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Ruth Fogelman
Wins Competition
The Reuben Rose
Annual competition, mentioned earlier, was won this year by Ruth
Fogelman of Jerusalem who took first prize. This is her poem:
Eulogy for my
Grandmother
Grandma, how I
miss you! I sat at your knee
telling you my dreams. You
smiled and nodded knowingly,
singing of a land where summer grass is topped with dew –
you read me Aunt Rivka’s scrolls
from the land where date palms brush the sky. You knew
I loved your lullabies of young men whose souls
soared to heaven as they sat learning in a tent,
and your stories how Uncle dug wells – deep holes –
from which water surged, and oases bloomed, and how Aunt went and
fell off her camel when she saw
Uncle, like an angel, praying in a field. You spent
hours with me as I played with new lambs near the tent door!
And you consoled me when Leah married the man
I loved. You too will have him, a little patience, dear, you
said before
the morning star appeared. You persuaded Father; you ran
to my tent that night, held me in your arms and let me cry
into your embrace as you revealed your plan.
Oh Grandma, you consoled me in my barrenness, you hugged me when
I’d sigh
upon hearing that my sister had birthed another boy.
But Grandma, who will console me now? How can I say goodbye?
We are now
planning our next workshop which will take place on 25th June.
This seems to be becoming an annual event, which is good. There
will be six speakers talking about subjects such as Animals in
Poetry, Love in Poetry - I shall give you a full report after
the workshop. Johnmichael will get out a chapbook as he did last
year.
Helen Bar Lev
The Spring
After the War
The Spring after
the war
it's blooming as usual
yellows, pinks, purples
amongst the ashes
of the branches
of the fruit trees
pink and white
and nonchalant
as if they didn't notice
there was a war at all
The anemones are especially vivid
the yellow mustard flowers,
the golden gorse,
cover the hills and mountains
A gift, an apology perhaps,
from the Angels of Nature
whose hands were strapped
helpless behind their backs
during last summer's war
Helen Bar Lev
The Contours
of the Village
As my brush
touches paper
and the contours of the village
appear underneath its tip
as though a miracle –
is it I doing this?
I scrutinize the architecture
just across the fence
beyond the border
different from ours
one would expect proximity
to dictate similar building forms
but no
individuality of the enemy
complicates matters for my hands
used as they are
to our various structures
so that they sketch these
almost automatically;
thus the painting takes longer
than I would expect
I ponder these differences
but nature is indifferent
does not take sides –
the fruit trees in both lands
are all blooming pink and white
in peaceful tandem
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