tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60772000254655737942024-03-05T06:25:51.067-08:00David Prashker's Songs & PoemsDavid Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-74722362857332422022016-11-12T05:35:00.000-08:002016-11-12T05:35:41.381-08:00The Song of the Pomegranate-Eater (2)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImvnuaU54ziPEiRF79sHL17jPy00TgZEXjsbgXLCVK46Jpdwr587iWMovT3K43eyLT9cleEc6voXQUPBpBGpkgiG-YIYtzHhlBh-TXI-3JR889IGgqqwRjYZFQad3BrlvT0ZG4BrepsLE/s1600/Wall+of+Light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImvnuaU54ziPEiRF79sHL17jPy00TgZEXjsbgXLCVK46Jpdwr587iWMovT3K43eyLT9cleEc6voXQUPBpBGpkgiG-YIYtzHhlBh-TXI-3JR889IGgqqwRjYZFQad3BrlvT0ZG4BrepsLE/s320/Wall+of+Light.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Wall of Light" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/MKCZSjlTEeM" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Awoken by a worm that nestled on my temple<br />I reached out for mere breakfast<br />and found<br />a fruit soaked in pesticide<br />maggot-riddled<br />forbidden<br /><br />And I ate the poison<br />was condemned to live and die<br />was cast bellywise<br />out of the garden of my own naivety<br /><br />So I set out on my journeys<br />(inward journeys, outward journeys -<br />all journeys should be explorations<br />of the hinterland, the viscera of Man)<br /><br />dust in my fingernails<br />the assignation 20/06/19/Sch/J<br />branded on my soul<br />like an inverted Mark of Cain<br />or an item in a Nazi catalogue<br /><br /> (the history of my people<br />is a far stronger call to arms<br />than prayer)<br /><br />Such was my thirst for knowledge<br />my mouth drained the sap from every stone<br /><br />Such was my desire<br />to lay my heart upon the mat<br />and to display it<br />thread by each worn thread<br />that I knelt down and confessed<br />to every crime I had and had not committed<br />arguing “Man has done these things<br />and I am Man”<br /><br />Like Jacob my forefather<br />I counted the stars of night<br />counted the grains of sand<br />in the hourglass of my nation<br />and in the desert of its wandering<br /><br />until I knew the sum of each configuration<br />the number of the stars that tumbled<br />each into the same black hole...<br /><br />*<br /><br />But now the sky is closing in again<br />The mountains are full of rain<br />Clouds tear the moon’s edge ragged<br /><br />So I will build my ark of coffin-wood<br />build it for myself alone<br /><br />So I will sail off when the time comes<br />dreamless of Ararat<br />needless of rainbows<br /><br />When the time comes<br />I will take my brushes and my rifle in my hands<br />unhinge the mezuzah from the doorpost<br />and depart<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><span style="color: yellow;">Bernhard-Ari’s arm was indeed branded with a number, as were all occupants of Auschwitz. This was not it, however. This was his own invention, “branding” his own birth-date, June 20th 1919. Sch/J indicted a political prisoner.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
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All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span>David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-43537873212016097222016-11-12T03:54:00.000-08:002016-11-12T03:54:21.130-08:00The Song of the Pomegranate-Eater (1)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWGFG-XNHEO9hLNqWB6C24sc8INmrcIJ7bejxuzOOiNkKZO2hhe1bGemRJtQ5ZJMmZwpQVgtgZkt-NAzpJ3UkZvUc_8v0snxo2bdwj1Yx7qFibSfXK0S5dverpN8AR3tGj9fA28vukDLEL/s1600/Darfur.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWGFG-XNHEO9hLNqWB6C24sc8INmrcIJ7bejxuzOOiNkKZO2hhe1bGemRJtQ5ZJMmZwpQVgtgZkt-NAzpJ3UkZvUc_8v0snxo2bdwj1Yx7qFibSfXK0S5dverpN8AR3tGj9fA28vukDLEL/s200/Darfur.png" width="198" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Darfur" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/pT8tAsmLrOw">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> A city of clouds rises above the desert sky<br />ambushing a crescent moon<br />condemning the night to total dark<br />as surely as day will later be<br />condemned to total light<br /><br />Behold! the scarecrow comes a-marching<br />bearing its scythe across the lilac field<br />rattling its bones at dead of night<br /><br /> Behold! the executioner steps forward<br />anonymous beneath his cap and gown<br />listening for the klaxon and the knell<br /><br />Behold! out of the wintry sky<br />an ark like Noah’s Ark sails forth<br />(as if pursuing the obliterated moon)<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">an ark like Noah’s Ark -<br /> save that it has no flood<br /> no mount<br />no rainbow for its destination<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">an ark like Noah’s Ark -<br />becalmed upon these foamless waters<br />marooned in crimson sky<br /><br />Behold! this is no chariot of fire<br />but the ship of death<br />sailing towards me...<br /><br /> *<br /><br />Now I<br />I have become<br />a stranger to the wind<br />a stranger to the smoke<br />a stranger to the sand and dust<br />homeless as Esau in the wilderness of Sin<br /><br />I have become<br />this displaced nomad<br />rendered sedentary by the green of the oasis<br />and the abundance of a well<br /><br />I have become<br />this feckless dreamer<br />who created God in his own image<br />learned Torah from the desert springs<br />learned Talmud from the cacti<br /><br />I have become<br />this unmasked killer of the creative urge<br />who drags the past along behind him<br />like a rabid jackal on a steel chain<br />that stretches all the way from where? to Egypt<br /><br />I have become<br />and been<br />and now it is my turn to decline<br /><br />downwards<br />ever downwards<br />through the last spiral<br />to the last gyration<br />of death’s hourglass<br />among the sands of time<br /><br />Call me Argaman<br />Call me Shichrer<br />Call me Yehudah Ha Nachri<br /><br />These punctures on my arms<br />are from the thorns of roses<br /><br />This scar you cannot bear to look upon<br />is the torn veil of my forehead’s temple<br /><br />This doom you cannot endure<br />this fate, this final destiny<br />(this bang? this whimper?)<br />this mere nothingness -<br />it is nothing but the end of Man<br /><br /> *<br /><br />Lupus, Marja, Argaman, Ayishah, come to my bedside and make a space for me inside your memories. My time is almost come. Make a space of blessing for me. Make a space of earth for me, six feet by three. This is the Will of Argaman, and you are its Executors and its Inheritors. Make the world a better place because of me. Because I lived and breathed and wrote and killed and loved and painted and poured blood out of my own wounds into all the wounds I opened. Because of all this, make the world a better place. For me.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: yellow; font-size: x-small;">The original photograph on which "Darfur" is based can be found in "<a href="http://www.powerhousebooks.com/books/darfur-twenty-years-of-war-and-genocide-in-sudan-hardcover/">Darfur: Twenty Years of War and Genocide in Sudan</a>", powerHouse Books, ed Leora Kahn.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-1349484745904462672016-11-11T07:06:00.000-08:002016-11-11T07:06:42.724-08:00The Last Confession of the Alchemist-Apothecary<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhyphenhyphen6ZrWJEl7vFMaBVznKYre2iX51RLBmHQg0MThoa9RTu75w9MeJiiZFPRoy7bsSnqCc-uW_QvuaVmgtO9hUfk_dlVKPDDLP095zn072xHO_0rbtgOl2B5h8ZS6tKXAV5pSOmxNofZU-4/s1600/Heine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhyphenhyphen6ZrWJEl7vFMaBVznKYre2iX51RLBmHQg0MThoa9RTu75w9MeJiiZFPRoy7bsSnqCc-uW_QvuaVmgtO9hUfk_dlVKPDDLP095zn072xHO_0rbtgOl2B5h8ZS6tKXAV5pSOmxNofZU-4/s400/Heine.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The Remains of Heinrich Heine" - © 2016 David Prashker</td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/mzOWpuj0pZ0">here</a><br /><br /><br /><div>
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<span style="color: yellow; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Additional illustrations included in the audio:</span><div>
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<span style="color: yellow; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Hitler Saluting", "Nietzsche as Superman", "There is no such person as David Irving"</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="text-align: center;">© 2016 David Prashker</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: yellow; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Bebelatz, Berlin", at the foot of this page and on the video, is repoduced courtesy of <a href="https://www.blipfoto.com/entry/4852377">blibfoto.com</a></span><br /><br /><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And still the sand blows through the hourglass<br /> sinking<br /> seeping<br />into the bowels of this glass desert<br /><br />I have found myself<br /> too often now<br /> conversing with children<br /> arguing dialectics<br />inscribing the weak name with the strong hand<br /> trying<br /> - but impossibly<br /> - to separate the individual grains of sand:<br /><br /> Look! there is Titus entering the Temple<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Look! there! the hand of Abraham<br /> raised in awe and in subservience<br /><br />Look! see that cypress tree!<br /> yesterday it felled Absalom<br /><br />Look! at last! a letter from Ayishah!<br /><br />And still each moment is inbred with contradictions<br />The poor remain poor<br /> the needy remain needy<br /><br />Yet still I wield my axe -<br /> the sharp edge<br /> the blunt edge -<br />casting my own shadow<br /> in the shadow of Horatius<br /> forlornly trying to defend civilisation<br />against the barbarian within<br /><br />So I juggle the ciphers -<br /> thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season -<br /> loving what they reveal<br />despising them for all that they leave hidden<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I draw up catalogues of my faults<br /> and punish myself in my own conscience<br /> and suspend the sentence<br /><br />So I climb upon the ladder of thorns<br /> and crush the rose between my fingers<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I model butterflies out of barbed wire<br /> I hack the shapes of flowers out of stones<br /> I stain the page with poetry<br /><br />(Too often!<br /> Much too often!)<br /><br /> So I vow to return to the flock<br /> knowing I could never bear the loneliness<br /><br />So I endeavour to abandon Art and Literature -<br /> but the matter lies in hands<br /> far stronger than my own<br />and the hands drag me back screaming to the page<br /><br />So I resolve to resolve the penultimate paradox<br /> I make one last assault upon the Immaculate Failure<br /> (I manage to go on compiling lists)<br />I draw up an index of my life’s achievements<br /> and know that I have already travelled<br /> further than many of my generation<br /> and wonder if the time has not now come<br /> to embark upon a journey<br /> distant from the comforts of my home<br /><br />In the hollow of my thigh there are bruises<br /> in the palms of my hands you can see the scars<br /> from where I held too tight the ladder<br /><br /> On my cheeks the barbed incisions<br /> On my arms the punctured sores<br /> On my feet the dust<br /><br />See my eyes<br /> Lupus<br /> blistered by candlelight<br /><br />Feel my heart<br /> Lupus<br /> swollen with desire<br /><br />Hear my lips<br /> Lupus<br /> silently mouthing godless prayers<br /> into the numinous emptiness of heaven<br /><br />And watch the sand blow through the hourglass<br /> Lupus<br /> forever sinking<br /> forever seeping<br /> grain by infinitesimal grain<br />into the bowels of this glass desert<br /><br /> *<br /><br /> Lupus, it is almost daybreak, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> why are the bodies broken?<br /><br /> Lupus, let us call a truce. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Let us sit down together in the sunrise </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and speak the things that old men speak.<br /><br />Lupus, you have heard my song, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> now it is your turn to tell me, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> why are the bodies broken, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> why is the morning still so remote, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">what doubt or sin has chosen you </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> to wrestle with me on this ladder?<br /></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_fgxB0FKyhJMYj30iFStLXGpvlW_H1WuP36ZGZKMRQh4pen6RyBdVmPA11e-0blSiZ3fvODhGot3N66hJt1wU6uwpSf_kRhk2V5UfN26k-1Asb1cXxFzdsfodUzCxTicXhfPH_dzIfXm/s1600/Heine+at+Humboldt+University.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_fgxB0FKyhJMYj30iFStLXGpvlW_H1WuP36ZGZKMRQh4pen6RyBdVmPA11e-0blSiZ3fvODhGot3N66hJt1wU6uwpSf_kRhk2V5UfN26k-1Asb1cXxFzdsfodUzCxTicXhfPH_dzIfXm/s640/Heine+at+Humboldt+University.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-36192660003141284702016-11-11T03:30:00.000-08:002016-11-11T03:30:33.784-08:00The Mirror and the Mask<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwlHvdk-Lp5gD6nBfKrS7OcP9tOF-4gtCR73l1IWlIXuGWji0FyamaR50auGAwJlmQN-CQiGII_CJLCblt7kq0kFfNPW-lZslWMvAXpurUGT5fy4JUbZB967_YXWP_Iz9YQwn_jjSdpC5M/s1600/Crucifixion+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwlHvdk-Lp5gD6nBfKrS7OcP9tOF-4gtCR73l1IWlIXuGWji0FyamaR50auGAwJlmQN-CQiGII_CJLCblt7kq0kFfNPW-lZslWMvAXpurUGT5fy4JUbZB967_YXWP_Iz9YQwn_jjSdpC5M/s320/Crucifixion+2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Crucifixion 22" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/nFaVkG2Fp48" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A Song Of Lupus<br /><br /><br />He smiles at me contemptuously<br /> from the far side of the mask<br /> in too much of a hurry<br /> to receive this coin<br /> with which I pay him tribute<br />holding his hand out not to ask<br /> nor beg<br /> but simply to shake a resolute<br /> farewell<br /><br />Armoured to the very loin<br /> like a beast of the apocalypse<br /> unburdened by the load he bears<br />his face is the gaunt face<br /> of a criminal<br /> eyes and lips<br /> of a horned serpent<br /> impermeable shell<br /><br />A creature who has made his choices<br />turned<br /> his own way<br /> at the unredeeming crossroads<br />who knows what he has earned<br /> what spent<br /> what he must pay<br />what lose<br /><br />For he is now the master of his vices<br /> just as he has always been<br /> the master of his virtues<br /><br />O he will refuse the invisible<br /> and refute it<br />denounce the abstract<br /> (or at least dispute it)<br />his kingdom crownless<br /> devoid of subjects<br /> his empire empirical<br />a pure phenomenon of Earth<br /> (only his authority is beyond question)<br /><br />Sound then the alarum of his birth<br /> recite the blessing of his majesty<br /> praise praise his holiness<br /> on bended knee<br /><br />Already his hands tense to wield the axe<br /> he hoists unmercifully<br /> and raises or lets fall<br /> according to his whim<br /><br />(Nor are these mere gestures but acts<br /> performed remorselessly<br /> from age to age)<br /><br />Then do not raise your hand nor call<br /> There is no stopping him<br /> The uncoiled serpent has acquired plumage<br /><br />Already he goes before me<br /> with his smile of contemptuous glee<br /> laughing at mere prophecies<br />impaled on a dead tree<br /><br />Already he has breached the labyrinth<br /> of which he is the centre<br /> already he has closed the door<br />which only he can enter<br /><br />Already he has thrown aside the mask<br /> that wears the images of you and me<br /> casting his likeness on a silver coin<br />immaculate incipit for a century<br /><br /><br /></span><br />
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You can find David Prashker at:<br />
<a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
<a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
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<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-17235565157473818382016-11-10T04:39:00.000-08:002016-11-10T04:39:02.783-08:00Song at the Approach of Dawn<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9u_GhoJWIWo5mt7t-YVRefHxWGOmlyuYl_dzg0F7nRnFFo0UyPLxYwhKDss5pf0o6zeXarHottrYYT5rERoxkxWpuGBzSQWEBkyIUFxUsVKgPjFwLnsisv79Z46QSY6BVli6n9HbgH6yb/s1600/Redemption.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9u_GhoJWIWo5mt7t-YVRefHxWGOmlyuYl_dzg0F7nRnFFo0UyPLxYwhKDss5pf0o6zeXarHottrYYT5rERoxkxWpuGBzSQWEBkyIUFxUsVKgPjFwLnsisv79Z46QSY6BVli6n9HbgH6yb/s400/Redemption.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Redemption" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/yV_YhRLrE7g" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I were to walk naked among shadows<br /> beneath the glinting of a night-light<br /> where a star shone without brightness<br /> in the depths of some desert cave -<br /> who would ever know me?<br /><br />If I could converse with my own shadow<br /> how much I might learn from what he had to say?<br /><br />If I were to stand naked before the mirror<br /> in a vast room of no echoes<br /> in a mansion of cold stone<br /> before a wall of night -<br /> who ould ever know me?<br /><br />If I could converse with my own reflection<br /> how much I might learn from what he had to say?<br /><br />But what is nakedness<br /> what are shadows and reflections<br /> who are you<br /> Lupus<br />when it is night<br /> when it is cold<br /> when it is silent?<br /><br />If the bush in the wilderness is not burning<br /> all this remains futile<br /><br /> (The more I learn about myself<br /> the more it all confuses me)<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If the lion’s den is not bloodied<br /> all this remains futile<br /><br /> Underneath our human facade<br /> in each of us there lurks<br /> a wild preying beast:<br /> a Behemoth<br /> a Leviathan<br /> an Argaman<br /> a Lupus<br /><br />(Mistah Kurtz<br /> he breathing -<br /> this feather stirs)<br /><br />We must strive to become human<br /> Lupus<br />We must overcome ourselves<br /> Lupus<br /> again and again<br />Man must be achieved<br /><br /> And if the seas do not flood back<br /> if the child is not redeemed<br /> if the ladder does not falter<br /> if the cross does not grow heavy<br /> if the wire is not barbed<br />Then all this remains futile</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> I am dying<br /> Lupus<br /> dying<br /><br /> (whimper, whimper, whimper, BANG!)<br /><br />This is the way it ends<br /> my friend<br />in blood and fire<br /> in blood and fire<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-85310588200906422562016-11-09T09:16:00.002-08:002016-11-09T09:16:30.155-08:00I wrestled hard for many years<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5URxfrFAT9WRt-hwhxKI70RxeJzz2xF4jAKM_NuEkK1NjKHqpCQKgiQX8XtX-3V7tz1QAw2LQUmZ0T9-VR__Dz8oEcp-J6ITxuEWYZbgWnMBlIlwWgcDCgVqktB4QyLNa_cQHRw06tOe/s1600/The+Grey+Thinker.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5URxfrFAT9WRt-hwhxKI70RxeJzz2xF4jAKM_NuEkK1NjKHqpCQKgiQX8XtX-3V7tz1QAw2LQUmZ0T9-VR__Dz8oEcp-J6ITxuEWYZbgWnMBlIlwWgcDCgVqktB4QyLNa_cQHRw06tOe/s320/The+Grey+Thinker.png" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"The Grey Thinker" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/8bpvvF4q4lI" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wrestled hard for many years<br />I cried into my pillow night after so many nights<br /> that at last I perfected crying as an art-form<br /> and my voice left its stain upon the silence<br />I went down on my knees<br /> unsure whether to pray or beg or grovel<br />I found myself doubled over<br /> but could not tell the laughter from the pain<br />I lingered in numerous bars and cafés<br /> warming the backs of innumerable stone benches<br />I skimmed the scant cream<br /> salivating copiously<br /> dribbling<br />I compiled the n-dimensional novel<br />I rewrote Don Quixote for the twentieth century<br />I devoted endless years of travelling<br /> to forgetting everything I had learned with my head<br />I composed a thesis on the problem of originality<br /> borrowing phrase by phrase from other works<br /> yet still managed to produce something<br /> uniquely original<br />I rewrote History to suit my own interests<br />I developed propaganda as an existential art-form<br />I became a novice in Shangri-La<br />I held the sand suspended in the hourglass<br /> for a full fifty-seven minutes<br />I headed for the cemetery<br /> and listened to the conversations of those youths<br /> who rape the corpses of beautiful women<br />I constructed the Tower of Babel<br /> then dismantled it<br /> preferring the confusion<br />I repented my error of judging my fellow-men<br />I built a skeleton<br /> adding parts to it<br /> naming them individually:<br /> this the broken heart<br /> this the flaccid penis<br /> this the befuddled brain<br />I disproved the ultimate paradox<br />I almost achieved the Immaculate Failure<br />I managed to go on compiling lists<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-10180779440110772922016-11-09T08:05:00.000-08:002016-11-09T08:43:41.576-08:00The Lay of the Swallow<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QgsyaCNqMtNJWXAPeGPhwWx88JOFA5WtPdmZpIM7M9zMSzqD1Wu7GOy2tEbPcgW1qZrB0AjvZfeCptg6_gbfydEGx3KcQPzqiJsln1xUW240pbXEpNRhb9gHgDN6cv2tLzOtT2XSuGKS/s1600/Africa+5.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QgsyaCNqMtNJWXAPeGPhwWx88JOFA5WtPdmZpIM7M9zMSzqD1Wu7GOy2tEbPcgW1qZrB0AjvZfeCptg6_gbfydEGx3KcQPzqiJsln1xUW240pbXEpNRhb9gHgDN6cv2tLzOtT2XSuGKS/s400/Africa+5.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Africa 5" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/T296d0If2Nk" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My wings are chains that bind me to the sky<br /> but sky is endless and my chains are wind<br /><br />I made my nest among the stone turrets of Jerusalem<br /> and dined on juice and shishlik<br /> and sang for those<br />who marvelled to find a swallow in the city<br /><br />I made my nest among the concrete towers of Herzliya<br /> and dined on caviar and breadcrumbs<br /> and sang for those<br />who bought me a gold cage and combed my feathers<br /><br />I made my nest among the clay-brick roofs of Nablus<br /> and dined on worms - when I could find some -<br /> and sang<br /> and sat up dreaming late into the night<br />and longed to fly southwards for the winter<br /><br />I flew to Cairo and looked down on the pyramids<br />I flew to Barbados and looked down on the surf<br />I flew to Buenos Aires and looked down on the pampas<br />I flew to Cape Town and looked down on the blacks<br /><br />I made my nest among the ivory palaces of Taba<br /> and sat all morning looking at the women<br /> and the women were naked<br /> and very beautiful<br /><br />And I languished in the sun<br /> and slept and swam<br /> and drank iced water<br />and dined on prawn and lobster<br /> and sang for the young women<br /> and nested in their hair<br /><br />In autumn I fly northwards into windy skies<br /> to make my nest where no one calls me trespasser<br /><br />My wings are chains that bind me to the sunlight<br /> but sun polishes my chains and sky is endless</span><br />
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You can find David Prashker at:<br />
<a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
<a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">All rights reserved</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-37297263229343489482016-11-09T07:38:00.000-08:002016-11-09T07:38:12.695-08:00Song at Machpelah<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9nNMarmO5H8pV5elfBenGthxfNiw7h38iWbtGpMqwe6B_ZDSoY3jGoXjxSI0DdchVTU42-BlXHHKvbsvpinxkuw6zjCt75XW7nFzXOViTvi0H8_yziegUEnzR2nENhyphenhypheniE8mwnXdlmNvc/s1600/Death+Valley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9nNMarmO5H8pV5elfBenGthxfNiw7h38iWbtGpMqwe6B_ZDSoY3jGoXjxSI0DdchVTU42-BlXHHKvbsvpinxkuw6zjCt75XW7nFzXOViTvi0H8_yziegUEnzR2nENhyphenhypheniE8mwnXdlmNvc/s320/Death+Valley.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Death Valley" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/6MUKOZz9cKQ" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rivers build motion on lofty wings</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> crossing stones</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> banks</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> other rivers</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the edge of the Euphrates</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Gilgamesh built walls</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> a great rampart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and the temple</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">for Anu</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> god of the firmament</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and for Ishtar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> goddess of love;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the seven sages laid the foundations</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the edge of the Nile</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Rameses built walls</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> a great pyramid</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and the temple:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">for Horus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and for Isis</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and for Osiris</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the three-part divinity</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the edge of the Zambesi</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Zimbabwe built walls</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> a great city</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and the temple:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">for his people</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and for the generations yet to come</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and for the goddess of the stones</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">that swell the river</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And the rivers built motion on lofty wings</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> crossing stones</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> banks</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> other rivers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But not here</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here we rummage in the soil for clay tablets</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here we travel in coach-loads to ruined walls</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here we transmute pilgrims into tourists</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here we wage war in the name of gnarled</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> graffitoed stone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here we spit in the face of the goddess</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and tear down her temple</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here the gravel roads lead from rock to rock</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and leave no footprints</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The roots are burned with napalm</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The cells are divided and partitioned</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The seeds are sterilised with DDT</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The rivers are polluted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Scrawled like graffiti</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> on the walls we failed to build</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the histories of previous civilisations</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> each one greater than our own</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and not for what they created</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> but for what was left behind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> at their destruction</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Machpelah is the double-cave near Hebron which Abraham purchased as a burial-place for Sarah. Genesis 23.</span><br />
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You can find David Prashker at:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">All rights reserved</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Argaman Press</span></div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-50369141294384088542016-11-09T04:06:00.000-08:002016-11-09T04:06:20.057-08:00Song of Departure<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8uc0OJqPcL33HZFpSXDBRSoLSNQ6aVEvPXI9KwrRZQPDpXNnVWcUqU-dnArSao5WKRqikbmoW9JCPWn0QrVx6AlxydFp-J85_WxHAo81Ja35y_O46JXAdYwm1MvGyLEAsxxWYwV7_pNs/s1600/Homage+to+Valeriya+Kutsan.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8uc0OJqPcL33HZFpSXDBRSoLSNQ6aVEvPXI9KwrRZQPDpXNnVWcUqU-dnArSao5WKRqikbmoW9JCPWn0QrVx6AlxydFp-J85_WxHAo81Ja35y_O46JXAdYwm1MvGyLEAsxxWYwV7_pNs/s320/Homage+to+Valeriya+Kutsan.png" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Homage to Valeriya Kutsan" </span></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><div style="text-align: left;">
© 2016 David Prashker</div>
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</tbody></table>
To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/fIJzRPPghYU" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I close my eyes<br /> and sink into the heart of the invisible<br />I lay a sheet across the glass<br /> and know that I am One<br />I tell myself:<br /> you are not lost because you travel<br /> only God does not travel<br />I tell myself:<br /> to cry<br /> or plead<br /> is already to create<br />for the tear transforms the silence<br /> and the plea echoes beyond one’s own nothingness<br /><br /><br />And I would do the same things<br /> even if there were no God<br /> to offer me free will<br /><br />I would damn myself<br /> even if there were no Hell<br /><br />And these words<br /> would still be carved upon the granite<br /> would still be carved upon the marble<br /> would still be carved...<br /><br /> *<br /><br />Ayishah<br /> In the cold evening of late winter<br /> I juggle with the ciphers<br /> until the darkness<br /> at last relinquishes your name<br /><br />Take your pleasures slowly<br /> drop by drop<br /> the way the puritans do<br />Drink from each cup only once<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Accept nothing -<br /> all may be false<br />Deny nothing -<br /> all may be true<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do not fear death<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do not expect to hear from me again<br /><br />Know that<br /> a year from now<br />in the cold evening of late winter<br /> when the hourglass has turned full circle<br />I will juggle with the ciphers once again<br /> but the darkness<br /> may no longer relinquish your name.<br /><br /></span><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-60876267204949406912016-11-09T00:13:00.000-08:002016-11-09T00:13:50.172-08:00Song at the Threshold<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1dWBtKLAQXyWEsQHLeQVdixa_vWAHOpBhpJHMvtHFnobweYLCqI0wlMBx7m49P60ki_fxJpafz155YUJ4toCn_1EdyO6cueiJkv3rgjgel4N_gOCdFZsaKDUVq7CBltML8b51L7Q6i_eT/s1600/Human+Spectrum+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1dWBtKLAQXyWEsQHLeQVdixa_vWAHOpBhpJHMvtHFnobweYLCqI0wlMBx7m49P60ki_fxJpafz155YUJ4toCn_1EdyO6cueiJkv3rgjgel4N_gOCdFZsaKDUVq7CBltML8b51L7Q6i_eT/s320/Human+Spectrum+2.png" width="195" /></a></div>
To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/Nl5l3mUfcZU" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ultimately there is little difference</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">between Jung and Lawrence<br />between Plato and Aristotle</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />("the dimorphism of the psyche </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> produced them both")</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">between Christianity and Shinto<br />between the Star of David and the hexagram<br />between Capitalism and Communism<br /><br /> We are talking about the same longings and desires<br />for peace for understanding<br />for justice for equality<br /> for happiness overall<br /><br /> We are arguing only about the methods<br /> the means of attainment<br /><br /> Whatever creeds we adhere to<br /> whatever ideologies we espouse<br /> the goal remains the same<br /> and the values and principles that inspire<br /> those creeds and ideologies<br /> always also outlive them<br /><br /> All gods are the same god -<br /> as Abraham discovered long ago<br /><br /> The real distinctions<br /> are not the avatar-figureheads<br /> but the rituals -<br /> I mean, not the deus, but the lex<br /><br /> (The weeks I have spent<br /> trying to define the Unifying Principle<br /> are like the years of l’entre deux guerres<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> I dream of creating something<br /> which History could not destroy<br /><br /> I sit up late into the night<br /> reading Maimonides and Spinoza<br /><br /> I keep a copy of the Analects beside my bed<br /> I despair of ever hoping again)<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br />Copyright © 2016 David Prashker<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />All rights reserved<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The Argaman Press</div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-11521421467625458012016-11-08T09:48:00.000-08:002016-11-08T09:48:18.310-08:00Song for Flavius Josephus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqOJddP9AWDHY5j2l-JEf6ahKw8Eius3ehXjUi_nFzgOxfrE2MxcXEMcM5c35IVoVruMQjvnW4KTUiI14uV6UueCilnZbAY6LWN2NCxf6HIkvfBG8bDNdMpYleFeXAppKdOnToRjAC9njx/s1600/The+Face+of+Death.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqOJddP9AWDHY5j2l-JEf6ahKw8Eius3ehXjUi_nFzgOxfrE2MxcXEMcM5c35IVoVruMQjvnW4KTUiI14uV6UueCilnZbAY6LWN2NCxf6HIkvfBG8bDNdMpYleFeXAppKdOnToRjAC9njx/s320/The+Face+of+Death.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"The Face of Death, Kovno, June 1940"</span></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">© 2016 David Prashker</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> </span></div>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/3nJiUkMqlmQ" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I came to visit you in your country house</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> a man from Nachri bred on mountain-milk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You told me your name and I accused you of lying</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> because I knew you no longer had a name</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> but only the image of your greed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">carved in blood-red ciphers on a city wall</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And we - we have erased the ciphers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> we have torn down the wall</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> we have struck our countless dagger-blows</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">one for each of the Furies you unleashed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> *</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“My father’s blood cried from the ground</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I travelled,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> exiled and outcast</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> serving another man’s house</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> for the sake of my own roof”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thus did you whinge and whimper</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> bleating like a Passover lamb</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You showed me your great book</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> told me the great burden of your age</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I accused you of lying</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">because your great book is just</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> the great confessing of your crimes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and as to your great age -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">why, your crimes are ageless</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so I closed the book</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> I recited the psalm of History</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> I catalogued your crimes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I read out the list of charges:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Joseph, son of Mathias</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> a leaf of grass is no less</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> than the journeywork of the stars</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and one kiss can betray a generation</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and one hand can turn the key</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and one lie</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Flavius</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> one lie is quite sufficient</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> *</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I exchanged my squalid shack for your royal residence</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and sat for hours</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> weaving you a death-shroud</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You told me of your loves and I replied</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> “You have never loved</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> for you do not understand love</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">you who have never hated”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I swore vengeance in my father’s name</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> in the names of all our mothers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I unleashed my own Fury</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> until I had created perfect love</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> perfect hatred</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then you spoke of your anxieties</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I accused you of wallowing in them</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You spoke of your enemies</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I accused you of betraying them</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You spoke of your dreams</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I observed that you were awake</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> recounting them</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You spoke of your visions</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I called you prophet</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> cynically</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You spoke of your strategies</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I branded you a genius</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You spoke of your friend the Emperor</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I labelled you a sycophantic dog</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You told me everything you knew -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> name place detail -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I was not surprised how little</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and how much it was</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You spoke of your integrity</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I knew that you were lying</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You spoke of your humanity</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I recalled how you had killed for it</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You spoke of your remorse</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I wondered </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> that you had never learned to laugh</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then at last you made your full confession</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I led you to the Temple</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> manacled your hands</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> made you kneel down between</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> the cedars and the ivory</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">mocked you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> forced you to drink vinegar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> plunged my dagger through the palms</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of your feet and hands</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> gave you your thirty coins -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and then sentenced you:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Joseph, son of Mathias</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> a leaf of grass is no less</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> than the journeywork of the stars</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and one kiss can betray a generation</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and one hand can turn the key</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and one lie</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Flavius</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> one lie is quite sufficient</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Before the method of your sacrifice</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> had been agreed upon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I found you before the mirror</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> counting your shekels</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and smoothing out your hair</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You asked me to bow down before you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and when I hesitated you said</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> it was only to let you kiss me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I leaned forward</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> as you raised your face to me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and I slapped you on both cheeks</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then I wielded my axe above your head</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and brought it down -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">with what insensate fury did I drive myself</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> to take my grand revenge</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">erasing the ciphers of your name</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> tearing down the walls</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">striking countless dagger-blows</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> one for each of the Furies you had unleashed</span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;"><br />Flavius Josephus was originally Joseph ben Matityahu (37-c100 CE), before he defected to the Romans after surrendering the siege of Jotapata to Vespasian. He later wrote “The Jewish War” and “Jewish Antiquities” for the Emperor under his Roman name. The poem was written for a man whose name is unknown, one of the leaders of the failed insurrection at Auschwitz which is described in "The Flaming Sword", the first volume of "The Argaman Quintet".</span><br />
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You can find David Prashker at:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">All rights reserved</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Argaman Press</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-3037916935333991932016-11-08T08:39:00.000-08:002016-11-08T08:39:04.357-08:00Unfinished Song<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiguDx6TMWK0gP1XYEIeT0NS9Om5UollwnWiGqHU0tdD_dyOJeqp_4gyQNPgX6rlYNFZx3PWw7FQQDkWw86uHlLPzex9R-Jd9U6l6rrwlX2V9bqEJVgxAjQsfemz1wNZO1kxVg5_2GOx2N/s1600/Face+198a.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiguDx6TMWK0gP1XYEIeT0NS9Om5UollwnWiGqHU0tdD_dyOJeqp_4gyQNPgX6rlYNFZx3PWw7FQQDkWw86uHlLPzex9R-Jd9U6l6rrwlX2V9bqEJVgxAjQsfemz1wNZO1kxVg5_2GOx2N/s400/Face+198a.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Face 198d" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/4Yu5fXPJWbc" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>
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All our lives we fumble in the dark<br /> like teenage lovers<br /> under cover of a midnight park<br />searching for what is never as we dreamed<br /><br />scared as much of darkness as “the other”<br /> scared of our own indoctrinated guilt<br /> tormented by the phantom mythic beast<br />alleged to lurk beneath the lovers’ quilt<br /> or in priapic playfulness at least -<br /> yet who is never really so ferocious as he seemed<br /><br /> *<br /><br /> Ayishah, I long to interpret the silence<br /> you weave about your absence<br />the coded messages inside your letters<br /> which confirm our deeper correspondence<br />the secrets of your hidden life<br /> untouched by circumstance<br /><br />Ayishah<br />It is not true what they say<br /> about the heart growing fonder<br /><div>
Emotions wander<br />Opinions vary<br />In my case anyway<br /> absence makes the heart grow wary<br /><br /> *<br /><br />All our lives we torment ourselves with Love<br /> does she doesn’t she<br /> will she won’t she<br />The cry of need<br /> the cry of lust<br /> the cry of seeking seed<br />The cry of passion turned into disgust<br /> the cry of ultimate betrayal<br />The cry of laughter<br /> at the hindsight-understood naivety<br /> of happy-ever-after<br /><br />And each cry sounding so much the same<br /> and still such difference<br />Each cry issuing from the selfsame vein<br /> of guilt and innocence<br />Each cry ending and beginning<br /> in the selfsame dream<br /> ending and beginning<br /> in a susurration<br /> and a primal scream<br /><br /> *<br /><br />I am thinking, Ayishah<br /> not of the first time<br /> but of the very first time<br /><br />Of the sixteen-year-old girl I kissed<br /> when I was seventeen<br />in the days before sex<br /> had become enshrouded<br /> in mystery and taboo<br />days when love was not yet Love<br /> and you were not yet You<br /><br />Nothing is more important than the very first time<br /> and every time<br /> should always be the very first time<br />for with each new relationship we enter<br /> we renew our own virginity<br /> render ourselves pure and uncorrupt again<br /> ready for the necessary violation of our innocence...<br /><br />(no, today the poetry is not lucid; only the wound that engendered the need for poetry, bleeding, but incoherently)…<br /><br /> *<br /><br /> Ayishah<br /> it has been too long<br /> our song remains unfinished<br />and I am stranded here<br /> longing to interpret the silence<br /> you weave about your absence<br />the coded messages inside your letters<br /> which confirm our deeper correspondence<br />the secrets of your hidden life<br /> untouched by circumstance<br /><br />Ayishah<br />It is not true what they say<br /> about the heart growing fonder<br /><div>
Emotions wander<br />Opinions vary<br />In my case anyway<br /> absence makes the heart grow wary</div>
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Ayishah, please be kind to me<br /> the summer is almost gone<br />Seven years have I waited for thee<br /> seven years and then seven<br /> and now the long winter draws on<br /><br /> <br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-20641854368098496852016-11-08T08:06:00.001-08:002016-11-08T08:06:40.535-08:00Song at the Mandelbaum Gate<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9XtZYyDc7xoLdId7MWQM-HRfl_37nj4gRWaClSjpDgTOTJss8viIBPGDMIi14D3Ynw9k66fwH8pIHaU4pFy81QbHDuAY_EAmymjfsM9FYCl8wQDg0FZWsifRz0sMXbLS2UfhTGi5Te9K/s1600/Mandelbaum+gate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9XtZYyDc7xoLdId7MWQM-HRfl_37nj4gRWaClSjpDgTOTJss8viIBPGDMIi14D3Ynw9k66fwH8pIHaU4pFy81QbHDuAY_EAmymjfsM9FYCl8wQDg0FZWsifRz0sMXbLS2UfhTGi5Te9K/s320/Mandelbaum+gate.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Until it was torn down in 1967, <br />the Mandelbaum Gate was the main checkpoint in Jerusalem, <br />defining the border between Israel and Jordan within the city.</td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/sgTL5NX6g94" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br />(at other times this poem might have been entitled Song At Checkpoint Charlie, or Song At The Great Wall, or Song At Jericho, or Song At The Maginot Line, or even, though more implausibly, Song At The Frontier):<br /><br /><br />Even though I accuse History<br /> I do not blame it<br />Anything that grows is dual<br /> (a throw of chance<br />upon the heads and tails of fishes)<br /> or so the Christians say<br />referring to it as<br /> "the problem of good and evil" –<br /></span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">but a falsehood this duality<br />when white is all the colours<br />and black the absence of the colours<br />and grey barely distinguishable from grey<br />and what we think of as duality<br />is really the multiplicity<br />desperately struggling to become One<br /><br /> So I am intrigued by mirrors<br />So I neither hope nor despair<br />So I inevitably betray myself<br /> trying to live several different lives at once<br />So Gautama wept in the lotus-garden at Sakyamuni<br /> seeing the crocuses open before the sun<br />Nor is there any contradiction<br /> only this false duality<br /> proceeding by seeming opposites<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Progress<br /> as a creative force<br /> implying progress<br /> as a force of destruction<br />and serving both<br /> and neither<br /><br />So I do not hide my eyes<br />So the act of love becomes political<br />So I accuse<br /> but do not blame.<br /><br /> </span><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-20900053960611012732016-11-08T05:29:00.000-08:002016-11-08T05:29:37.842-08:00A Song at Korazim<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-aFJ5TAvksPfWZ6jQNA97g4WJvpdstZPh4JyNSNajgg6dHcrO1MlpbmRF8xeKVAU4CddB1Tjb-a6DSBoElitsgs0VSb_twApXHTNG0ekEy7pMgPIgy5dqeUCl5cG9PjqP5G2YExThp2c/s1600/Face+in+Profile+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-aFJ5TAvksPfWZ6jQNA97g4WJvpdstZPh4JyNSNajgg6dHcrO1MlpbmRF8xeKVAU4CddB1Tjb-a6DSBoElitsgs0VSb_twApXHTNG0ekEy7pMgPIgy5dqeUCl5cG9PjqP5G2YExThp2c/s320/Face+in+Profile+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Face in Profile 2" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/ZMeHV4RJzGU" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Word of his teachings reached us<br /> even in the lowlands<br /> though much garbled<br /> frequently misquoted<br />and rarely understood<br /><br />Many of the tales we quite simply disregarded<br /> recognising in them the quaint traditional features<br /> of every popular myth:<br /><br />that he was not born of woman<br />that luminaries had bestowed gifts upon him<br />that he had been suckled by wolves<br />that a tyrant had sought his death<br />that he had been rescued by water<br />that unnatural phenomena had coincided with his birth<br />that birds could communicate with him<br />that he was impervious to lust<br />that he could perform miracles<br />that he had come, specifically, for us<br />that he was incapable of death<br /><br />So we had gathered on this cliff<br /> to hear him discourse<br /> on the method of discourse<br />a young woman in her seventh month<br /> and I<br /> in my own disconsolate July<br /><br />And how he spoke! -<br /> inevitable as a circus hypnotist<br /> his purple robes flowing as his arms flapped<br />as comically as any circus clown<br /><br />"Flame growing into flame -<br /> the great urge has not yet found a body<br /> but urges towards creation<br /> with the great creative urge"<br /><br />Was this new?<br /> Was this another prophet’s teaching<br /> misappropriated?<br />Was this <i>it</i>?<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"The death of darkness is light<br /> Only the sun cannot be extinguished<br /> A mirror reflected in a mirror<br /> engenders infinite possibilities"<br /><br />This was more like it<br /> the commonplace obscurities<br /> that are made to sound like mysteries<br />the high-flown banalities<br /> platitudes, absurdities -<br /> just what we expect from our Messiahs<br /><br />"You yourself will always be<br /> the worst enemy you can encounter</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You yourselves lie in wait for yourselves</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in caves and forests"<br /><br />But o what power - Lupus<br /> What eloquence!<br /> What charisma!<br /><br />And hearing him speak<br /> watching the enrapturement of half the crowd<br /> sensing the vague misgivings of the other half<br /><br />It was already so easy to prophesy:<br /> the words that would bring comfort equally<br /> to those who would kill<br />and those who would die<br /> in his name<br /> and in the name of his prophecies<br /><br /> </span><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-32208761017980208532016-11-08T04:09:00.000-08:002016-11-08T04:09:12.030-08:00The Song of Shichrer, Canto III<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXYoWR3GfJV2HatbXH_cwQ7Ar8Qnw81lTlO97nLF3VFEQE8dOeitmvaeekhLj72k2VvKI0urA1o6NXPvxCM8IjOBtdN0KIjLD3N2v1UUCzB9VRF2oqFoFG0FE4uXN49POi1wrkaltHWIY/s1600/Mobius+Faces.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXYoWR3GfJV2HatbXH_cwQ7Ar8Qnw81lTlO97nLF3VFEQE8dOeitmvaeekhLj72k2VvKI0urA1o6NXPvxCM8IjOBtdN0KIjLD3N2v1UUCzB9VRF2oqFoFG0FE4uXN49POi1wrkaltHWIY/s400/Mobius+Faces.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Mobius Faces" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/LT_DPuGAJUU" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I shall sing a song to my well-beloved<br /> touching her with my voice<br /> caressing her with my melodies<br /><br />I am old now<br /> but still handsome<br /> o my daughter of Jerusalem<br /> old as the seal of Abraham<br />handsome as the beard of Methuselah<br /><br />Unveil your eyes and look upon me now<br /> snow has not blanched my lashes<br /> ice has not closed up my veins<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sun that sets upon my forehead<br /> has sweated my blood with life<br /> sun has caused my tongue to swell<br /><br />Ayishah this is not the first song<br /> I have made for you<br /> that I know you cannot hear<br /><br />I have made comparisons my love<br />I compared you with a Veda of King Solomon<br />I compared your body with jade<br />I compared your beauty with a necklace of pearls<br /><br />Now I have only these comparisons<br /> since you disdain our love with distance<br /><br />That is why I bought this cloth of jade<br /> to wear next to my body<br /><br />That is why I sewed this necklace of pearls<br /> to set upon your pillow<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That is why I made this song for you<br /> to hold against your absence<br /><br />You say I did not love you well nor wisely<br /> yet did we not give back the cold to Winter<br /> did we not make poems of our love?<br /><br />Did we not share our hidden meanings<br /> private nightmares<br /> secret dreams?<br /><br />Or was my mouth too timid<br /> were my hands too greedy<br /> was my thirst too great<br />to slake upon your heart?<br /><br />For your sake I gathered logs<br /> I built a fire<br /> I kept it burning<br />even in the deep midsummer<br /><br />For your sake I disavowed the universe<br /> left it hanging between sun and moon<br /> nascent and moribund<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For your sake I trimmed the edges of my beard<br /><br />Like the gorse that flowers on moorlands<br /> Like the scorpion that stings itself<br /> in rings of fire<br />Like the butterfly whose wings are crushed<br /> Like the tortoise swallowed in its cave of shell<br />Like the naked sapling -<br /> single<br /> individual<br />Like the density of uncharted forest<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How else should I have come to you?<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How else<br /> and still be true?<br /><br /> Ayishah your love is like the Sharon Rose<br /> that lives only among thorns<br /> sixty days have you been gone from me<br /> sixty mornings have I spent<br />hopefully planting thorns<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-86643099839140601432016-11-08T02:06:00.000-08:002016-11-08T02:06:58.754-08:00Though you have walked…<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidr08hYlDda31r1B-WRnvJ1e-P9WZkb5rHwLf5rDRZ411ViOSKFScAy1DRT9TAW-tV0JjLGdufBG1dmtWzz8sKA8XXPr5ptQGiQ5BqyYyj_me-etHxZib3Fw9mRkT5om02K4VkuvrlVa1G/s1600/Dry+Bones.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidr08hYlDda31r1B-WRnvJ1e-P9WZkb5rHwLf5rDRZ411ViOSKFScAy1DRT9TAW-tV0JjLGdufBG1dmtWzz8sKA8XXPr5ptQGiQ5BqyYyj_me-etHxZib3Fw9mRkT5om02K4VkuvrlVa1G/s400/Dry+Bones.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Dry Bones" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/v6uX-1_aMk0" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Though you have walked through wildernesses<br /> though you have crossed whole emptinesses<br /> though you have journeyed in the endless desert<br /> following the clouds of smoke and fire<br /><br />though ice has eaten your fingers raw<br /> though death has stripped you to the core<br /> though hate has robbed you of your heart<br /> and all your heart’s desire<br /><br />though you have stumbled<br /> yea through the valley of the shadow of shadows<br /> fearing and anticipating every evil -<br /> still you have not yet seen what I have seen:<br /><br />A man<br /> coming from Bozrah<br /> with his garments torn<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The scorching wind that splits the seven oceans<br /> each into seven times seven channels<br /> so that men may pass through dry-shod<br /><br />Thorns sprouting in palaces<br /> the marmot consorting with the jackal<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Temples and treasure-houses<br /> thrown open to the mob:<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The red rock splattered<br /><br />Have you, have you seen such things?<br />Have you witnessed, as I have witnessed:<br /><br />The corpses lying like offal in the streets:<br /> the stench of dying<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The rank putrescent odours of decay<br /> where once the scent of perfume lingered<br /><br />The red ants who have occupied the palaces:<br /> The swarms of locusts<br /> sweeping out of Africa<br />The vultures waiting<br /> simply waiting<br /> in the trees?<br /><br />Have you, have you seen such things?<br /><br />The shining gleaming radiance of power<br /> leading to consent?<br /><br /> The omnipotence of majesty<br /> leading to fear?<br /><br /> The thumbprint of oppression<br /> leading to acquiescence?<br /><br />The absolute corruption of supremacy<br /> leading to resignation?<br /><br /> The ineffable glory of self-importance<br /> leading to murder?<br /><br />The terrifying<br /> awe-inspiring<br /> horrifying<br /> wonderment of tyranny<br /> leading to destruction?<br /><br />The sheer unquestioned<br /> and unquestioning<br /> unspeakable devastation<br />of unchallenged<br /> and unchallengeable authority<br /> leading<br />- inevitably<br /> inexorably<br /> infernally<br /> - to hopelessness?<br /><br /> *<br /><br /> The generations before me never witnessed it, but only read it in a poem. The apocalyptic nightmare, envisioned by Ezekiel, enscribed by T.S. Eliot. This was the world before we came along: the perpetual fear of the impossible holocaust; the permanent dream of the unattainable return. It was my generation who witnessed, who experienced them both.<br /><br /> *<br /><br /> And what, after all, is Hell, but loss of hope? What earth, if not a winding-sheet? What snow, if not a shroud? And freezing cold in forty-five below, one dreams of something better - even Hell itself, which would at least be warm.<br /> But earth is stained red on which we lie, we who are the old dishonoured ones, the broken husks of men, each of us two vast and trunkless legs of stone languishing half-sunk beneath the desert, fragments of men clinging for dear life to fragments of civilisation, while the shadow of Ozymandias looms above:<br /><br /> Healthy to the left of him<br /> Wealthy to the right of him<br /> Into the clinic of the Angel of Death<br /> Were marched the 10,000<br /><br /> But what else was there to cling to, unless nursery rhymes? What else? The silence in the mountains? The dry sterile thunder without rain? The red sullen faces sneering and snarling from the doors of mudracked houses? The murmur of maternal lamentation? The sound of water over rock? The dry grass singing? What else? What else?<br /> “These fragments I have shored against my ruins.”<br /> What else?<br /> “The song of Esther, rising from the tomb of Haman.”<br /> What else?<br /> “Not to have fallen, like others of my lineage, cut down in battle. To be, in the fruitless night, he who counts the syllables.”<br /> What else?<br /><br /> </span><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-27284058328439834302016-11-07T09:08:00.000-08:002016-11-07T09:08:58.414-08:00Before we ever came…<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJlIFWlv_cTjOfLYrjZLlrMK0wI2Ke6fodKYzWpeIb6FcJtiaoJUMkyWrYkN6FovVDflpS4nItBfeEXWYd2a6Pfb2KQ0Q3PKbpWagxMnOxUJpGug3UMr6TrLRqCInLADu_OFUpNNJffIJ/s1600/African+Child+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJlIFWlv_cTjOfLYrjZLlrMK0wI2Ke6fodKYzWpeIb6FcJtiaoJUMkyWrYkN6FovVDflpS4nItBfeEXWYd2a6Pfb2KQ0Q3PKbpWagxMnOxUJpGug3UMr6TrLRqCInLADu_OFUpNNJffIJ/s320/African+Child+2.png" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"African Child" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/Al4GAj5isuk" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Before we ever came to the fort our eyes already saw the signs of hasty restoration - paint as thin and vapid as peroxide on a brothel-madam's wig, designed only to pretend to style; but it was all so obvious... clear-water in the once-slurried pool, a seam of flesh, the scar where earth was growing back, the over-tidy rooms that indicated absence, the lack of fetor in the lavatories. No one was living in this place. Even the dead were not living in this place. Even the memory of the dead had been evacuated.<br /><br /> On the high-point of the hill, the god's eye view, trees opened their branches as if inviting us to look between the cracks in the disguise. Behold - the mask of Eve, bearing the face of Eve, shaped like a fig-leaf. Behold - the face of Adam: always two-faced, Man is always two-faced, and each face always has two faces: one the double headed Man-God on his cross of lilac wood: one the hypocritical decreer of his fate.<br /><br /> So we trudged on, over mud-banks wet and dry - all tumuli - where a snake wriggled through the undergrowth and rats crept silently through rotted vegetation, and all the still and silent beckoning of trees could not undo the shame of Earth, whose body had been literally raped with corpses.<br /><br /> Among the pickled foetuses and bottled bones, where fetid vapours rose up to our nostrils like sacrificial incense to the distended nostrils of Almighty God, sometimes, there, I saw my mother’s arms raised up towards me like a drowning woman's reaching for a life-raft. It seemed to me her very flesh was screaming (purple in the purple darkness), her very fingernails radiated the searing intolerable anguish which is DEATH.<br /><br /> And I saw:<br /> A lion with the wings of eagles and the mind of Man.<br /> A crouching bear between whose teeth three ribs were being gorged.<br /> A leopard with four heads.<br /> A ten-horned beast of indescribable proportions - its teeth of iron, its claws of bronze - crunching and devouring and trampling underfoot whatever it encountered in its path.<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> These were only reveries of course, induced by hunger, weariness, an excess of familiarity with war and death that leaves behind a certain numbness in the soul. Yet they were real enough: the crows on their high branches, stripping the trees bare; the soaring eagles; the bright red corpses on their wedding-beds, emptied of their vanity; the fields of poppies; the monstrous anger of the guns; the voiceless falconers. All, all of it, as real as, real as, real as... Lord, Have Pity On These Your Wasted Generations, Who Lacked The Wherewithal To Honour And Fulfil Your Law.<br /><br /></span><br /><span style="color: yellow;">(this fragment continues with "Though you have walked...") </span><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-82451061486228157772016-11-07T08:08:00.000-08:002016-11-07T08:08:08.761-08:00Everything ended…<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnN7Dd_zFlqEDJqrYsnw9rcJSJJQDOZUVY14fkBm7qWomN1k8QpUnlF_4OTOUh6Pn9-GI8RNhEzIF3KcbeLGJT8Wowa4GLlW4AA_9aKnzHLCmZHu5tQjBRZw3mF9n2cLoNPUE4geUr_ETB/s1600/Holocaust+memorial.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnN7Dd_zFlqEDJqrYsnw9rcJSJJQDOZUVY14fkBm7qWomN1k8QpUnlF_4OTOUh6Pn9-GI8RNhEzIF3KcbeLGJT8Wowa4GLlW4AA_9aKnzHLCmZHu5tQjBRZw3mF9n2cLoNPUE4geUr_ETB/s200/Holocaust+memorial.png" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Holocaust Memorial"<br />© 2016 David Prashker</span> </td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/J-44mzlN0No" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everything ended and began with trains...<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> night journeys into the kingdom of the dead<br /> accompanied only by the dead of night<br /> eastward journeys<br /> westward journeys<br /> journeys of the camel trains from Ur Kasdim<br /> journeys of the cattle trains to Oswiecim<br />the bridal train of the Shechinah<br /> derailed in the sidings at Treblinka<br />the ladder of my own journeys<br /> westwards<br /> inwards<br /> eastwards<br /> inwards<br /> forwards<br /> inwards<br /> backwards<br /> inwards<br /> ever<br /> further<br /> deeper<br /> inwards...<br />climbing to the very bowels of Hell<br /><br /> *<br /><br />So I returned to hope and exile<br /> And the gate opened<br /> revealing what lay hidden:<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the fallen cedars of my father’s mansion<br /> a lilac pollarded by tears<br /> the stone pillars that were reduced to ashes<br />the cobwebs lying heavy on the chandeliers<br /><br />An entire forest of webs enmeshed the eternity<br /> of ThoughtWordCultureFeeling<br /> which was my father’s library...<br /><br />But this was only part of it<br /> these were only the superficial facts of devastation<br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> What was less obvious<br /> invisible to the naked human eye:<br />a set of roof tiles, stacked against the barn wall<br />a timber ladder, with three of its rungs broken<br />a volume of Rashi, straddling the ruins of a bonfire<br />a silver candlestick, quite simply vanished<br />a yellow photograph, now turned completely purple<br />an untended grave, smelling faintly of urine<br />a dead snake, clubbed to death in the marshes<br />a bust of Schiller, sold or stolen...<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="color: yellow;">(this fragment continues with "Before we ever came...") </span><br /><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-89713833319270413242016-11-07T06:10:00.002-08:002016-11-07T06:10:39.677-08:00In a small village...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcV5Lh-3TCjyvcv0ZINrmr7Iz59Yft00h9PEMhF8ftAJ2dQLJ2mTVSeDwnT-8n5sMquTr15-q9WLXmJdgHDzXPUscDgs-b1aKE5CErY1_D46wlR7JrUNxwle60wbbvsKjdvmkqIEaoD3vK/s1600/African+skull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcV5Lh-3TCjyvcv0ZINrmr7Iz59Yft00h9PEMhF8ftAJ2dQLJ2mTVSeDwnT-8n5sMquTr15-q9WLXmJdgHDzXPUscDgs-b1aKE5CErY1_D46wlR7JrUNxwle60wbbvsKjdvmkqIEaoD3vK/s320/African+skull.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"African Skull" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/7_fxU5fYErg" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a small village not far from what had once been the Czechoslovak border, I strangled an übermenschnik with a red scarf identical to the red scarf that strangled Isadora Duncan. There were no traces, no prints, no blood. That night I gave away the scarf to a nineteen year old brunette who first let me paint her body, and then took upon herself the full weight of the expiation of my conscience, elbows downward. I do not know if I am writing this as a confession, a fable, a parable, an act of nostalgia or an attempt at self-justification. I do not know the names of either of my victims.<br /><br />In Warsaw I watched a child<br />who did not even know his own name<br />wincing as he watched a falling star<br /><br /> It was the Star of David<br />falling from his mother’s breast<br />falling as she fell<br />pierced by a bullet of light<br /><br />Later<br />at the graveside<br />I saw a tear fall from the eye of the winsome child<br />a single tear<br />falling like a nameless star<br /><br />At Vilna I saw an old man clutch his head in shame<br />and wince at the sight of a falling city<br /><br /> At Bethlehem a Catholic priest knelt and prayed<br />that someone might help a falling man be saved<br /><br />At Hiroshima<br />I saw a young girl picking mushrooms<br /><br />At Bremen<br />when the dam broke<br />the culture and the crop were washed away<br />their roots rotted<br /><br />At Wounded Knee<br />I saw a red cloud bursting<br /><br />At Passchendaele<br />snow and ice had frozen into immortality<br />the statues of a thousand unknown soldiers<br /><br />At Calvary<br />a thief wondered why he had been rejected<br /><br />At Smyrna<br />I saw a woman<br />her belly so swollen with malnutrition<br />she could have been pregnant with her own death<br /><br />At Deir Yassin<br />a young Arab hung like a rotten apple<br />from the branches of a dying tree<br /><br />At Hamburg, and at Harwich<br />the whores were so starved of occupation<br />they were offering themselves to men for nylons<br /><br />At Poznan<br />the scarecrows had been pecked to pieces<br /><br />At Masada<br />I rummaged in the rubble<br />of three hundred living corpses<br />searching for the bodies of my wife and daughter<br /><br />At Beijing<br />I turned against the counter-revolution<br /><br />At Padua<br />I sold my soul for gold<br />and found my blood transmuted into lead<br /><br />At Stygia<br />I dipped my ankle in a tub of poison<br /><br />At Luxor<br />I saw a man pluck out his eye<br />and hold it up before him as a sign<br />to ward off any devils<br />that were passing angels by<br /><br />(In certain parts of Africa<br />it is customary for the men to remove their shoes<br />before kneeling on the sand to pray<br /><br />While in other parts of Africa<br />the men have neither shoes nor prayers<br />yet still they fall down on their knees<br />under an almighty sun<br />stretched prostrate upon infinite sand)<br /><br />At Sodom<br />I witnessed the routing of the four kings[6]<br /><br />At Babel<br />the cacophony of saws and hammers<br />rendered all speech unintelligible<br /><br />At...<br /><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The entire history of the world could be recorded in this manner, redeemed from dialectics, freed from didactic purpose, rescued from dry facts: the autobiography of Man. Quite unteachable in school, of course - how could one possibly set an exam question? Yet as each individual line filtered through the blood-stream like a transfusion, as each DNA molecule became re-attached to the universal whole, so each individual human creature might at last become bound one to the other like links on an iron umbilicus, recognising his or her own place on the Ladder of Permanent Creation-And-Destruction, the Eternal History Of Man, the account of all our One and Single Life.<br /><br />Thus:<br /><br />I, Adam, the Egoless, the First and Only Man, born at the age of thirty-three in the Garden of Eden; I, Adam, who rode my white horse out of Medina; I, Adam, who was crucified dead and buried but rose on the third day; I, Adam, who worked as a tailor in the village of Omdurman, and married twice, and fathered sons and daughters; I, Adam, who died of leprosy after thirty years among the swamps of Africa; I, Adam, worshipper of Ashtoreth, Isis, Zoroaster; I, Adam, who was anointed Julius Caesar, Emperor of Rome; I, Adam, who was Caesar’s most humble serving-boy; I, Adam, who dreamed the grand and glorious dream; I, Adam, who conceived the plan; I, Adam, who ordered its execution; I, Adam, who was merely obeying the orders of my superiors; I, Adam, victim of the most appalling evil...<br /><br /><br /> And all of us apparently different - different bones, different flesh, different time, different place - all of us nonetheless the One and Single ManWomanChild, flesh of the same flesh, bone of the same bone, blood of the same blood, guilty and innocent of the same crime, architect and destroyer of the same renascent and decaying cites, lover and hater of the same menwomenchildren - as Single and Unique as God.<br /><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At Sainte-Adresse, just a few miles north of Le Havre, along the Côte where Gide was raised, I overheard two Vichy übermenschnikim plotting their treason in a Bar-Tabac, and I waited for them in the shadows of the building like Orson Wells in “The Third Man”, and shot both silently through the neck.<br /><br />At Pshishke, the entire ghetto was ordered to stand for three days and three nights, naked in the village square in thirty degrees below, whilst an übermenschnik Major paraded up and down, selecting from time to time a woman for his lust or a victim for his fury.<br /><br /> At Rouen, a young Catholic woman by the name of Jeanne told me of her dream of liberating France by selling the arsenal she had discovered in her basement to the Ubermensch; and I stayed with her that night, made love to her with passion; but in the morning, more for the love of poetry than the love of France, I tossed a grenade into her cellar, and left her body smouldering in the blaze.<br /><br />And I, Adam, participated on every side, opening my fly before the frightened Jewess, opening my legs for the demented Major, opening my hand-grenade before the altar of Saint Joan, opening my arms to embrace a new-born child, opening a grave of earth to lay a corpse to rest, opening my mouth to protest and to betray, opening my door to welcome and to expel, opening my hand to give and take...<br /><br /> And I, Adam, have counted the grains of sand inside the hourglass, numbering them severally, One by One by One...<br /><br /></span><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
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All rights reserved</div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-10771662562475945092016-11-07T04:33:00.000-08:002016-11-07T04:33:43.974-08:00In Memoriam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCdk4efXtktuFIbnHlBiWEuNM7FXSXLffugqv-um8_jKCv1rbtZZTd89kjz3oHKAn7zTodIUqN1PiotH2BPkY7gh3-c5864ckA4UznO5Jok_EwVvYltGoge-aqci_6n5eeEV8qp4Nbw2L/s1600/Dry+Bones+-+In+The+Showers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCdk4efXtktuFIbnHlBiWEuNM7FXSXLffugqv-um8_jKCv1rbtZZTd89kjz3oHKAn7zTodIUqN1PiotH2BPkY7gh3-c5864ckA4UznO5Jok_EwVvYltGoge-aqci_6n5eeEV8qp4Nbw2L/s400/Dry+Bones+-+In+The+Showers.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/Ibkv9rnSWws" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They were determined to destroy us - all of us, the entire Jewish people - to eradicate us so completely from the planet that not only were there none of us left, but even the memory that we had ever existed would be expunged. It was truly the most extraordinary undertaking, like that Chinese emperor who swore to annihilate the whole of human history, and built the pyre on which the rite would be performed; only he paused for just that one moment too many, and the realisation that would defeat him entered in - that he could indeed throw everything upon the fire, but the fire itself would still exist, and the universal infamy of the fire as well; preserving precisely that which the rite of fire had been intended to destroy.<br /><br /><br /> Yet how admirable, how remarkable an idea it was! To build a universal empire of Jewish genocide - the realisation of a Christian dream as old as Augustine and the apostle Paul! A total evaporation, not just of people, but of culture, language, history, tradition! Yet could they not see that it was impossible; that we were made from dust, and numbered as many as the specks of dust; what use then to return us to dust? Could they not see that survival of some sort was positively inexorable?<br /> They pulled out our gold teeth - its value as currency survived.<br /> They shaved our heads - a wig and a bald scalp survived.<br /> They broke our bones - the cracking of the knuckle reverberated through the pages of history.<br /> They burned our corpses - the smell of incense soothed the nostrils of God.<br /> They denied this Holocaust had taken place – the act of denial provided for its confirmation.<br /> How, they asked, can we resolve finally the problem of the Jews - the question survived.<br /> So they began to murder us, one by one - but there were always more Jews: those of other lands that had not yet been conquered; those who lived as marrano Jews in deepest secrecy; those who had pretended to convert away from Judaism; those who had not yet been born; the Khazars and Falashas; those hundreds of years hence who would discover by chance some fragment of parchment, some archaeological remainder, and spread abroad the rumour of a murdered people.<br /> So they burned our shuls, tore up our Torah scrolls, banned and burned our literature, re-wrote our history, changed our names to numbers, disallowed our language, closed our shops, impregnated our daughters, forged defamatory documents, counterfeited blasphemies, faked apostasies, compelled us to break our own most sacred laws, harnessed the whole gamut of art and science in their great endeavour, created an entire industry of propaganda, a complete infrastructure of mass-murder: factories of killing, dockyards of killing, railway-lines of killing - but the very act of obliteration survived.<br /> No, they could not destroy us.<br /> For how could they have gone further?<br /> Kill every Jew on the planet? Christians would still remember that Jesus was a Jew; and the Holy Scriptures would survive.<br /> Kill every Christian too? How, without committing mass suicide?<br /> And what of the Moslems who share a common heritage?<br /> Kill every Moslem too?<br /> And Druze, and Bahai, and Gnostic...<br /> Wipe out all religion then, just to be safe... religion’s contribution to human history will survive.<br /> Eradicate history then, as that Chinese emperor sought in vain to do - the ashes of the pyre will survive.<br /> And even if you built the biggest bomb and blew planet Earth out of the heavens, would not God - our God, a Jewish God - survive?<br /> And if not God, then some few stars, just a handful of yellow stars, like the ones they made us wear on our uniforms to denote that we were Jews; just a handful, even of distant, yellow stars, as numberless as Abraham’s descendants, flickering indestructibly in the advancing black hole of the sky...</span><br />
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You can find David Prashker at:<br />
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<a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
<a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
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</span>David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-45392102858945989852016-11-07T02:30:00.001-08:002016-11-07T02:30:47.564-08:00The Song of Matathias<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpRwQoxhnWFQc7QdhI_oLhJmG2a8UQxRw3d5fkMP7WB7xNxiDJpQsME62FlXktxljVlbkyHQPrgOgTKA7ZL-xbKw5zEBvDjFfhY3pv8CjtBtgkZ0f68URLMy-cNTfBvnBPDzoFH5XLFJd/s1600/After+The+Battle.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpRwQoxhnWFQc7QdhI_oLhJmG2a8UQxRw3d5fkMP7WB7xNxiDJpQsME62FlXktxljVlbkyHQPrgOgTKA7ZL-xbKw5zEBvDjFfhY3pv8CjtBtgkZ0f68URLMy-cNTfBvnBPDzoFH5XLFJd/s320/After+The+Battle.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"After The Battle" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/2DOTUQyyGt8" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1<br /><br />The song of Esther rises from the tomb of Haman<br /> that of Miriam from the pit of Birkenau<br />The sword of Gideon is embalmed in Gilead<br /> that of Baruch has been raised in Kovno<br />Whosoever is zealous for the Torah<br /> Let him follow me out of Szczecin<br /><br />In blood and fire Judea shall rise again<br /> Shiloh will consecrate a new covenant<br />Pison will nail it to the tree<br /> Gihon will wrap it in fig-leaves<br />Out of the mouths of princes<br /> of Akiva and Bar Kochba<br /> of Ezra<br /> of Isaiah -<br /> not these words<br />but out of my princely mouth<br /><br />For I Have Spoken<br /> saith the Lord<br />My Will Be Done<br /><br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2<br /><br />Now Dachau is become a hill of leaves<br /> at Maedanek the poppies are in bloom<br /> a palm tree grows in Bergen-Belsen<br />Be Great And Be Holy Lord Our God<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now the vanquished have obtained vengeance<br /> silent are the fathers of the House of Law<br /> The faithful have deserted<br />Theos Epiphanes Selah<br /><br />Now the rose of Sharon has been swamped by thorns<br /> the cedars of Jerusalem stand stoop-backed<br /> The dead tree gives no shelter<br />The lilacs are ruined by the dead land<br /><br />See the works of God the Father<br /> See the works of Man the Son<br /> The hangman has unwrapped the covenant<br />The flaming sword has cut it from the tree<br /><br /> Yea, all, all shall be swept aside<br />These walls shall not contain all your possessions<br /> the calf shall not give milk<br /> the prison doors shall not be broken open<br />the exile shall not return<br /><br /> For I Have Spoken<br /> Saith The Lord<br />My Will Will Be Done<br />All, all shall be swept aside<br /> the rubble of the ghetto walls<br /> shall no longer be the garden of your exile<br /><br /> The sun will scorch your faces<br /> branches will interlock like arms to arrest you<br /> your houses<br /> homesteads<br /> history<br />all shall be swept aside<br /><br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3<br /><br />But I<br /> Argaman<br /> am a child among children<br />an eagle perching in the topmost branches<br /> last of the faithful<br /> zealous for the Torah<br /><br />Pison is flooding<br /> Gihon bursts its banks<br />Who will follow me out of Modin?<br /><br />Mine are the cedars of the One Temple<br /> Mine is the torn veil and the blunt knife<br /> Mine are the lost hopes and the re-dedication<br /><br />Out of the mouths of the zealous<br /> and my zealous mouth</span><br /><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">All rights reserved</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Argaman Press</span></div>
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David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-22846584877270048462016-11-06T05:55:00.000-08:002016-11-06T05:55:02.168-08:00The Song of the Zealot<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAxY645wvOcvPrAn8zzsO0X3lCj_KsoPXkn2vpPudTgdkidEmajB961l40hmQbe8gyXgdGEXXjagLard2WJt87wOQfqyDYYl9wvRfgdNTngMMjr8YbRKtXt9J_J5CR9ousYlYOeW-Zgdi9/s1600/The+Artist+Was+Bored+No+265.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAxY645wvOcvPrAn8zzsO0X3lCj_KsoPXkn2vpPudTgdkidEmajB961l40hmQbe8gyXgdGEXXjagLard2WJt87wOQfqyDYYl9wvRfgdNTngMMjr8YbRKtXt9J_J5CR9ousYlYOeW-Zgdi9/s400/The+Artist+Was+Bored+No+265.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"The Artist Was Bored No 265", a section from Picasso's 'Guernica', coloured in<br />© 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/ucxJ_dbXDBw" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Gratefully I received the sword of Gideon<br />I stood with my shield against my thigh<br /> my head fortified<br /> my heart fortified<br />my body invested with a duty<br /><br />I did not speak<br /> for silence had grown massive on my tongue<br /> and it would not be subdued<br /><br />I stood by Ayishah’s bed<br /> weeping for all the evil in the world<br /> then conjured a white carnation from the fire<br />and placed it in my buttonhole<br /><br />At last I knew my moment had arrived<br /><br />I kissed the round form of a woman’s breast<br /> and turned my back on love<br /><br /> (It was better by far that way<br /> and easier)<br /><br />I closed the door on a woman’s voice<br /> the cry that has pursued me ever since<br /> that I had betrayed love<br />and in the very name of love<br /><br /> *<br /><br /><div>
I came to your gates<br /> O Jerusalem<br />city of the cloven tongue<br /> (the face of God reflected<br /> turned aside<br />the sharp blister on the cunning hand<br /> that has too long wielded the knife<br />the sword and the wound<br /> Jerusalem<br />the scar and the skin made whole<br />the flesh-mark and the deep incision<br /> O Jerusalem<br />the long sleep and the cry of Unity<br /></div>
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City of cities<br /> whore and muse<br /> Jerusalem<br /><br /> *<br /><br />In the name of love<br /> I stole money from the beggars<br /> and gave it to those needy ones<br />who do not advertise their plight<br /><br />In the name of love<br /> I fed my starving brothers<br /> taking the food from hungry mouths<br />that had already consumed their fill<br /><br /> In the name of love<br /> I unbound the slaves<br /> hacking off the arms of those<br />who had borne their chains complacently too long<br /><br />In the name of love<br /> I burned the heretics<br /> for daring to pronounce against me<br />on the nature of my love as sin<br /><br />In the name of love<br /> I tore the evil from the hearts of men<br /> who would deny men Justice<br /><br /> In the name of love<br /> I sentenced those who dared<br /> to stand in judgement of their fellow-men<br /><br />In the name of love<br /> I swept away the masters and the mistresses<br /> and fed their flesh to hungry dogs<br /><br />In the name of love<br /> I gouged out the eyes of those<br /> who could or would not see<br />the blinding darkness in their souls<br /><br />In the name of love<br /> I imagined a fire<br /> and kindled it<br /> with every book<br />capable of inflaming the imagination<br /><br /> *<br /><br /> In the name of love<br /> I held aloft the flaming sword<br /> I had inherited from Gideon<br /><br />My heart fortified<br /> my head fortified<br /> my body invested with a duty<br /><br />And I feasted on the bone<br /> I tasted the sweetness of death<br /> and spat it out<br /><br />There where I had found it<br /> under an empty heaven<br /> beneath a torn veil<br /><br />In the pitch darkness of a woman’s love<br /> where my sword hung spent and flaccid<br /> nestling in the hollow of my thigh<br /><br /> <br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
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All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-72847766020547121892016-11-06T05:00:00.000-08:002016-11-06T05:00:46.164-08:00A Psalm of Perfect Faith<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0aGyaIkoXaKuDnhPj7zEIeiQLrsW-jdNX-J24hz430QvHxk8FWsLN4aNLQ3-HkJUpfKp3tAHPyHiycZHHfZhUddHd9gq3sCfnHAQMg15yWWLs2xP1n87wi9NeayrOcPjkl1STDzxRrR-/s1600/Poverty.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0aGyaIkoXaKuDnhPj7zEIeiQLrsW-jdNX-J24hz430QvHxk8FWsLN4aNLQ3-HkJUpfKp3tAHPyHiycZHHfZhUddHd9gq3sCfnHAQMg15yWWLs2xP1n87wi9NeayrOcPjkl1STDzxRrR-/s400/Poverty.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Poverty" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/3TeR7IcfGqg" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> </span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cannot believe in a God<br /> who sends a flood to destroy a corrupted world<br /> yet seeks and finds one man<br />to prove His judgement wrong<br /><br />I cannot believe in a God<br /> who demands ultimate sacrifices<br /> but ultimately is prepared<br />to accept mere offerings<br /><br />I cannot believe in a God<br /> who creates men in His own image<br /> and allows them to be weak and fallible<br /><br />I cannot believe in a God<br /> who is so absolutely good that<br /> out of the kindness of His ineffable heart<br />He deliberately created Evil<br /><br />I cannot believe in a God<br /> who does not know how to laugh<br /><br />I cannot believe in a God<br /> who sets out a white tablecloth<br /> washes His hands<br /> pronounces the blessing<br />and then feasts on the bones of the innocent<br /></span> <br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">All rights reserved</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Argaman Press</span></div>
</div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-23540686720579467322016-11-05T09:49:00.001-07:002016-11-05T09:49:58.952-07:00The Lay of Ayishah (7)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBoYlUD9aN6r_uewe06f9hSFc8WY1WFewwntgL0calmZOAJvTbTltD9URUYCiN1aSWMJUkbA2nWtuRgUcxIrgqakw2i_4qDNV1YFJYFMJkxOl7VJjxSTezMCOgyWiZbQi1WMjAC3b_oez/s1600/Face+300a.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBoYlUD9aN6r_uewe06f9hSFc8WY1WFewwntgL0calmZOAJvTbTltD9URUYCiN1aSWMJUkbA2nWtuRgUcxIrgqakw2i_4qDNV1YFJYFMJkxOl7VJjxSTezMCOgyWiZbQi1WMjAC3b_oez/s320/Face+300a.png" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Face 300a" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/3RsaU8L284o" target="_blank">here</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sands of the desert are hot underfoot<br /> when the summer furnace is stoked by the chamsin<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Better to stay indoors<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Walking shoeless on the sand<br /> is careless and inadvisable<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is an air of terror in the deserted streets<br /> reflected in the vacant faces<br /> as though at any moment<br /> a scorpion<br /> a volley of katyushah rockets<br /> an epidemic<br /> is liable to burst upon the scene<br /><br /> At these times sunstroke is as endemic as illiteracy</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The brooks dry up</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> the bread is baked to chaff<br /> the wind clatters against the wooden roofs<br /> like the wing-beats of stalling birds.<br /><br /> We could take a house in Cherith<br /> Ayishah<br /> an oasis in the middle of the desert<br /> and drink the spring-water<br />tapped from the river Jordan<br /><br /> We could start to rebuild our lives -<br /> out of sandcastles<br /> if you like<br /><br />We could submit our love to an autopsy<br /> and begin again<br /><br />Oh<br /> I know<br /> I know<br />For weeks I have known<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That evening that Giova told the story<br /> of his mother’s exile<br /> right then I knew<br />that he was preparing us for this<br /><br />That evening that you crept off to sleep outdoors<br />and later I heard his wheelchair on the veranda -<br /><br /> I knew<br /> I knew<br /><br />I foresaw every circumstance -<br /> the twelve stones<br /> the gash on the glass eye<br /> the melted rod<br /> the two measures of seed<br /> the breaking cloud<br /><br />I knew<br /> I knew<br /></span><br /><br /><br />You can find David Prashker at:<br /><a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All rights reserved</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span></div>
David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6077200025465573794.post-2385970929285006482016-11-05T09:23:00.000-07:002016-11-05T09:23:03.257-07:00The Lay of Ayishah (6)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WYW5A0DuVIwrWHPEHFgy2nFUCo46ywNp4bCvC2VVWpikTsg8BEcuYeeNNq4kOdWg9VMC1Bkf7P8npcRFccK4CT8HB7QuspZjB0lBkhHSVh5FJhi3X3tcDfcD5OHvUpaIDDg4tKqL5vRV/s1600/Face600.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WYW5A0DuVIwrWHPEHFgy2nFUCo46ywNp4bCvC2VVWpikTsg8BEcuYeeNNq4kOdWg9VMC1Bkf7P8npcRFccK4CT8HB7QuspZjB0lBkhHSVh5FJhi3X3tcDfcD5OHvUpaIDDg4tKqL5vRV/s320/Face600.png" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Face 600" © 2016 David Prashker</span></td></tr>
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To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click <a href="https://youtu.be/bYfsC7nJYQQ" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I hunted for you everywhere<br /> my love<br />in flesh, in flowers,<br /> in nights of lonely contemplation<br /><br />I hunted for you<br /> and I found<br />only my own loneliness<br /> waiting for me in the darkness<br /> like a knife<br /><br />I crossed hills and woods and deserts<br /> searching for you<br />I forded the very sea of death<br /> searching for you<br />I rode the iron railroad for you<br /> and broke my jaw against its jaw</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I who believed in nothing<br /> learned how to believe in Love<br /> for your sake<br /><br />I worked for three years as Death’s ferryman<br /> tugging the sun’s ark through the sky’s bulrushes<br /> in the hope that I might one day see you<br />through the doorway in the tunnel of the cave<br /><br />But no - the loneliness remained<br /><br />At night I would lie upon my bunk<br /> pressing the wood of my own bones<br /> and the straw of my own flesh<br />against the scarecrow of my loneliness<br />listening to the barking of the guns<br /> and the laughter of Cerberus<br /> as one more<br /> and still one more<br /> broken body<br />sought its healing consummation<br /> outside the gates of Love<br /><br />By day I resumed my journey<br /> hunting for you in forest, field and fjord<br /><br />I swam the whole length of the stinking sewer<br /> for you<br />dined on toad and nettle<br /> for you<br />made my companions among the badgers in the wood<br /> for you<br /><br />And then at last I saw your shadow<br /> caught up in the shadow of a thousand shadows<br /> in the dim light of the greyness of a silhouette<br /><br />You ran ahead of me<br /> and I could not help but follow<br /><br /> You entered the mouth of the cave<br /> where daylight flowers<br />and suddenly I was struck<br /> by the true nature of my deed<br />the world from which I was smuggling you away<br /><br />Like Lot’s wife I could not restrain myself<br /> from turning round and looking back<br />and in that instant of your disappearance<br /> through the tunnel of my heart<br /> the pillars of my heart turned into stones<br /> and I was lost</span><br />
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You can find David Prashker at:<br />
<a href="http://theargamanpress.com/">http://theargamanpress.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashker.com/">http://davidprashker.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashker.net/">http://davidprashker.net/</a><br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress">https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com/">http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
<a href="http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/">http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
<a href="http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/">http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © 2016 David Prashker</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">All rights reserved</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Argaman Press</div>
</span>David Prashkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00573157290838220298noreply@blogger.com0