On This Day of Sadness: Introducing the Poetry of Bruce Black
Last Sunday, when my partner entered the kitchen and told me that Thursday (today) four bodies would be returned to Israel from Gaza, my first thought was of escape. Can I disable my modem? Shut off my phone? Can I get in the car and drive south to the deepest center of the Negev and allow the hard desert sand to swallow my torment? Can I get in a plane very early, when it is still really more night than morning and fly off to Cyprus, jump in a taxi to the nearest cove, rent a sailboat, point it out to sea and sail away toward the line where blue meets blue?
Then I remembered that Thursday is the day when I am allowed to bring the balm of poetry. Sometimes poems are simple and very sad like the poems here from Bruce Black. Ariel (z”l) and Kfir (z”l) are far from the only children lost in this war, but they were a symbol of hope when there was no hope—the place in our hearts where hope becomes a magical reality. Today, and all the days as we face the return of the hostages, that magic has been shattered. Bruce Black’s poems share our sadness, but look closely. They also provide hope renewed for what might be revealed within the fissures.
O God, Why Do You Tease Us?
O God,
why do you
tease us
with your
Presence?
You are here
one moment,
gone the next,
leaving us unsure
if we saw you.
Or if you
were just
a mirage,
an illusion,
something
we imagined.
And yet,
when we need
you most,
we turn
to you
again and
again,
trusting
you’ll be
there.
When The Smoke Clears
When the smoke clears
you can see the sky again
and the bright sun shining,
and I am filled with hope
this war will end and life will
return to what it was before.
Even when clouds pass by,
blocking the sunlight,
I still feel filled with hope
as long as I can hug Mama,
as long as my brother’s laughter
fills our tent,
as long as the smoke from Papa’s
cigarette tickles the inside of
my nose.
It’s only when the bombs explode
and I have to cover my ears
and the smoke hurts my lungs
that I feel hope
slipping away
again.
Each day there’s less
and less hope, but
it’s still curled
like a frightened kitten
waiting for the bombing
to stop
hoping one day
there will be no more
smoke, no more bombs,
no more hatred
no more war,
only the warmth of the sun
on my back, and my kitten
purring with contentment
in my lap.
Somewhere
Somewhere in Israel
is a mother whose
arms are empty, her eyes
filled with tears, not
knowing if her daughter
or son is alive, one of
the hostages taken on
October 7, who might still
be breathing and praying
somewhere in Gaza, somewhere
underground, a mother still waiting
for someone to rescue her child
from this nightmare, waiting
for someone to wake her and
tell her it’s all a dream,
and look, here’s your child,
still alive, waiting for your
embrace, a mother still hoping
for the hostages to come home.
Somewhere in Palestine
is a mother cradling
the corpse of a daughter
or son who will never
run smiling into the
sunlit courtyard to
kick a soccer ball again
or whose laughter
like the joyful sound
of bells will never
be heard echoing
across the playground
now in rubble
and ash.
Somewhere in America
are mothers weeping with
the mothers on the TV news
each night, thinking it could
have been us, could have been
our children, could have been
our bodies mutilated, stolen,
raped, buried beneath the bullets
and rubble, could have been us
trapped, bombed, imprisoned,
interrogated, forced to leave our
homes and become refugees
within our own land.
Somewhere there is peace
or at least a dream of peace,
somewhere there are people
who can live in peace without
fighting and killing each other,
somewhere there are the sounds
of children laughing and a mother’s
cry of joy to hold her child again,
somewhere….
Peace Is A Mirage
We’re here together
on this planet earth
for the briefest of time.
Those we love are gone
in the blink of an eye,
and time is running out.
Peace is a mirage
no one seems able
to grasp.
How long will it take
for us to learn to stop
waging war?
How many have to die
before we come to our senses
and learn to live together?
Take a moment
to listen to the
bird song.
Feel your heart beating
beside the person
next to you.
Inhale and savor
your breath in
this moment.
Try not to
miss it,
this one life.
Embrace
those around you,
fellow travelers.
Remember, you are
on this planet earth.
Bruce Black is the author of Writing Yoga (Shambhala) and editorial director of The Jewish Writing Project. His poetry, personal essays, and stories have appeared in numerous publications, including The Mid-Atlantic Review, Write-Haus, The BeZine, Poetica, Lerhaus, The Reform Jewish Quarterly, and elsewhere. He lives in Highland Park, IL.
Websites: The Jewish Writing Project, Wordswimmer, Writing Yoga
Delights!
Five Tiny Delights:
Standing with my wife in a field of fireflies on a summer night
The gentle sound of spring rain on the porch roof
A chocolate frosted donut and a cup of coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts with friends on Sunday morning
Picking apples with my daughter on a crisp autumn day
My brother’s laugh
The blank pages of a new journal filled with possibilities
Five Tiny Jewish Delights:
My wife blessing the Shabbat candles
Exploring the narrow alleyways of the Old City for the first time
The warm embrace of my tallit draped over my head before the start of prayer services
My grandfather’s Viennese apple strudel on Rosh Hashanah
Watching the ribbons of smoke unfurl from the Hanukkah candles when they burn out each night
Thanks again for introducing me to another wonderful poet. My heart is broken over so much. I would run, but it's everywhere, this danger, this sadness. Wherever there are human beings.
Beautiful, thank you