Yom HaShoah, 5773, #2

Below you will find 2 poems. The first, Derj ov a Notsee (Dirge of a Nazi) is fairly close to the original, written many years ago, and found in my Song ov Elmallahz Kumming, Bouk 6. The second, Dethsong ov a Notsee, is sort of a doppelganger to the first, emerging as I edited and re-visioned the original. They now stand together in the manuscript, and are followed by the poem/prayer I posted on April 10 for Yom HaShoah. Perhaps they stand as a 3-part suite. As ever, your critique is welcome and desired.

Derj ov a Notsee

Uppon my gut strecht tite, this song
Iz playd in aggonee and fraetful dreem
Tu the Jewish God hu redeemz the week:

By day I kried aggenst Yu;
At nite I stoud aggast in my plase.
My life I bilt, morter and trowl,
Like a masen skillfulee layeeng hiz roez.
My Sole I kaerfulee konfiend in sin,
Layer on layer, blok after blok.

Arrownd me I am konstrukted a tume.
I kownted eech blok;
I am awware ov awl I hav dun.

I bilt a skaffoeld ov merder
But I lost the faeth tu klime it.
I hav lost the will tu kontinnew this triel.
Tho kawlen aggen for annuther blok,
I am tuu week tu muve it.
Iz this wut it meenz tu be ded?
Utherz bild tu annunther werld,
But me, I am ded alreddee.

But I am not slaen.
For then I mite entiyerlee sees
And nutheeng ov me remaen.
Insted, I dekay in a wakeeng dreem,
The sellz ov my boddee,
A korrus ov fyureez and ravenz.
Layer on layer abbuv my hed.
This, my rath, iz enklozen me;
I doent see a way tu be free.


Dethsong ov a Notsee

Tu that Jewish God,
That God ov lite,
He, hu we sot tu overthro.

Uppon my gut strecht tite, this song
Iz playn, it seengen thru my sellz:

By day I fite owwer wor aggenst Yu,
Followeeng kaerfullee laed owt planz.
I, a masen layeeng my roez,
Prowd and streng in my laberz.
But at nite I stand aggast in my plase,
Akkuesd ov sinz unnaemd.

My formen ashor me awl iz well
Az I bild battelments over my hed.
Duweeng my dutee, I kownt eech blok;
I am awware ov awl I hav dun
And I am toeld ware my werk will leed.

I bilt a skaffoeld abbuv my hed.
But at nite I lak the strenth tu klime.
I kawl aggen for the next blok
But I am tuu week to hoeld it.
Wy du I lak the strenth tu klime?
Utherz klime tu thaer nu life,
But me, I choek. I cannot breeth.

O, how I dred this niettime.
Awl my bildung, it louks like klodz
Ov klay dug up and ternd by a plow.
Will nun ov my werk remaen?
Will this niettime nevver end?

Donz the day and I waken frum dreem
But I kannot rize enneemor.
Awl my werk iz kolaps on me.
An immens kaern ov broken bloks
Iz krush the aer frum my lungz.

Now I see ware my werk iz led.
Evree sell ov my boddee is a blok,
Krushen me with thaer waet.
Evree stone iz a skreemen kers.
This, the song that iz made ov me
Wile I must krush eech stone tu dust.
But will I then fiend lite?

Yom HaShoah, 5773, 2013

I just completed the main editing of the last book of my Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. Bouk 6 it is, and it is the intermittent and often interrupted story of a Jewish woman who manages to survive during the era of European nazism.

For Yom HaShoah - the day the Holocaust is eulogized each year - perhaps this poem/prayer, one of the last poems in the book, may be appropriate. A poem/prayer like this runs the high risk of being maudlin, overdone, boring, or a re-hashing of a thousand other prayers, any of which would make it worse than useless. Therefore, I beg your indulgence, hoping you will be forthright if you feel all, or portions of this poem, should not see the light of day.

A Praer for Thoze in the Dust

I bow my hed and bend my neez
And bless the Gode ov Werldz
And with the Naemz that pass my lips
I rememmer thoze in the dust.

I rememmer the grate wunz, jeenyessez,
    Perfekt in kiendness and mersee,
    Abbowt hume we will nevver reed.
    Boeth werdz and deedz ar lost.
The brillyent men and wimmen ov letterz
    Huze thots, like sperets, kall at owwer dor.
    Them hu hav no handz to nok,
    And we withowt the eerz tu heer.
I rememmer the heroez hu stoud in battel
    Hu deklaemd the monglerz ov hate.
    Them hu publeklee resited prayerz,
    Or kreyated skoolz in the gettoez.
    Thay fell by bloez and nievz and shots.
    In the eevneeng, falls a little raen,
    And all thaer blud wuz washt awway.
    Thaer goudness opend like a portel tu hevven,
    Pathz now washt awway.
And du ennee paths tu hevven remaen?

For awl ov them I pray:
    Oh Gode hu werks beyond owwer time,
    For hume owwer spase is but a shaddo,
    Restor thoze addomz ov owwer holee wunz,
    Thoze addomz full ov Yur Prezzens.
    Embed them in owwer faented Soelz,
    That eech ov them inspiyer a thowzend,
    And we fulfill wut thay began.

    Blessed ar yu, o Lor owwer Gode
    Hu rememmerz thoze hu sleep in the dust.

Sleepeeng by Day, Nietmaerz awl Nite

On April 24, 2010 I posted a rewrite of poem in Bouk 6 of The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming, Sleepeeng by Day, Nietmaerz awl Nite. With renewed work on Bouk 6, I came across that poem again, and made yet further changes. Here's the first stanza:

Nite and its deth dans. The dog men sirkel,
The tooth men, the slavver men,
The deth skwodz and wield paks.
Heer the skreem, the long traen rumbel.
A berd skreechez and the aer iz torn
By a fether, fluttereeng. Braken ov glass.
Like a razer a flashlite kuts the dark...
 

After Immij, After Karnij

This one scene stands as a late poem in Bouk 6 ov The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. The poems in this fragmented narrative pursue a series of recursive rhythms and images. This poem’s title, rhythms, and images all hark back to other poems, including the one I posted on June 7, 2012: Master Immij, Moelten Immij, which begins:

The areyanz kame down like a woolf on the foeld,
    Like a woolf in the koeld
    Lakking trueth in thaer kode.

Of course, Byron’s classic, The Destruction of Sennacherib, provides the original template of rhythm and image.

After Immij, After Karnij

The areyan kame down like a woolf on a foel,
And hiz teeth wer gleemeeng like pawlish koel,
And the foelz muther reerd, fureyus, appawld,
And krusht the woolfs hed, but her chield lay ded.

Mith Will Not Make Us Morrel

Here is another fragment, as I continue to revise Bouk 6 ov The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. These are the opening stanzas of Mith Will Not Make Us Morrel.

Warevver Elmallah ternd, thare wer throngz.
Behiend him krowdz raezd a mitee din.
Befor him thay rusht, gathereeng in a krush.
Grate lamps and torchez, shaddo and fume.

He touk a deep breth.
Hiz nostrelz bern with the aerz,
Like smoke the oxxajjen choekt him.
The werl infuezd hiz blud.

    “O how mennee ajez sins I knu Yur Prezzens?
    “How mennee jenneratenz tu retern?
    “O, louk at my werk, my eddiffis of Soel
    “Koyeld in kaos; Yur Hows, it bernz.

    “I went ammung them
    “Tu glorraffy Yur Name.
    “I passt thru thaer mist
    “Tu rowz thaer Soelz.

    “The krowdz wake up.
    “Thaer breth kwik and akrid.
    “Frum thaer dreemee deziyerz,
    “Naeshenz, thay stampeed.

    “Frum thaer dreemee vizhenz
    “Mith bekumz rellijjen.
    “Wut ar theze illuzhenz
    “Devolven frum the Trueth?

    “Wut ar theze miths?
    “Katheedralz bilt uppon them.
    “But tennamments for justis,
    “And mersee haz no hoem.”
 

Master Immij, Moelten Immij

The following poem is part of a long narrative, written as a collection of short, lyrical, semi-discontinuous image/moments. It is taken from Bouk 6 ov The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. Bouk 6 is the story of a Jewish woman’s attempts to escape the net of European nazism during the Shoah. Altho many of the images and ideas in this 36 line poem are connected to previous scenes and images in the 5 prior books, I hope it can still be read and appreciated on its own.

This poem presented particular difficulties to me because of its technical requirements. I am trying to capture the fluid, morphic nature of thought thru the fluid, morphic semi-rhyming of the poem. In the course of arriving at this stage in the poem, I have written enough stanzas, and versions of phrases, to easily quadruple its length. In this post I am presenting only the poem, itself. In my next post I will pull back the curtain, and show some of the phases of the poem’s aural, visual, and conceptual development.

As always, your critical feedback will be of great value to me.

Master Immij, Moelten Immij
    Devowwerd.
The areyanz kame down like a woolf on the foeld,
    Like a woolf in the koeld
    Lakking trueth in thaer kode.
And thay bernd owwer bouks and thay bernd owwer marterz.
    How thay glorreed in thaer fiyer.
    How thay glowwerd and thay merderd.
This land wuz goedless and I, I dident kno it,
    And I, I shoud hav fled it,
    And now insted I feed it.

    Hu ar theze spekterz?
A long-horn ram iz lasht tu a log .
    He chaenjez tu a man,
    Chaend tu my hand.
A preest undressez me in hiz rume;
    So plezzent, I swune.
    Like a beest. Unkleen.
A temptress deklaerz, "faeth will be restord."
    Swaerz she iz an empress.
    A raeth, she faedz.

    Owtlawz stok me intu my dreemz.
My Soel haz rooten deep in this soyel;
    By degreez I abzorbd it.
    Deeplee I am soyeld.
Beests and goests rize owt ov the grownd,
    Poke at my chest,
    Kroek in my throet.
I am shatterd, a meerer, a fase in eech frag.
    Sum point and akkuze.
    Sum faent with abbuse.

    Wuended by hope.
Ar yu areyan woryerz, godless and wield?
    Yur handz ar not bluddee.
    Yur glans iz not brutish.
Torn by my oen remors and disgrase,
    I kan taest my teerz
    Az I choke on my feerz.
Yu glare like a kween and deklare az I kowwer:
    ‘Servile no mor,
    ‘Yu serven ov the Lor.'

Educational tours of the USHMM

Yesterday I led a group of nineteen 8th graders through the US Holocaust Memorial Museum, on a rigorous educational tour. What a great group of students!

One of the exhibits is a room full of shoes with a 5 line poem on the wall written by Moishe Shulstein. The poem, written from the point of view of the shoes, stands as the primary documentation for the exhibit. To counterpoint the poem as a way of making it stand out, and as an exercise in helping the students filter through the vast number of images they had seen so far, I had them each write a poem, written from the point of view of an animal. They had 5 minutes to write something.

The following students gave me permission to publish their poems on my blog. Here they are, unedited. Given the short amount of time they had, perhaps you might be inclined to change a word here or there, but still, I think you’ll be as blown away as I am.

I fly over them,
they are treated so awfully
why do they cry
all I can do is watch
because I am JUST
a bird and they are
JUST Jews.
- - - Daniel Benzikri

BEE
I am a bee
I buzz and I sting
I cause so much pain
I hunt prey
I stand by letting people fall below
I am powerless
It is custom for me to cause pain,
but, is it right?
I am a bee,
I am a Nazi.
- - - Ophir Mizrahi

I have seen things no one
else should ever see. I have
seen only bad things for
the last 6 years. I have
seen bodies fall to the
ground after a loud shot.
I have also seen how
bodies have been thrown
into pits. Nearby, I
always see black smoke
coming out. today there
is no more of that.
I can hear celebrating.
There is freedom after all.
- - - Moses Goodman

Sparrow
As I fly
as free as can be
I look down,
and see a terrible thing
As I move through the ocean breeze
It troubles me what I see
I see children dying,
people crying
As the smoke flies up
to me.
I cry, for those who
can’t.
- - - Gilana Pikover

I fly over the camps
Most disgusting thing I ever saw
How can people be so mean?
- - - Tamir

I am a fox
I was spared because
of my weakness (?) and
my intelligence
I have not been killed
because of my uselessness.
- - - Matthew Levy

Kristallnacht Sonata

May 1 was Yom haShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, and Nov 9 is the commemoration date of Kristallnacht, the 1938 pogrom in Germany orchestrated by the nazi high command. Kristallnacht is often thought of as "the start" of the Shoah.

I presented the following piece a number of years ago during a Kristallnacht commemoration, and have wanted to record it ever since. I just purchased Mixcraft, an inexpensive but rather powerful software package for mixing tracks (and apparently images and video, as well). My first experiment was to produce a version of this, my Kristallnacht Sonata.

Since blogspot doesn't allow uploads of mp3's, I'm embedding a link to the sound file on my website. Here it is, but I'm not sure how it will work for you.

http://www.shivvetee.com/resources/KnachtSonata_v3.mp3

 

If you have problems with it, the recording can also be accessed directly by going to the Audio Room of my website, Shivvetee.com. Here's the link:

http://www.shivvetee.com/audio_room/shivvetee_audio_rm.html

Let me know what you think.

A poem interlude

An interlude here, before the 7th and last part of Wheeling and Dealings.
This poem is part of Gottesverdammerung, Bouk 6 of The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. It came to me as a dream, and I have thus made it a dream-poem of the main character of the story, Rivka, a Jewish woman trying to escape the nazi death net. The poem is, as it were, a communique from an inmate of a concentration camp.

Kessim
                         A dream-poem dictated to Rivka
                         by Yitzkhak, her murdered husband.

     Sum string here, a butten thare,
     A shu lase, a skrap ov kloth.
     For a seel starving, a kup ov koffee,
     Just a littel sip will be enuf.

Ower lievz wer hanging on a fals ballans,
Delereyus kreecherz dansing on a galloez.
Sum wer unlukkee and got the noos;
The unlukkeyer wunz the mob set loos.

     Sum string here, a butten thare,
     A shu lase, a skrap ov kloth.
     For a werthless life hanging in the ballans
     A littel sip mite be enuf.

Seelz dying for a taest ov redempshen.
We toild, owwer feengerz sluggish and numm.
Ower feet freezing; owwer eyz blurrd;
We obsesst on a kup, steeming blak koffee.

     Sum string here, a butten thare,
     A shu lase, a skrap ov kloth.
     Peeking owt ov owwer shrunken boddeez,
     Theze skraps koud save, or a kup ov broth.

Louking down on owwer shrunken boddeez
Frum a hiyer plase – no feer, no lakk,
We prepaerd garments for the nu arrivelz,
Thaer lievz exchaenjd for a gram ov ragz.

     Sum string here, a butten thare,
     A shu lase, a skrap ov kloth.
     A seekret trezher karreed on the wind;
     Like a wiff ov koffee, then gon aggen.

Tu restraen the helldogz, a seekret kode.
Tu tok abowt praer wuz streng ferbode.
So we kawld it 'kessim', koffee, just a sip.
The wormth, the arroma, just the thot ov it.

Kristallnacht remembered

Tonight is the night in 1938 when the German high command convinced itself that it could do anything to Jews and other minorities in its midst, and the world would do nothing to stop it. Tonight is the anniversary of Kristallnacht, the euphemism for the state-sponsored pogrom against German and Austrian Jews on Nov. 9 and 10 of 1938.

On Nov. 9, 2001 I led a city-wide commemoration of Kristallnacht in Victoria, BC, Canada. The following were my opening remarks. Although eight years have passed, my concerns are precisely the same today as they were then.

Tonight is the 63rd anniversary of Kristallnacht. In the past I have tried, in these opening moments, to welcome you, and thank you for understanding why it’s so important to remember Kristallnacht, and the Shoah. In previous years that might have been necessary, since the reality of Kristallnacht seemed so removed from our lives here in Victoria.

But this year, unexpectedly, shockingly, the differences between Kristallnacht and this moment are not so different. Once again we see hatred becoming the dominant ideology of a people. I am forced to conclude that, having failed to see and address the rising tide of hatred in the Muslim world, I/we have failed to truly learn the lessons of Kristallnacht. In 1932 the signs were plain to see and the world ignored them, and good Germans ignored them or made excuses for them. We have done the same, and good Muslims have done the same. And throughout the 30's the free world tried to appease and make concessions to the rising tide of nazism. It made good economic sense, and of course one had to be politically realistic.

And the same is true in this era. We have not wanted to believe the depth and the extent of the envy and hatred that has deeply damaged the Muslim world. We have become used to, and desensitized to the accusations, and curses, and tirades, made by ideologues. We have watched, mute or unconcerned, as the gorgeous melody and poetry of the call to prayer has become a call to hatred and to war. We have somehow come to sympathize with, or at least accept as a valid side to the argument, the claim that the Muslim people are victims, and the problem is Israel.

The problem is not Israel, and the problem is not the United States. The problem is the ideology of envy and hatred that has been carefully nurtured in the Muslim world for most of this century.

And so we looked on the events of Sept. 11, much as the world looked upon Kristallnacht in 1938, wondering, how could this happen. And in that cold November in 1938, the dangerous slope into world war turned icy and inevitable. I do not know if we are on an equally icy slope into world war right now, but if there is still a way to turn back, it must begin now. It must begin by helping moderate Muslims, who love and value democracy and multi-cultural respect, to reassert their primacy in the world-wide Muslim community.

Jews and Christians cannot go into the mosques to redirect the nature and quality of the dialog. We don’t have that authority. Only Muslims can do that. Christians and Jews cannot speak for Islam in the Muslim media. Moderate Muslims must do that. And it is not enough if they simply make their voices heard; they must take control of the debate.

If there is a Muslim in this congregation, hear me. You are not only our last hope; more importantly, you are your own people’s last hope. Germany’s name has been forever besmirched because of it’s ideology of hatred. Don’t let that happen to your faith. In the name of God, defend your honor not with hatred and violence, but through an ideology of peace and mutual respect. And may it be God’s will.

Yom HaShoah, 5769

An essay for Yom HaShoah, first composed for the commemoration of Kristallnacht, 1999, and edited today, Yom HaShoah, April 21, 2009 (27 Nisan, 5769).

A delicate, an exquisite vase, once upon a time, fell from a high window, and broke on the sidewalk. Some of the pieces were swept into the gutter. Many more were trampled underfoot. A few were picked up and analyzed, and then set aside. One or two became the central objects of a lifetime of study and devotion. The original vase could never be restored, but perhaps a new one, sometime, could be created up from the earth. What genius and what expertise would be required: to re-envision the original and understand its purpose; and then to recompose the shape, the design; and then to carefully pick the right clay and the perfect grains of sand and the pure minerals to recreate the brilliance and clarity of that one which was lost. But... who is qualified to begin such a work?

The great rabbi of Kotsk, Menachem Mendel once said: “Do not be satisfied with the speech of your lips and the promises and good sayings in your mouth, nor all the good thoughts in your heart. Rather, you must arise and do!” Well, this is all well and good, but tell me, dear Rebbe, what am I to do, and how am I to do it?

A delicate, an exquisite way of life, once upon a time, was cast from its high vantage point, and destroyed. Its individuals were swept into the gutter and trampled underfoot. Afterwards, a few people began to collect small fragments of what remained of those lives, unique shards, hoping a master artist could somehow bring them back to the fullness of their lives.

A strong, a greatly exulted culture, once upon a time, cast itself from its high vantage point, and committed suicide. Rejecting its central values, it turned monstrous and contemptible. To avoid seeing itself, it shattered every mirror. But the conscience is a mirror that cannot be shattered, and cannot be avoided. The gun aimed at that mirror will surely destroy the one that pulls the trigger.

What can we learn from this broken vase and this broken conscience? First, I believe we must understand that those that hate us Jews (and that includes those that hate our Jewish nation) are people who also hate God. They would like God removed from this world in the same measure as they would like us Jews removed. This is obvious because anyone that exults hatred and seeks genocide must also want to drive out from this world the God that will judge us for our hatred and genocide.

Second, we must realize that, so long as God is in this place, we Jews will be here too. We have been invited into the Monarch's castle, and a place has been set for us at the table among all the other peoples and nations. And having been assigned a permanent and an honored seat, we deserve to be welcomed here. But I also want to say that we Jews, like Jonah, had best defer a vacation in Tarshish, and devote ourselves to our assigned tasks: to be a priestly and a holy people, and to be a voice for justice and compassion and moral responsibility.

And finally, let me repeat: we have all been invited to the Monarch's table. Each of us is supposed to be here, and each of us has a particular, and holy, mission. Some few of us are already very clear about that. Many more of us are aware that we might have a holy mission, but we need a fair amount of help remembering it on an hourly or daily basis. There are very many of us here who have never imagined their life is of value and that they have a purpose. This world anxiously awaits their awakening. As the Kotsker taught, for them it is not enough to think good thoughts. We must arise and do. There are some of us who have lost or abandoned hope. What healing must they experience, and how can we help them? And finally, there are some who live primarily in defiance of goodness, kindness, and justice. What is the path out of such defilement?

A vase has fallen and is shattered. It can never be restored. But, everyone that is here has come with unique and special elements and tools. So let us begin, together, to create a new vase worthy of the Monarch's table.

Gottverdammerung, 4

We have now entered the main narrative of Bouk 6 of The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming: in which I explore the experiences of a Jewish woman during the Shoah. But remember, the poem, in its imagery and poetic forms harks back to prior books in this long narrative poem. In the poem below I re-use a poetic form I developed in Bouk 3, Fragmenz ov the Innonna Sikel, to emulate the rhythms in the Sumerian myth of Dumuzi and Innonna.

Bred

I had wun lofe.
I gave it tu the Baker.
My braded lofe,
He bernt tu kole.

I loukt in hiz ovven.
I see 100 loevz.
The flaemz lept owt,
And evree loef wuz bernd.

I had wun sun.
I touk him tu a villij.
I left and retern
The villij iz in flaemz.

I had 100 frendz
With sunz in that villij.
The flaemz a riething.
Eech chield in a flame.

I nawd a krust.
It tasten like ashez.
I touk it tu the Baker.
Hiz hart wuz smoke.

I nawd at my hart
In this villij ov ashez.
I kryd owt tu the Maker.
In praerz, in smoke.

Gottverdammerung, 3

In this scene, Ertha refrains Elmallah’s lament with one of her own. She has seen her authority and power progressively fade, from being a goddess (Innonna/Ishtar, Bouk 3), to an empress (Byzantine Theyodorra, Bouk 4), to the intellectual partner of a renowned philosopher (Helloweez, Bouk 5), to what? A nameless woman caught in the onrush of history.

Rivkaz Lamment

O I hav bin a goddess;
I roze up in the sky.
O I hav bin a goddess;
I rode the waevz on hi.

O gloreyus my powwer
Tu raze the towwering waevz ,
Or klap my handz in thunder
And rowz the hewman slave.

So tell me wut it meenz tu be a goddess
Karresst intu an idel made ov klay;
And tell me how it feelz tu see yur immij
Dry intu dust and slolee blo awway.

I hu spannd the ajez
Frum Innonna and Astartee
Tu Isht and Afroditee;
Hu spanned the en-dimmensha
Frum objeks withowt mass
Tu feeldz ov antee time;
Hu spanned the raenj ov ekstasseez
Frum sex tu Elmallah;
Awl my werldz ar a lump in my throet.
My wizdem frum a bouk lernd by rote.

Lamment for my chieldz
Hu ar torn in konflikt,
And lamment for me
Huze little wunz will die.
The armeez parrade in perfekt presizhen
But thay stagger tu battel drunk on liez.

Lamment for my chieldz
Hu ar torn in konflikt;
Hu defy thaer konshents
In merderres lust.
Wut will happen tu thaer boddeez
Wen thaer Soelz ar but dust?

Now tell me wut it meenz tu be a preestess
And tell me wut it meenz tu speek the trueth.
I hav a hundred boddeez and a konshents for eech wun
Wich wun am I, and wut iz the pruef?

O I hav bin a goddess
And I hav bin a kween
And I hav bin a hor
But at leest I wuz free.
And alwayz I wuz shor
I stoud abbuv the law.
O I hav bin deluded.
I hav oenlee bin in thrawl.

Lamment for me
Huze eyz ar opend.
Lamment for me
And my histeree ov liez.
I hav wun life
And a thowzend illuzhenz.
O Elloheem and Elmallah
Lamment for me.

Gottverdammerung, 2

In this scene, the Messenger, Elmallah, descends from his heavens to the woman Ertha, to once again try to lift her up. At the end of his descent...

I Had Wun Life

O, I wuz varee happee;
I livd amung my peerz.
O, I wuz varee blissful;
My werl did not kno feer.

O, I wuz full ov wunder;
The law wuz my expere.
O, all my akts wer wunderz;
My Gode wuz varee neer.

I hav wun life;
I liv 100 lieftiemz.
O, all yu paeshent aenjelz
Lamment for me.

I hav wun Konshents;
It spanz 1000 boddeez.
Yu dreemerz and misteks
Kommune with me.

Now tell me how it feelz tu be an aenjel
And tell me how it feelz tu wok with Gode.
Yu take wun step; yu kross 1000 lieftiemz;
Yu tern arownd and see them dissappeer.
And tell me how it feelz tu be exxalted,
And tel me wut it meenz tu tok with Gode.
Yu heer wun Werd; the werlz bekum tranzparen.
Yu liv 1000 lieftiemz in a Moment ov Bliss.

Now tell me wut it meenz tu be benited,
And tell me how it feelz tu looz yur site.
I bliendlee stumbel down theze naro alleez,
My shaking hand on damp and krumbling wawlz.
Wut ar the werdz tu pennatrate the darkness?
Wut ar the praerz tu open hoepless iyz?
Kan I kast down liez and brake them on the kobbelz?
Will thay shatter and retern me tu the lite?
And looking down
towards Sodom and Gomorrah...,
he saw the smoke of the land
rising like the smoke of a kiln.
-- Beraysheet 19:28

Gottverdammerung

I have begun to prepare a fair copy of Book 6 of the Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. This is long, long overdue. Here is the opening panorama. BTW, this book is tentatively entitled Gottverdammerung.

A Strobe Lite on Erthaz Werld

A man migraten tu a land, fownd dry dust.
He tilld with grate laber.
A lush garden bloomz.

An eegel bilt a nest in a windee krag
And hatcht an eg.
She fed her yung and raezd it,
Tu kast it frum the nest.
She kot it tu kast it aggen.
Her yung iz made tu sore.

A man tosst and ternz a fitful sleep.
He woud wake but be unnabel to rize.
He woud dreem ov being awwake.
He woud dreem a sereez ov awwakeningz
In eech, surprize! He iz not alreddee awwake.
The werldz swam, hiz dreemz,
En-dimmenshenz ov illuzhen awoven.

A yung liyon livd a grate plennatude.
Frum hiz abunden he enterd a nu land
A subdu it tu hiz rule.
A wield plase, full ov kunning.
Deseet, vermen, hunger.
Kan a liyon streng prevael in such?