. Jerry Weiss.

If you’d like to learn more about his work, visit: http://www.melglenn.com/

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July 18, 2016 · 8:47 am

Of Death and Coffee

by Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)

So, three older Jewish guys

are sitting around a table

at an older Jewish restaurant

talking about death.

It’s the subject of some worried inquiry

as all three approach the finish line.

“Jews don’t believe in heaven,” says the first man.

“Your soul lives on after you,” says the next.

“Perhaps,” says the third, “the big surprise

is there is absolutely nothing – gornisht.”

“You mean this is all there is?” the first one asks.

“Could be,” replies the second.

“Maybe it’s like this,” the third man says,

“just ten minutes before you die,

you get a message, like an e-mail, from God,

telling you exactly what’s gonna happen.”

“That would be nice,” the first man agrees.

The three men stare into their coffees,

each one contemplating his own mortality,

together as friends facing the dreadful uncertainty.

“Same time next week?”

“God willing.”

The author of twelve books for young adults, Mel Glenn has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years.  Lately, he’s been writing poetry, and you can find his most recent poems in the YA anthology, This Family Is Driving Me Crazy, edited by M. Jerry Weiss.

If you’d like to learn more about his work, visit: http://www.melglenn.com/

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May 9, 2016 · 6:29 am

Rooms on the Left, Rooms on the Right

by Janet R. Kirchheimer (New York, NY)

This poem began when I heard a woman speaking to her children.  I thought my heart would break.  During the Shoah, so many mothers and fathers had to make the unbearable decision whether or not to separate their families.  The decision was life and death.  This poem is dedicated to those forced to endure such choices.

I see spotlights and fences and people standing in lines
to go into rooms on the left and rooms on the right,
and I hear a woman tell her children, “Stay with me,
we don’t want to get separated,” and my heart
begins to pound, and I walk out of the lobby
of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum
and look up at the sky in Washington and try to find the sun.

Janet R. Kirchheimer is the author of How to Spot One of Us (2007).  She is currently producing BE•HOLD, a cinematic poetry performance film. (https://www.facebook.com/BeholdAPerformanceFilm)  Her work has appeared in journals and on line in such publications as Atlanta Review, Limestone, Connecticut Review, Lilith, Natural Bridge and on beliefnet.com, and she is a Pushcart Prize nominee. Janet is a teaching fellow at CLAL –  The National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership. 

 

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May 2, 2016 · 6:08 am

In the Matter of Seders

by Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)

In the matter of Seders,
unfortunately, I get impatient.
As the story of the Israelites unfolds,
I keep looking at the sumptuous food
arranged across the table,
and wonder if I can exist
on a diet of matzoh for the week.
What a poor desert wanderer
I would have been, trudging,
searching the sand hills and oases
for the local 7-11 or Dunkin’ Donuts.
I am chided for suggesting
that certain prayers be skipped
to shorten the time before a full stomach.
The famous Four Questions are three too many
as I restlessly await the first course,
and the reading of the Ten Plagues reminds me,
what’s the weather report for tomorrow?
I am not proud of my lack of decorum,
and beg forgiveness from my ancestors,
who were much stronger than I,
waiting patiently until the Promised Land
of brisket, kugel, and matzoh ball soup.

The author of twelve books for young adults, Mel Glenn has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years.  Lately, he’s been writing poetry, and you can find his most recent poems in the YA anthology, This Family Is Driving Me Crazy, edited by M. Jerry Weiss.

If you’d like to learn more about his work, visit: http://www.melglenn.com/

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April 18, 2016 · 9:37 am

The Search for Chometz

by Richard Epstein (Washington, DC)

He gave me a saucer containing eleven, neatly cut
pieces of bread:  each about a quarter-inch square.  I placed one
on the edge of the washing machine in the first floor
powder room, the kitchen counter, the dining room table,
the leather-topped lamp table in the living room,
and on the corner of each dresser in the upstairs bedrooms.

He waited downstairs.  When I came back to the kitchen,
he unwrapped a cloth covering a wooden spoon,
the white-feathered wing of a chicken, and a Shabbos candle.
The search for the chometz was about to begin.

I led the way to each piece of bread by candlelight, my hand
cupped in front of the flickering flame as we walked up
the darkened wooden stairway.  Melting wax dripped
onto my hand as I watched our shadows high on the wall.

Dad gently nudged each morsel of bread onto the spoon,
then brushed twice with short sweeping strokes
of a chicken wing.  He cradled the spoon on his forearm
as if it were a fragile doll and wrapped it within
the cloth before leaving each room.

Dad followed me down the stairs and back into the kitchen.
He whispered a prayer and blew long and slow
across the candle flame.

All things are done with prayer,  he said.  The candle tried
desperately to hold to its light. Like hoarded silver,
he wrapped the wooden spoon and bound it tightly with twine.

It is done.

Richard Epstein lives in the Washington DC area and is active in the Warrior Poets sponsored by Walter Reed Medical Center, the Veterans Writing Project and he hosts an open mic venue for veterans and friends of veterans on the National Mall.

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