David Prashker's Songs & Poems

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Song at Colonus

Ari Ben Aaron's home (left side) at Kibbutz Achdut

To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here

Song at Colonus

A Song of Ishmael

Lupus
you wolf in wolf’s clothing
it is time for you to enter this poem

Lupus
I shall call you by your real name:

Adolf Pot Adolf Mao Adolf Stalin Adolf Amin Adolf Vorster Adolf Ceausescu Adolf Mobutu Adolf Nasser Adolf Makarios Adolf Pinochet Adolf

Lupus

When you first came to me
from the valleys of Al-Ahqaf
from Ka’aba
the Visited House
riding your white steed out of the lofty vaults
riding on the wings and winds of the Compassionate
you were not alone then
as you are alone now

You rode with Al-Lat
and Al-Uzzah
and with Manat

You told me of Aad’s compatriot
and of what he told you
in the valleys of Al-Ahqaf

Then tell me now
O Mighty One
O Wise One
How do you tolerate senility?

Are you dying
or simply defunct?

Do you recall the pyramid at Oswiecim
and the psalms that we sang there?

Do you remember the daughters of Jerusalem
and what was done and undone
and how the Word became Flesh?

I am here
Lupus
I am with you now

(I am here
it occurs to me
only to elucidate
the catastrophe of consciousness)

You
Lupus
an old man in a dry month
and I
Magister Ludi
a child’s hand stretching out across the gulfs
a child’s hand grappling
between the abyss and the abyss
between Horeb and Sinai
the eyes of Eden
looking out at what remains
after the fruit has rotted
and from its putrid core
still one more tiny serpent has crawled out

My name is Ishmael and I need shelter
My name is Samson and my eyes are ruined
My name is Esau and I am very hungry
My name is Argaman and I am wrestling[
My name is Yehudah Ha Nachri-
come to me

Lupus -
the nights grow long and cold
the ways of men are empty
the shadows lengthen under these red rocks

Lupus -
I have sent out a raven
to search for the dove
I have planted olive trees
on hollow mountains
I have drawn my own rainbow
in the arc of the skies
come into the shadow of these red rocks

And tell me
Lupus -
why is the fire still burning in my lungs?

But no
Lupus
I shall return from Medina
I shall break the ass’ jawbone
I shall find the strength
to tear the ribbon from your heart
I shall breach the growing years

I shall stand with the old women in the market-place
counting the drops of venom in your spoken name
I shall question children about suffering
and the ages of the winds
I shall tear back the veil of darkness
with my own bare hands
I shall stand on the rooftop
and watch the winter solstice
I shall beckon as you walk below me
I shall paint the image
and the likeness
of your face
upon the smooth white face
of a new-hatched egg
I shall beg a coin to pay the ferryman
and sail the currents of the underworld alone

And I shall beg forgiveness
returning from Medina
washing the purple juices from my hands:

REPRIEVE ME
LUPUS
THAT I MAY GIVE IN CHARITY
AND LIVE AMONG THE RIGHTEOUS
You can find David Prashker at:
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http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/

The Argaman Press

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Second Genesis

To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here

In the beginning was the void:

black was the without eye
black the within tongue
black also the soul
the huge stammer of the cry
that
swelling
could not pronounce its sun

Then spoke the thunder:
the rapid thudding of drums
of fists
of fingers
upon the stretched membrane
of sound

In the beginning was the word:
and the eye
the tongue
the soul
stammered
and black was the unpronounced sun

You can find David Prashker at:
http://theargamanpress.com/
http://davidprashker.com/
http://davidprashker.net/
https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress
http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/

The illustration on this page shows "Tunnel of Light" by David Prashker. Both poem and illustration are held under copyright:

The Argaman Press

A Song of Adam

"Prometheus" - after Burne Jones

To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here

I recited what the trees had told me

the lessons I had learned from travel
and the pages of too many dusty novels

I stood to watch you kneel and hold me
I saw a cloud ambush the sun
and trap it in a tuft of heather
I turned the human zero into One

I let the eagles feed upon my liver

*

Out of the darkness an iron rain came lashing
breaking on these broken shoulders
chained amongst these sacred boulders
eyried in the hollows of these mountains

Out of the brightness a crystal rain came slashing
refracted light on glass, then crashed
on cinders washed away to dust and ash
among these dancing fountains

Then the thunder spoke again:
sound of iron melting
hard and blue as sky
sound of crystal clattering
of hearts
of mirrors
shattering
in the hurricane’s closed eye:

“Behold the spikes of wood
that nail me
to the weary rock

Behold the split claw
scratching on a blemished rock
Behold the smell of Eden burning”

Fruit hangs dead upon the branch
a maggot crawls
rotten heart from rotten heart -
aye, a worm turning

*

“For years,” she told me, “I have pressed
my fingers against frosted glass; lest
I should fail to find life sweet
I have watched the fishes dance in pools
and laid my bait for lovers - fools
who thought that they could make my life complete

“But life grows bitter
Whenever tempted now I pluck the fruit
I lay my bait for fishes, weigh their scales
gamble on their heads and tails;
and eating my own meal with boiled roots
I watch the eagles feed upon your liver”

*

The sound of metal shattering
like shields clattering
against this metal roof

The sound of falling stones
as hard and white as broken bones
against a breaking tooth

Behold! the gods have stolen fire
out of the Titan’s phoenix-pyre
unleashing its entire secret upon men

Beware! the serpent in the mire
eating fruit to his heart’s desire
washing his hands of innocence again

*

When suddenly the serpent hesitates
pausing on the edge of disbelief
Powerless against this greater evil

he tries to engage the darkness
as a temporary conscience -
and fails of course
Goodness has usurped destruction’s throne
Evil cannot even dream stalemate

Now there is only my mouth
brushing her mouth in a final tenderness
as I press my fingers against frosted glass
and pluck the fruit

How the dust eddies in the wind!
You can touch its flaking limbs

You can smell its rotting flesh
You can taste its stinking breath
You can see the eye cave in
right there
where the dust-eddied hurricane begins

Blood
fire
thunder
volcanoes cascading
lava tall as mushrooms

Thunder
lightning
bells tolling
all of it just as we had expected

“Look,” she calls
“there is blood on my apple”
holding out to me a juicy worm

Lightning miraculously breaks my chains
thunder drives the eagles to the sea

Again lightning - striking twice - again
and shattering all life and death
all knowledge, every human breath
tears down the tree

*

Behold a serpent, creeping stealthily through dust
Behold the red shadow on the rock
Behold the storm-wrecked garden
Behold a man and woman, naked
Behold the rain, still rattling its chains
But the mountains are empty now
The firmament is void
Only the archaeological remains

You can find David Prashker at:
http://theargamanpress.com/
http://davidprashker.com/
http://davidprashker.net/
https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress
http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/

The Argaman Press

Genius Loci

"Self-portrait on a happy and creative occasion"

To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here

To have been born in a land of scorching summers
where trees catch fire by spontaneous combustion
and earth expends its life-juices
in the fulfilment of a drought

To have been born in a land of earthquakes
childhood bred amid the fear and wonder
of that raging bull
who drives his horns in claustrophobic anger
through the underbelly of the earth
ramming it
assailing it
shivering in his wrath

To have been born among high mountains
to sense in one’s blood the rise and fall
the lofty heights and awesome depths
the fury of the flaming ice
to aspire to climbing
and
climbing
to scale beyond the vertigo of falling

To have been born beside the sea
to hear one’s own life
ebbing-flowing in the current
as quick as love or blood

To have been born in a land of avalanche or monsoon
of volcano or scorching desert
to witness the energies of life and death
pressed to their limits
tearing one’s soul into full awakeneness
granting one the most intimate knowledge
of the divine
the most immediate experience
of the unknown

But alas -
I was born in a city of stone
on a cold flat marsh
beneath a dull high moor
with scenery lush but undramatic

upon such still and quiet earth
the climate moderate
the landscape of my life eked out of
pastoral field and elegiac elm...

what choice then did I have
but to seek God
and to create God
in my imagination?

You can find David Prashker at:
http://theargamanpress.com/
http://davidprashker.com/
http://davidprashker.net/
https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress
http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/

The Argaman Press

Song of the Autodidact

To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here

From my mother’s death
I learned
not to crave a sympathetic breast
a loving heart
a hugging arm
to shield me when the thunder pressed
against my heart to do me harm
Pity those cradled in the nest

From my father’s treachery
I gleaned
notions of responsibility
from his agnosticism
faith
from his rootlessness
security
rebelling
as all sons do
against their fathers
until they are intellectually weaned
Pity those pinioned to the rock

From my friend’s convictions
I acquired
scepticism
from his books
ignorance
from his arguments
bigotry
from his Law
injustice
from his creeds
dogmatism
from his humility
contempt
(who after all knows anything he has not lived?)
and I rejected his daily meal
for a lifetime’s sustenance
Pity those shackled in the prisons of their knowledge

From my lover’s absence
I gained
patience
longing
abstinence
my greed unsatisfied
my lust unratified
my passion through my loneliness sustained
Pity those suckled at the breast

From my God’s death
I extracted
humanity
aloneness
independence
guilt and innocence
expiated
without the full price
of repentance
Pity those rocked in the cradle of Paradise

You can find David Prashker at:
http://theargamanpress.com/
http://davidprashker.com/
http://davidprashker.net/
https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress
http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/

The Argaman Press

Song of my Birth

"Softening The Cry"

a re-painting of Edvard Munsch by Ari Ben Aaron

To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here

Three men attacked my mother with knives
tore a gaping hole
across the width of her stomach

They wore white coats
to legitimise their butchery

Their mouths were gagged
to prevent them screaming
with her pain

Then they took me in their hands
and dragged me from her
shrieking
locked me in a glass cage
fastened me with wires

So they abandoned me there
shrieking
blood-stained
helpless

a new-born infant
already condemned to die

You can find David Prashker at:
http://theargamanpress.com/
http://davidprashker.com/
http://davidprashker.net/
https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress
http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/

The Argaman Press

The Song of the Alchemist-Apothecary (2)

To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here

I have few observations to make tonight -
and these through the wrong end of the telescope

How the motions of the planets become
diurnal
inert
and infinite
turning mechanically upon spirals
and amid vortices
and among stars

How the names come down from generation to generation
unchanged
immutable
gaining nothing
losing nothing
simply coming down

How the rod of Aaron became a stem of flowers
and then a shepherd’s crook
and then a wand
and then a devining instrument
and finally my own pen

How Tiresias went down to the Piraeus with Glaucon son of Ariston, and said a prayer to Isis, and stood a while watching the ass-festival, and imagined that he saw his own likeness, reflected in a pool of muddy water.

How I wait here tonight
as I have waited every night
(and each night is the same
yet different)
watching the orbits of the hourglass
counting the sand’s gyrations
touching the ciphers of your name
Ayishah

You can find David Prashker at:
http://theargamanpress.com/
http://davidprashker.com/
http://davidprashker.net/
https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress
http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/

The Argaman Press