fahye: ([other] this is the day)
Fahye ([personal profile] fahye) wrote2009-02-26 11:30 pm
Entry tags:

Josefov

This one has been waiting, patiently, for a poetry mood to strike. Since -- well, since Prague.

I feel like maybe it's not quite my story to tell, but the experience was mine to react to. And this is how I react.


Josefov

seven seven two nine seven is not a prime number;
divisibility makes it easier to handle.
easier to bear. hold the number in your mind
and focus your eyes closer than the wall,
(choose a year closer to the present)
such that no one name can be seen in its entirety.
easier to handle.
seven seven two nine seven --
consider the number instead of the names
and see if anything appears,
if any ghosts slide into coherence.

the question of death is: how do we defeat the past?

the synagogues remember,
and the churches remember their roots.
they understand that to name something
is to achieve mastery of it. and so:
rose windows, and walls adorned with the names of the dead.

in the beginning was the word.
in the beginning was the name.

the synagogues remember:
commit your words to ink and they take on meaning,
fold them up small
and hide them in boxes
and wear them against your skull
and nothing can ever be truly forgotten.

name something and it will live forever,
give it words and it will breathe.
from the earth and clay create a man
and then add the written word,
against the walls of the head,
a self-contained faith.

a yellow circle is the mark of shame:
simpler than words. easier to bear.
when all you have are symbols
there are no lines to read between.
language is man's imperfection,
man's expression of God's speech,
and the question is:
what if the words we write are wrong?

perhaps if the thoughts of our creator
were ever to fit into our minds --
perhaps we, too, would go mad.
brittle things of earth and clay,
perhaps the words would be removed from us.
for our own sake and
for the sake of the world would we be left
wordless; lifeless; safer.

the churches gather to themselves
the word made flesh;
a word made into a man
and killed for the sake of life.

the churches remember:
we should not build our towers too high,
else our words be snatched away.
one conclusion is thus
that our creator thinks not in terms of deep graves
but high architecture.

the question is: how should we remember the dead?

words on graves that nobody can read
(erosion, and language barriers)
and thousands lie unnamed beneath the trees
that throw their roots down
through the years, and through the dead;
a very large number. undivided. dense.

roots in the mud of the city,
and the mud of the river,
which rose up to protect its people
because it had words to tell it so.
and on the grave of the man who created this life
(the human architect;
presuming to the thoughts of God)
are laid tiny pebbles, and tiny bits of paper
on which are written words
that nobody reads.

in the beginning --

in the future we will find the right words,
in the future we have been promised life.
in the present we stand divided,
speaking in tongues;
in the past
perhaps it is safer to be dead.


[identity profile] twoskeletons.livejournal.com 2009-02-26 05:42 pm (UTC)(link)
<3333333! I got chills multiple times reading this poem. Augh, the whole thing with language & naming (golem!) & god's speech and man's words & wordlesness=lifelessness=SAFER (omg) & god thinking not in deep graves but in high architecture jfdlafjds
ext_21673: ([other] this child I would destroy)

[identity profile] fahye.livejournal.com 2009-02-26 11:15 pm (UTC)(link)
YES GOLEM. Honestly I didn't know how many people would be familiar with the story of Rabbi Low's golem and how it was made out of the clay of the Vltava and all that, and poetry is hardly the most straightforward medium, but I walked out of the Jewish Cemetary and the Pinkas Synagogue with my head spinning and knew I'd have to write it all down into SOMETHING.

<333 Chills! Excllent reaction. Thanks.

[identity profile] lilith-lessfair.livejournal.com 2009-02-26 07:09 pm (UTC)(link)
I like it very much; the imagery of man made of clay and man made of word is fascinating and very well done. Your discussion on language reminds me of this --

Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still.

T. S. Eliot, Burnt Norton, Four Quartets

And, humbled by your work and shamed by Eliot's, I push my own little bit on life, death and numbers forward with a pencil. Were I in person, it would be hidden under a sheet or two of paper.

A number
Like a name
Identifies
Categorizes
Marks
(in dark ink
on paper;
in dark ink
on skin)
Divides like
From (seeming)
Different.

It doesn’t
Tell the full
Story.

It doesn’t
Reveal the face
Recount the history
Tell whether
It belongs to
Mother, Father,
Sister, Daughter,
Son
It records
The fact of birth.
It remembers --
Or is it commemorates --
Death.
Distilling the time
Between those points
Into a series of digits.

Rough and derivative (with little rhythm) and a poor gift for you, but there you are.


ext_21673: ([ncis] nethqadash shmakh)

[identity profile] fahye.livejournal.com 2009-02-26 11:20 pm (UTC)(link)
I have a feeling that I might have plundered Pratchett's book Feet of Clay when it comes to the thematic discussion of golems, but thank you! I'm glad it worked for you, and hearing that my writing inspired someone else to write is always really flattering. And I recognise the feeling in your poem; that picture is of the wall of the Pinkas Synagogue, and when I was standing there I tried to pick out individual names and recognise them as a whole person with a whole person's life and complexity, but it quickly became overwhelming because the names went on forever. Thus: focusing on the number instead.

And I think I've come across that little section of Eliot's before, and loved it.

[identity profile] lilith-lessfair.livejournal.com 2009-02-26 11:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Pratchett is ripe for plundering and I thought all writers were scavengers (or pirates, if you wish to be more daring), so I say plunder away. It works well within the framework of your poem; oddly and, perhaps inappropriately, I found myself thinking not simply of the golem and its odd relevance to Genesis, but also of Wilde and the man you make of words. And have been thinking about that most of the day and wondering why my mind put those things together.
I thought you might like the Eliot; your poem seemed particularly relevant to Four Quartets as well at least in terms of the discussion of words and their adequacy (Is that even a word?).
Thank you for the explanation of the photo, it is striking and truly overwhelming. I'd like to see it in person.
And I'm off to bury my head back in the sand for having written and posted very bad poetry.


[identity profile] highlyeccentric.livejournal.com 2009-02-26 11:28 pm (UTC)(link)
...

I love your mind. This is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
ext_161: girl surrounded by birds in flight. (can you hear it?)

[identity profile] nextian.livejournal.com 2009-02-27 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
Your ending is -- yes. This is it. This is how it goes. I love how the opening slides into comprehensibility with the rest of the poem, I love roots in the mud of the city/and the mud of the river, I love the difference between how the churches mourn their dead and how the synagogues do, and the similarities.

I do think the poem reflects your hesitance about it -- I think you stray into statement when you wouldn't normally.

It's funny that you bring up the yellow circle (blank) because I associate the yellow with JUIF or JUDE so strongly ... all the wordlessness is interesting to me because it's -- both my experience and not. Silence is a big motif of the Shoah in Jewish writing but even when I can't read a Hebrew text it doesn't feel -- impenetrable to me? It's like the reading equivalent of hearing someone in the other room. Silence is a motif because we can't bear to hear what they're saying, you know? It's a scar; it's not an absence. I'm sorry I'm rather babbling.

If it's all right with you, I'm going to make a post with Emma's Favorite Jewish-Themed Things for Purim, and I'd love to include this...?
ext_21673: ([other] kafka on the shore)

[identity profile] fahye.livejournal.com 2009-02-27 01:16 am (UTC)(link)
*nods* You're right, I think I paid much less attention to the fluidity of the images and the rhythm of the lines than I normally would, because I was so careful to make sure that the words said what I wanted them to say. Maybe with a lot of tweaking it would become more natural-sounding, but I don't mind it as it stands.

Your babbling is great! Obviously as a cultural Anglican in Australia (where the Jewish culture is much less...visible, I think?) I have very little insight into the meanings of these things to someone who was brought up with them. I assume that Jew, even a cultural Jew, would have a very different experience in Josefov to me, but I'm intrigued that you found these familiar motifs in the poem.

!!! Of course, I'm flattered.
ext_12491: (s. tan: suitcase)

[identity profile] schiarire.livejournal.com 2009-02-27 02:41 am (UTC)(link)
I found this really difficult to read. I also think it is, not only technically, bur above all technically, one of the best things you have ever written.
ext_21673: ([deadwood] if ye break faith)

[identity profile] fahye.livejournal.com 2009-02-27 09:54 am (UTC)(link)
I'm not sure you know exactly how much that means to me, my dear.

Thank you.

(Why...?)

[identity profile] unravels.livejournal.com 2009-02-28 07:55 pm (UTC)(link)
This is beautiful! Though I feel like I'm missing a lot in not being familiar with a lot of your references here. And I've never been to this particular place - but I'm not sure that matters. The poem is moving whether you've been there or not, and maybe gives me a hint of what it's like. That last stanza is the sort that leaves me gaping.

[identity profile] azraeljt.livejournal.com 2009-03-04 10:08 pm (UTC)(link)
wow...

I had to read it a few times to get a full grasp of the symbolism, it's hard to believe that something that I cannot (superficially) relate to, (in that I have almost all my knowledge of Judaism comes from Christians) can move me so much.

I had forgotten I knew the story of the Golem, and for the life of me I still cannot remember where/when I heard it. It must have been a long time ago,and I must have been young, but I now feel the need to go back and re-discover it.


Beautiful, descriptive, and I love the metre of it.
and there is a shiver in my lower spine, and prickling goose-bumps on my forearms that tell me whenever i read/hear something special.

ext_21673: (Default)

[identity profile] fahye.livejournal.com 2009-03-05 01:04 am (UTC)(link)
Thank you, hon, this comment really means a lot to me :) Hearing about people's emotional reactions is one of the best kinds of feedback I can hope for.