IMAGE OF EARTH AND QUILL

Guest Poet Debra Guckenheimer



The State of Israel

I.

Through the window of a bus
I see a nation
Immigrants-
long deer-like at the nape, body of fresh earth...
Red Sea eyes contrasting Negev skin...
shades of The Stone that built...
suited men in aristocratic uniform...
young carrying automatic weapons, torn
	    from their friends
	              families	
                      selves...
dreams in wide glowing eyes...
fashionable youth following their trends...
faces appear familiar, from America
finally home.

On another tattered bus
across the green line
army checkpoint 
national border
lives another nation.
(that’s what they say in the papers)

II.

“Do not trust in the length of years - they scan a lifetime in an hour.
It is when his deeds are placed beside him as a treasure that man survives after death.
Existence there is indeed forever.”*

Down the street
a young soldier realizing he’s lost track of time  
-and not noticing this bus needlessly following-
runs to catch the first.
His bus pauses
(just long enough for him to jump on)
and as it begins to swerve back into traffic
a sudden BOOM! roars so loud it creates only silence 
and as my bus jerks I look ahead and realize
on his number 9, just ahead
...EXPLOSION...
life. stops.
all. around. me.
piercing screams
sirens
fire
red 
flashing lights
grey
attempts
to sort out
shattered glass
body parts
identities
spilt blood
death.

And the newspapers narrate 
My Brother Killed Today
In retaliation for someone’s brother’s murder
Shot dead. Stoned dead. Knifed dead. Beaten dead.
Bomb. Machine Gun. Missile. Hand.
War 
At home.

Once I had a brother...





*The Instruction for Merlicare, written approximately 2100 BCE.
I found this quotation at the Bible Lands Museum in Jerusalem.


November, 1998


Debra Guckenheimer's Questions:

Is the beginning of the second section (after the quotation) both powerful and appropriate?

Does the quotation work?

Thank you.


Correspond with Debra Guckenheimer at
gucker@netvision.net.il
with your ideas about this poem.



The Albany Poetry Workshop