http://www.twothirdsnorth.com/
Thursday, June 21, 2012
FIrst Publication in Sweden!
I am thrilled to be part of Two Thirds North, Stockholm University's initial anthology. My poems, Harvest and Jewish Cemetery are on pages 34 and 42 respectively.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Hlavní Nádraží
A man leans out a train window
vlak, the Czech word for train
like Viola loving her bottom lip
for a split second, vlak
He holds out a nectarine, orange
against the green enamel of the train
With his right hand he freely
pours water from a bottle
washing the fruit and again, rubbing
the skin clean with his left thumb
From across the tracks I watch him
and realize how strongly I yearn
to be cared for like a peach
plum, or even a nectarine
to be cared for like a peach
plum, or even a nectarine
Slowly, with enough care to feel
the delicacy of a woman's skin
and the softness of fruit beneath it
My train pulls away and his hand
reaches back inside to hand this gift
to a child, his wife, or perhaps just to himself
I like the idea of someone doing this
for me, a short moment of romance
at hlavní nádraží
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
July 17th
(as published in Neh Magazine, August, 2010)
In these summer evenings
the fog rolls in low from the sea
the sunset lingers purple
and the stars are visible in a high sky
You dip me down into the cool abyss
of where we aren't supposed to be
and I lull in your arms for a moment
before remembering
to come floating back
You play me, loving
the game and the challenge
and I find myself playing back
A giggle, a kiss near your ear
letting you soap my back
then leaping away
as the suds slip down my thighs
In the end, I just love your chest
and the way you swing my life
into exactly how I want it to be
And that's it, I want to dance
next to the fire but not in it
not even over it
I have what I want right here
in these hot days and cool evenings
It's good to be home for summer
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
A Visit to La Chascona
Today, I had coffee with Neruda
We sat facing each other
under the sun dripping lemon tree
His arms, the balcony, stretched
towards me, generous and round
like the stern on a ship
His eyes, were portholes
revealing an inky sea
His skin was the sea glass
softened by the waves, and he drank
me in, till I felt like wine must taste
from cerulean glass
I forgot his eyes were bulging
his chin triple, I forgot he left
each wife for a new one
And began imagining our lives together
two poets living under one decked roof
where the garden grows into a mountain
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
An American On The Road
What does it mean to be an American traveling the world in the early days of 2009? I can tell you in one word, freedom. It’s as if I can watch the world change around me, but not really to me. The economic crisis has hit many different types of people around the world, in all forms of industry, academics, and business. The perhaps overlooked affected are recent college graduates. These are times when someone with an honors degree in Literature gets a job at a an independent bookstore getting paid minimum wage, and then gets her hours cut. These are days when a double Magna Cum Laude history and politics graduate from UCLA works at his university for almost two years with no raise and is then told his hours will be cut and to expect no raises in the coming two years. These are the days when my boyfriend and I (the proprietors of the stories above) decided to quit our jobs (and America) and jump into one of the world’s lifeboats-travel.
Despite the massive repercussions of the economic crisis in America, and its reaches to almost all the corners of the world, there is one advantage for people in our shoes, the dollar. Amazingly the dollar is stronger than it has been in years, making international travel easier and more attractive. My boyfriend has an avid interest in Latin American history and has been telling me we should go to South America together since we met three years ago. We both come from families where travel is advocated. My parents are English but traveled around North Africa on a motorcycle in the late 60s, started a vintage clothing store in New Zealand in the 70s, eloped in Samoa in ‘78, then decided, because a friend mentioned they might like it, to pack up and move to Los Angeles. My upbringing was a series of family “adventure” trips. When my friends’ families were going camping, my family was loading up the ancient green suburban to drive 400 miles into the gringo deserted areas of Baja Mexico. My boyfriend comes from a similarly nonconformist family. He was raised by a single mother from a traditional Jewish home in Pittsburgh, but she lived in Norway and in Germany’s Black Forest in her 20s to learn about homeopathy before becoming a naturopathic doctor (with many celebrity patients) in California. Ryan’s childhood also included a few not-your-average-vacation traveling, like a trip to Indonesia when he was 14 that spurred his current fascination with Buddhism. In short, we were made to make this kind of escape. When we told our parents we were quitting our jobs and planned to travel without a return date in mind, neither batted an eye (well mine didn’t, I can’t say the stereotype for overly protective Jewish mothers isn’t a little bit true).
Traveling as an American in 2009 is already different than it was last year. Saying you were American abroad wasn’t always a wise thing to do. I made that mistake in Morocco, not long after the Dutch cartoon depicting Mohammed was making uproar in Muslim countries. Some Moroccans were feeling hostile towards the West, particularly America, even though we had nothing to do with the cartoons directly. Travel during the Bush era was a good time to say you were Canadian or for me to pull out my British passport. America has not been favored recently, and for good reasons. No one I know is proud of what has been done in the last 8 years, no one I know wanted the war in Iraq, or Afganistan. That is why we were all so excited for Barack Obama. Finally, we can travel and be proud of where we are from. Ryan and I specifically bought Obama shirts to wear while traveling, eager to show off our new President. I can’t imagine ever wearing a Bush shirt. Things have changed, and it’s very exciting for the American that wants to travel globally without having to lie about where they come from or make excuses for a president that is not representative of the America we love.
With this in mind, it made perfect sense that Ryan and I should start our journey in Washington DC for Obama’s inauguration. We arrived a few days before the historic event without a place to stay or tickets for anything. We spent our time schlepping our backpacks back and forth between the thin connections we had in DC, wary not wear out our welcome. We slept on floors, couches, even an apartment lobby one cold night. Sharing one sleeping bag is surprisingly cozy, but it wasn’t a romantic start to our holiday. Ryan learned that a previous employer, Arianna Huffington, was throwing an inaugural ball the night before Obama was to be sworn in. He began pulling strings and hours before the ball we got a phone call saying Ryan could come with one guest. With nothing to wear and not expecting balls along our travels, we spent a few crazy hours and too much money in a shopping mall putting together some semblance of appropriate outfits. We got dressed in 15 minutes in our friend’s bathroom, and rushed to the ball. It was star-studded, in ways that make even a Los Angeles local uneasy. Herbie Hancock, Terri Hatcher, the Jonas Brothers, Ashton Kutcher…with performances by Sheryl Crow, The Black Eyed Peas, and Sting. We were in way over our heads and spent the night pretending we belonged.
It was a fabulous party, ending only a few hours before we had to wake up to join the masses trying to get to the inauguration. The 6am Metro ride with a few other million was a memorable experience. Squished way beyond capacity the metro trains inched towards their destinations, with a stop and start method that would make anyone nauseous, even if you hadn’t been drinking tequila from the bottle the night before. When we finally made it out of the train and into fresh air the energy was incredible. People were shouting and singing, “Obama! Obama!” As we got on the overcrowded escalator it broke from the sheer weight of people. We climbed the broken stairs chanting, “Yes We Can!” On the streets it was freezing. We stood outside for about 8 hours that day, though standing in tight crowds of people is a lot warmer than standing alone. The ceremony, or what we could see of it over millions of heads and through a few trees, was beautiful. I cried frosty tears when Obama spoke. To have such an eloquent intelligent president seems astonishing to someone of my generation. His words were honest about the dire situation we find ourselves in, but also deeply encouraging. When it was over we tried to find lunch and walked off in a direction where we thought we could lose the hungry crowds. We were wrong. The lines were still out the door and even the café we chose with smaller lines ran out of bread before we could order our sandwiches. The city was in upheaval with so many extra guests. It was miraculous to watch. We ate soup instead.
Now I’m in London, putting away my winter clothes at my grandmother’s house and packing my backpack with only the necessary items for South America. Tomorrow I fly to Rio de Janeiro where I will meet up with Ryan again. The flight will be long and tedious, and because I booked the cheapest one, I’ll have to change planes three times. But on the other side of this journey is an open book of adventure (no doubt filled with its own challenges). This weekend marks the beginning of Carnival in Rio, a festival full of music, celebration and of course, debauchery. Traditionally Carnival is a farewell to certain pleasures that must be abstained from and repented during the following season of Lent. I can’t help but wonder if a festival so intent on excess and indulgence will have different meaning during one the biggest global economic crisis in history. I wonder if Lent will be symbolic for the days of prudence and abstention that are sure to come with the current economic situation. No doubt it will be a party to remember.
Despite the massive repercussions of the economic crisis in America, and its reaches to almost all the corners of the world, there is one advantage for people in our shoes, the dollar. Amazingly the dollar is stronger than it has been in years, making international travel easier and more attractive. My boyfriend has an avid interest in Latin American history and has been telling me we should go to South America together since we met three years ago. We both come from families where travel is advocated. My parents are English but traveled around North Africa on a motorcycle in the late 60s, started a vintage clothing store in New Zealand in the 70s, eloped in Samoa in ‘78, then decided, because a friend mentioned they might like it, to pack up and move to Los Angeles. My upbringing was a series of family “adventure” trips. When my friends’ families were going camping, my family was loading up the ancient green suburban to drive 400 miles into the gringo deserted areas of Baja Mexico. My boyfriend comes from a similarly nonconformist family. He was raised by a single mother from a traditional Jewish home in Pittsburgh, but she lived in Norway and in Germany’s Black Forest in her 20s to learn about homeopathy before becoming a naturopathic doctor (with many celebrity patients) in California. Ryan’s childhood also included a few not-your-average-vacation traveling, like a trip to Indonesia when he was 14 that spurred his current fascination with Buddhism. In short, we were made to make this kind of escape. When we told our parents we were quitting our jobs and planned to travel without a return date in mind, neither batted an eye (well mine didn’t, I can’t say the stereotype for overly protective Jewish mothers isn’t a little bit true).
Traveling as an American in 2009 is already different than it was last year. Saying you were American abroad wasn’t always a wise thing to do. I made that mistake in Morocco, not long after the Dutch cartoon depicting Mohammed was making uproar in Muslim countries. Some Moroccans were feeling hostile towards the West, particularly America, even though we had nothing to do with the cartoons directly. Travel during the Bush era was a good time to say you were Canadian or for me to pull out my British passport. America has not been favored recently, and for good reasons. No one I know is proud of what has been done in the last 8 years, no one I know wanted the war in Iraq, or Afganistan. That is why we were all so excited for Barack Obama. Finally, we can travel and be proud of where we are from. Ryan and I specifically bought Obama shirts to wear while traveling, eager to show off our new President. I can’t imagine ever wearing a Bush shirt. Things have changed, and it’s very exciting for the American that wants to travel globally without having to lie about where they come from or make excuses for a president that is not representative of the America we love.
With this in mind, it made perfect sense that Ryan and I should start our journey in Washington DC for Obama’s inauguration. We arrived a few days before the historic event without a place to stay or tickets for anything. We spent our time schlepping our backpacks back and forth between the thin connections we had in DC, wary not wear out our welcome. We slept on floors, couches, even an apartment lobby one cold night. Sharing one sleeping bag is surprisingly cozy, but it wasn’t a romantic start to our holiday. Ryan learned that a previous employer, Arianna Huffington, was throwing an inaugural ball the night before Obama was to be sworn in. He began pulling strings and hours before the ball we got a phone call saying Ryan could come with one guest. With nothing to wear and not expecting balls along our travels, we spent a few crazy hours and too much money in a shopping mall putting together some semblance of appropriate outfits. We got dressed in 15 minutes in our friend’s bathroom, and rushed to the ball. It was star-studded, in ways that make even a Los Angeles local uneasy. Herbie Hancock, Terri Hatcher, the Jonas Brothers, Ashton Kutcher…with performances by Sheryl Crow, The Black Eyed Peas, and Sting. We were in way over our heads and spent the night pretending we belonged.
It was a fabulous party, ending only a few hours before we had to wake up to join the masses trying to get to the inauguration. The 6am Metro ride with a few other million was a memorable experience. Squished way beyond capacity the metro trains inched towards their destinations, with a stop and start method that would make anyone nauseous, even if you hadn’t been drinking tequila from the bottle the night before. When we finally made it out of the train and into fresh air the energy was incredible. People were shouting and singing, “Obama! Obama!” As we got on the overcrowded escalator it broke from the sheer weight of people. We climbed the broken stairs chanting, “Yes We Can!” On the streets it was freezing. We stood outside for about 8 hours that day, though standing in tight crowds of people is a lot warmer than standing alone. The ceremony, or what we could see of it over millions of heads and through a few trees, was beautiful. I cried frosty tears when Obama spoke. To have such an eloquent intelligent president seems astonishing to someone of my generation. His words were honest about the dire situation we find ourselves in, but also deeply encouraging. When it was over we tried to find lunch and walked off in a direction where we thought we could lose the hungry crowds. We were wrong. The lines were still out the door and even the café we chose with smaller lines ran out of bread before we could order our sandwiches. The city was in upheaval with so many extra guests. It was miraculous to watch. We ate soup instead.
Now I’m in London, putting away my winter clothes at my grandmother’s house and packing my backpack with only the necessary items for South America. Tomorrow I fly to Rio de Janeiro where I will meet up with Ryan again. The flight will be long and tedious, and because I booked the cheapest one, I’ll have to change planes three times. But on the other side of this journey is an open book of adventure (no doubt filled with its own challenges). This weekend marks the beginning of Carnival in Rio, a festival full of music, celebration and of course, debauchery. Traditionally Carnival is a farewell to certain pleasures that must be abstained from and repented during the following season of Lent. I can’t help but wonder if a festival so intent on excess and indulgence will have different meaning during one the biggest global economic crisis in history. I wonder if Lent will be symbolic for the days of prudence and abstention that are sure to come with the current economic situation. No doubt it will be a party to remember.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
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