DOT... LETTER... WORD...
  • Home
  • New Poems, Stories, Songs
  • New Translations
  • Poetry
    • Youth Poems
    • Two Poems about Brooklyn
    • Tefillin
    • Little Psalms
    • The Absence of Stone
    • Some Other Poems
    • Some Other, Other Poems
  • Music
  • Rav Kook
  • Jewish, Spiritual & Beautiful
  • About Myself
  • Contact
  • What Does "Dot-Letter-Word" Mean?
  • Sefirot Sample
  • Home
  • New Poems, Stories, Songs
  • New Translations
  • Poetry
    • Youth Poems
    • Two Poems about Brooklyn
    • Tefillin
    • Little Psalms
    • The Absence of Stone
    • Some Other Poems
    • Some Other, Other Poems
  • Music
  • Rav Kook
  • Jewish, Spiritual & Beautiful
  • About Myself
  • Contact
  • What Does "Dot-Letter-Word" Mean?
  • Sefirot Sample
  DOT... LETTER... WORD...

I Remember Every Road

5/8/2019

0 Comments

 
​I remember every road, also 
Every stone, everything 
I could and couldn’t understand,
And see, or think I see, the beginning--

Or the ending?—topographic-
Ally speaking. And the bones
Themselves become the flesh, the stal-
Actites become the sky, groans

Themselves become more than a song.
Every road is a pilgrim’s road
When you are traveling on the pilgrim’s
Road, whose adjoining fields are fallowed,

That faces a height that we do or do not
See. And the more we walk, sometimes
Catch a lift, we value the Syrian
Thistle, the gray lizard that climbs

The gray pine, on the way to the streets
Of the capital, which stretch
From Montezuma to Betelgeuse.
The wind is so soft, so steady, the ketch

Barely slides but it slides,
It is a wind that contains,
If you bend your ear, every
Murmur, the roar of airplanes,

Ants skritching across terrains,
Atoms that make no sound, foul
Conversations, mirrors of hope
And pain, until the stern Owl

Nebula, until the crown 
Of the tree that makes its own space,
Everything looped together,
Stumbling to its own place,

Nothing is missing, not even a rotten
Tooth, an imaginary number, a hurt
Too deep to feel, a forgotten blue-
Berry, a revelation, a concert,

A try at a mustache. Look at
The toil of man, the Outerborough
Bridge, every urge that wipes
Away the mind, every thorough

Dedication, the viciousness,
The foolishness, the petty anger
Or the mix of fury and self-pity,
Or in the midst of danger, languor,

From the Mongolian plain to the shaded street,
When the government cracks, when bitter water
Spills, what is the cause of this terrible
Spin? Every color, the tauter

Nerves, the solace, the texts, the times
Of insight with disgrace, they lead
Our little bodies to proceed
Beyond the truths of Ganymede.
0 Comments



Leave a Reply.

    Picture

    Yaacov David Shulman


    New! Jewish Spiritual Growth: The Step-to-Step Guide of a Hasidic Master
    by Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira

    “A tour de force--a path to inner growth”—Prof. Shaul Magid.
    “Brimming with beauty and contemporary relevance” —Rabbi Moshe Weinberger.

    Learn More!

    Archives

    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    January 2015
    May 2013
    April 2013
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011

    Categories

    All
    Creativity
    Jewish
    Literature
    Poetry
    Rav Kook
    Torah

    RSS Feed

Proudly powered by Weebly