Watching
In your eyes
When you watch me
I see all things
The way the light falls,
Reflective, mirroring
The myriad facets
Of your gaze,
Holding me in focus.
Translation
Is its own art:
To write the lyric
Of your expression
Eludes language
Not merely
My mother tongue
But every linguistic
Equivalent
Lacks
That subtle eloquence
Of your perceiving
All things in me.
Your watching
Carries a slow
Effacement
Of jagged lines
Built up in me
Until I gleam
A polished ore
In your seeking me.
The Arcades
An energy
Between us
Crackles and
Sparks,
Illuminating
Enlightening
Concealed
Potentials
Arcades
Of glass
To reflect
The currents of
The Seine.
I need sunglasses
When normalcy
And the everyday
Quotidian events
Only serve to focus
And distill
The light’s reflection
Off the mist that
Hangs in the air,
The electricity
Between us.
I breathe
And the subway
Is an ocean.
Another breath
The passengers –
Schools of fish
In rainbow colors.
Wind through tunnels –
Water rushing,
Currents foaming
Against a shore
Of seagull calls.
Life is tied to breath
As it is to water
As to subways in the City.
Astoria Hookah Bar
Music floats out
Into the room
From a corner screen.
A family in burkas
Sits calmly, languidly
Watching me smoke,
Canteloupe, what a flavor.
Is it serious or tourist fare?
The menu lists hot lemon,
Tamarind, kharob
Drinks. I could almost be
Back in Gaza, Tul Karm,
East Jerusalem.
Pink headscarf, yellow scarf,
Black scarf
And watching me
disinterestedly.
What am I seeking here,
Authenticity? A reminder
That I was once
In the Middle East,
That these countries
Exist, that fascinate me.
Am I being rude?
Orientalist?
Who am I here?
Do I exist?
If the subaltern speaks
Who will listen?
Edward Said?
And how to listen to
What is heard?
What do I hear?
Arabic strikes my ear.
Egyptian already filtered
To me through Hebrew,
Palestinian dialect,
Standard Arabic, al fus-ha.
Ornate tables
Elaborate water pipes
Ululating ballads.
Most people talk
Of mothers, sons
Daughters,
Household lives,
Work.
Does culture change
Daily lives from one
Language to another?
The screen shows
Candles, roses, a woman in red,
A man walks alone,
Dancing, but not like Bollywood.
A long slow song.
Love ballads differ
Only in details,
Accents, dialects.
Here the boys return.
On tv, a skiing accident,
A woman tilts her head,
Swishes her hair.
The boys emit English,
The women in burkas, Arabic.
Bilingual, my genre.
I added sugar to hot lemon,
No sucrazit available,
That saccharine substitute
Like “inauthentic” Israel
The melting pot simmering
Over the coals of its divisions,
Its fiery history.
La, la – no, no.
I transcribe in broken
Judeo Arabic.
Lemon warm
Breathe in, exhale,
Slow breathing to music rhythm.
I’m the caterpillar.
Cool air seeps in,
Service here is languid.
With my evil eye protector necklace
I must look Sephardic
Or just a strange hippy
Soaking up the atmosphere.
Rhythm fitting Bollywood
Seeps to me, a dance melody
Plays, stirring instincts
To motion.
Astoria Transports Me
Astoria transports me
To French Egypt bakeries,
Hookah bars, cafes.
A puff of breath
I cross to Gaza,
Yallah, yallah,
Hurry up.
Violins, accordion,
Smoke curls in air.
Couches draped
With fringed
Throw cushions.
Sweet scent
of canteloupe tobacco
& lemon essence.
Beets blood red,
Grilled.
Green ceiling littered
With colored glass
Lanterns. Dance clubs.
I love music
With a beat that calls
My body to the dance
Floor, to move
In rhythm.
I Think of You
I think of you even
In Israel
& Palestine, in cafes
and dancing, absorbing
culture, learning Arabic,
Yiddish, Russian authors.
Critical essays bring
your name
To my lips, my pen.
I inscribe you in every
medium, smoke to lyric,
folklore to theory.
I DO write about you.
I dance and breathe
everything we said
each gesture.
relaxing, sleeping,
writing, you hover
around me, take
up residence In my mind.
I write you poetry.
I Move For You.
Let the credits
Roll in Arabic.
I want to show you
How I breathed
In Israel & Palestine.
You belong with me.
I give you my stories,
A dance mix, a club
Rhythm song
I give you.
I move for you.
Discourse
We offer each other
A brother language,
A sister tongue,
Encoding in lyric,
Dialogue.
We inscribe
A pidgin dialect
All our own,
A fluid discourse
Of verbal ballet.
I am learning
How you speak,
Expressing
What you cannot say
In myriad themes
And layered meanings.
Motion
I have feared
Forces that sleep
In me.
You seek them out.
I must face this
Union
Without fear,
Or knowing
In the face of fate
I choose my course,
Moving with whatever
Moves me,
Embracing directions
That flow within me.
I breathe because
I must.
I breathe to
Cease seeking
And to find.