poetryrepairs #204 14.09:107
GILI HAIMOVICH : Sideways Roots
GILI HAIMOVICH : On Style
RICHARD ZOLA : i came in here i thought you were in the north
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GILI HAIMOVICH
Sideways Roots 
The sidewalks are crooked from the trees' roots concealed beneath them. The fruits on the trees look like bird droppings and only the birds can eat them. Soon it'll rain, the dark fruits will give the sidewalks a shiner. Those who walk without hanging onto a stroller, may not slip it as easily, yet won't be able to maneuver among the squashy obstacles. We're not like the trees. We talk about everything. Between sleep to slip we slide. Suspended on a slip of the tongue that becomes a beak.

poetryrepairs #204 14.09:107

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
VIRGINIA WOOLF
The Art of Reading



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GILI HAIMOVICH
On Style
I don't hide behind bushes in my writing, but I might write about them, or about the cracks on the sidewalk next to them, or how I grasped something (maybe a hand, for instance?), or hung onto something (maybe a glass of wine?). Each option will be completely different. Also, the sounds, not just the similes, have different shades of meanings that match each other. Furthermore, the lines take different forms and lengths on the page. Like a painter matching colors and shapes on a canvas. Living on a Blank Page, the title of my collection of English poetry, evokes this concept of an empty canvas. I suppose that my writing is rather confessional. However, I don't need to hide, disguise, or reveal more in order to sense what description of a flitting sentiment or profound understanding, is standing in front of me on the page. How to say what is needed to be out there, on the page is simply bound with what is urgent to appear in the poem. It will be standing quite bare, actually, for others to read it. The poem just happens to have a bush, or anything else for that matter, that an image can climb onto and wave its arms, hoping someone, me, will rescue it on the narrow ladder of poetry lines. I believe simplicity is important when describing complicated matters as well as accuracy. It's like the side mirror of a car, where objects in the mirror might be closer than they appear. Since, in my poet's eyes, the meaning or significance they might hold would make them “closer,” closer to heart, a close representation to what is concealed in my inner world. Given that, I do look closely at my surroundings in the attempt to understand its language, what it's trying to spell out for me and what is being whispered or even more importantly, shushed. In a way, it makes me into a place poet. I'm effected by my surroundings. I take in what is around me, inhale it and them exhale it, softly, just for those who are willing to listen. These surroundings I communicate with and about are intimate ones, so a geographical place becomes an emotional one. I'm intimately acquainted with two places, two homes. I've been living in both Canada and Israel and their languages: English and Hebrew. Writing in both languages lets me to approach my subjects from different point of views, look at them from different mirrors. Each language lands me a different lens and each one dictates different poems to be seen through these lenses, mirrors, landscapes. I also work as a writing-focused expressive arts therapist. Therefore, having resources taken from other art modalities and from all five senses makes sense to me. I did study cinema and am engaged with photography. Consequently, having a visual image that captures what I'd need to express becomes a second nature. As well as finding visual clues around me to what I'm looking to say. It's a holistic way to approach poetry. More than that, being a therapist means I'm a close witness to others' struggles, attempts, and triumphs. With my own attempts to be attuned to other people, I think my writing, its landscapes and languages, is not locked in an ivory tower, but takes and gives back, branching out from and toward the dear, the naked, the unspoken, no matter what language you speak.

poetryrepairs #204 14.09:107

I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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GILT HAIMOVICH (an Israeli – Canadian poet and translator published internationall) has 4 volumes of poetry published in Hebrew: Lint Season (Pardes, 2011), My Forces Fire (Even Hoshen, 2007), Reflected Like Joy (Gavanim, 2002), and Contact Glue (Gavanim, 2001). In North America, her poetry collection Living on a Blank Page was published in two editions (Blue Angel Press, 2009). Her individual work appears in International Poetry Review, Asymptote, LRC – Literary Review of Canada, as well as major Israeli literary journals. Gili is also an Expressive Arts Therapist and educator.




RICHARD ZOLA i came in here i thought you were in the north
& now I'm beyond empty unmoving on this bed I not like anything & i can hear you talking you're talking in another room i don't want you here now with me only your voice yes & this space & the curtain moving the curtain moving & the room light darkened no sound from outside & your clothes falling from the chair


from poetryrepairs.com v04.09
poetryrepairs #204 14.09:107

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- O.E.D.



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GILI HAIMOVICH : Sideways Roots
GILI HAIMOVICH : On Style
RICHARD ZOLA : i came in here i thought you were in the north

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