Tag: poetry

“Everyone I know feels lost. The trick is / to feel lost together.…”

… from “This Again” by Bob Hicok (published November 5, 2023), which begins:

The recommendation from some website quoted on the news
is to rape, cut the throats of, and throw female Jews
off a cliff. But how far are the cliffs of Ithaca
from Cornell, where the raping and throat slashing
is supposed to occur? And if you don’t have a car,
are you supposed to borrow one or can you Uber a body
to a cliff and ask the driver to wait while you chuck it off?
And what if you’re afraid of heights? It’s time we address
the shocking lack of detail in antisemitism. It’s one thing
to hate Jews but another to ask me to hate Jews
without telling me how to hate Jews or why I should hate anyone
when loving everyone is an option.…

I also especially like this poem of Hicok’s, for the final two lines:

…since Jews really are relentless
when it comes to being human.

(And, of course, I love this one, as a fellow Son of Michigan.)

A Poem for a Time of COVID-19 Quarantine 🦠

This poem—penned by a UU minister—has been circulating among my Jewish congregation, and I’m inclined to endorse the advice: Take a page from the Jewish playbook, folks. We know a thing or two about surviving long (quasi-)confinement and social distance.

Pandemic

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love—
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

—Rev. Dr. Lynn Ungar (Unitarian minister)

I can’t for the life of me recall why I wrote this…

… or properly explain why I’m sharing it now:

This Is Just To Say

I knew
it was that kinda party
and so I stuck my dick in
the mashed potatoes

which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
it was kinda weird
so sweet
and so cold

(see also “Beastie Boys – B-Boys Makin’ with The Freak Freak” and the original Mantan Moreland comedy album source material)