- New York, January 21, 2024
Poetry by Robert David Cohen
"And I always thought: the very simplest words must be enough./ When I say what things are like/ Everyone’s heart must be torn to shreds./ That you’ll go down if you don’t stand up for yourself/ Surely you see that." -- Brecht
This poem imprisons tyrants
A war
Suddenly ambushed
By whatever the hell
Holds up the ceiling
And nails me to the floor
I am an inch tall
I weigh a ton
Red fluids slosh
That woman in the blue sweater?
She will blast off into space
At any moment
Spoons and lamps spinning after her
We are smithereens
We are rubble
The bowstring of the day is drawn
As far as it will go
Numbered days
Numbered skies
Numbered gardens
Patience of the roof
Generosity of the shining bridge
Still alive in 2023
A war
-- New York, December 20, 2023
Dream: these are the tools you'll need
Last night I dreamt my mother gave me a toolkit when I was still in her womb.
In the dream I am me as I am today and also me floating in amniotic fluid and cigarette smoke 78 years ago. One by one, Mom inserts little tools into her bellybutton.
"Here are the tools you'll need," she says, rubbing her round belly.
I hear her voice from inside and outside, then and now, echoing down the years and through my veins.
Place the clock carefully
Terrible things I do to you
When the world's horrors...
When the world's horrors get particularly intense and the cries of the suffering are ringing in my ears and the blood splatter is right in my face, I sometimes feel guilt and disgust over the mere fact that my life goes on and the planets of my existence continue in their orbits.
Some fundamental decency would require the Universe to pause and retch and take some oxygen before moving on.
The human capacity for standing up after falling down is wondrous and deserves a standing ovation. Evolution has given us scars as the answer to injury. Thank god for renewal's potion of forgetfulness.
But this resilience and all that it implies in averted gaze and suits of emotional armor seems perverse at the same time.
How dare I laugh, how dare I hum a tune, how dare I feel hungry so soon after the atrocities and the disasters inflict their punishment on our collective spirits!
That's why the rituals of mourning and celebration of lost lives are so important, the hand-drawn placards, teddy bears and flowers at the scene of tragedy, whispers of condolence and hope to the survivors, to one another. The solidarity of resistance and transformation. Even on social media.
You are my minyan and quorum, dear friends. Thank you!" -- Facebook post, 18 March 2019
With nerves coming out of my body
by Jaime Sabines (translation by Robert David Cohen)