LYNN STRONGIN : The Vibration of the Iron Bells on my Back
ELISHA PORAT : Ana Bekoach A Personal Liturgical Homily
MARIE KAZALIA : No More Broken Hearts
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The Vibration of the Iron Bells on my Back Ana Bekoach  A Personal Liturgical Homily No More Broken Hearts  
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The Vibration of the Iron Bells on my Back
Mother's day was brought by the Civil War according to some texts, it is one origin the time of wheat & corn & blood When ice cracks on the river, louder than guns, winter ends. Hoopla! Life returns, in the dim smoke of copper buds above the village: WE get out of our husk of woolen undergarments. Gasoliers, those antique light fixtures, transition between gas & electricity, are lit later & burn in apple green twilight: all the mothers mourning their sons creating a day for themselves the quiet amid the tumult: What collars our attention? Being ill slows the globe, we can page thru our albums of memories: What did they think? My only job was to get stronger after polio? Stranger life grew, more perilous, a blown Russian Easter egg: Wind up the household like a grandfather clock? egg-shell blue, breaks the sky: we can reach that high: boys hid a bomb in a haystack near a weapons storehouse: In war, the towns closed an hour earlier: nature hovers between seasons, animals still curled below ground there is a bruise in time war creates April drifts outside it: suffering casts its hypnotic spell within our nest: "reskinning" saved persecuted Jews from discovery: restoring the foreskin: outside & inside history, there are circles within circles of underground life: Rescuing embroidery, I get a burned arm: the thing that restores me to my self endures.
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The Vibration of the Iron Bells on my Back Ana Bekoach  A Personal Liturgical Homily No More Broken Hearts  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? GoTo Games
Ana Bekoach A Personal Liturgical Homily

After the Yom Kippur War my first book of poems, Hushniya, The Mosque, appeared. A few months earlier I had published my poem "Ana Bekoach" in the literary supplement of one of the newspapers. A curious and peculiar poem, whose words appeared before my eyes and were thrust upon me from an unknown source. And arranged themselves with great force.

In those post-war days, I was completing a number of lamentations, whose origin was a hasty draft on military papers that I happened to have at hand, in the Syrian enclave and in the emplacements along the northern border. I believed in those poems, I believed in those lamentations. They restored hope to me for a short while, as if it were in our power to bring the thousands of dead back to life.

I remember precisely the moment of birth of my poem "Ana Bekoach": in a bus full of soldiers, returning to Israel, on the way from Kuneitra, as outside the low skies grew gray, heralding the coming of snow. On the bus radio a cantor was singing a verse of the prayer "Ana Bekoach" "Please, by the strength". He performed it sensitively and with fervor, and the juxtaposition of those words caught my attention immediately. A marvelous oxymoron, before which even the "King of Oxymorons" in modern Hebrew poetry, Natan Alterman, would have tipped his hat.

From within the contradictory pairing of gentleness and violence emerged the harmony of the poem that so wanted to be born. The ingredients were repulsively familiar: a shell shocked and exhausted soldier, returning home for a short and limited period of time, the threat of returning to the front not yet lifted. His hunger for a woman, the absurd pairing of his fleshly lust with his impending death echo in the poem:

now is not the time ask
by the strength of what, whither my pleas
for soon must I take my leave:
by lily light your body breathes

Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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The Vibration of the Iron Bells on my Back Ana Bekoach  A Personal Liturgical Homily No More Broken Hearts  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? GoTo Games

No More Broken Hearts
I tear my men apart -- dissect them until they're little wounded beasts and have no secrets left -- sounds like a line from some old film about the vicious woman with no heart left yet how did she get like that? born into the male destructive dominance thing and suffered so hurt she had the most heart of all and felt more than most and so the myth of the black widow and the temptress who eats men alive -- it's quite the reverse -- they ate her heart first -- some women see this even some men, the women mainly have only momentary revelations that fuel their own hurt feelings of the injustices in society and some of the men just romanticize until there is nothing left -- but I've gone beyond all of that suddenly, I don't get hurt I just observe and learn and do what's next
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You Take Advantage of My Good MoodTOP The Vibration of the Iron Bells on my Back  LYNN STRONGIN . LYNN STRONGIN notes, "Julia Ward Howe was horrified by the carnage of the Civil War. During the Franco-Prussian war in the 1870s, Julia began a one-woman peace crusade and made an impassioned "appeal to womanhood" to rise against war. She composed in Boston a powerful plea that same year (generally considered to be the original Mothers' Day proclamation*) translated it into several languages and distributed it widely. In 1872, she went to London to promote an international Woman's Peace Congress. She began promoting the idea of a "Mother's Day for Peace".
Ana Bekoach  A Personal Liturgical HomilyMID  Ana Bekoach A Personal Liturgical Homily  ELISHA PORAT .Israeli ELISHA PORAT was among our first poets and remains loyal with his submission; His poem, 'Khamsin on the Hills' also appears in this issue. He's grown quite the folloing in America.
No More Broken Hearts]BTM No More Broken Hearts   MARIE KAZALIA . from 01.08:093
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