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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…
There’s a fire in the hearth
Warm and cozy as it gets
The rebbe teaches children
The Hebrew alphabet
Time with his pointed shafts has hit my heart
and split my gut, laid open my entrails,
landed me a blow that will not heal,
knocked me down, left me in lasting pain.
Time wounded me…
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…
He will surely come with songs of joy, carrying the child, in the full assembly. My friends, wait here for the bridegroom of blood.
He should be coming down the road. Why is the child so late? You…
[May] your mornings [be] blessed,
[May] your life [be] long,
[May] your enemies [be] shrouded, dead,
[May] your [hot] breakfasts [be] poured, cooled.
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…