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How is a song born?
Like a baby.
At first it hurts
But then, it comes out
And everyone is happy
And suddenly—
How wonderful!
It’s walking
All on its own.
How is a song born?
Like…
In the city of Warsaw such a long time ago
Two hundred children stand lined row on row
With their freshly washed faces and freshly washed clothes
The children of Poland who never grow old
In the…
The rinsed fences dry themselves in the wind.
The kneaded black earth turns softer under my feet.
Soaked soil, tousled and wanton wind,
What more can I want from you today?
It seems to me that I’ve…
God has pity on kindergarten children,
He pities school children—less.
But adults he pities not at all.
He abandons them,
And sometimes they have to crawl on all fours
In the scorching sand
To reach…
I wipe the dust off my books
with a small t-shirt, an old t-shirt
which was once my son’s. We have
more dust this summer than last,
and its composition is different…
Stones are stones.
Why did you say stones?
Why did you throw stones?
Why are you standing here, child?
What’s got into you to throw stones at soldiers?
Why aren’t you afraid?
Why aren’t you worried…
If it forms the one landscape that we, the inconstant ones,
Are constantly homesick for, this is chiefly
Because it dissolves in water.
—Auden, “In Praise of Limestone”
If beauty and truth were to…
With gentle fingers
The rain is softly
Playing sad melodies
On the black instrument of night.
We are sitting in the darkness,
Each in his own house
(The children have fallen asleep)
Listening…
When I was twelve, I read The Diary of Anne Frank.
I identified with her having to live
stories above a busy street
over a business, and having to keep quiet
for hours at a time.
I’d pad about on…
As if you could draw a line and say: below this there’s poverty.
Here’s the bread that turned black in the colorations
Of cheap makeup
And the olives in their little plate
Atop the cloth over the…