This afternoon at a panel on Whitman, the chair asked a question about poetry and war. And we all answered properly, about Whitman and Neruda and more. But I kept thinking about the unthinkable. I was thinking about the fact that soldiers in our army have other professions and hobbies and there could very well be poets like Owen or Sassoon who write and die in war. And when I got home the news came that the poet Amiram Cooper died in captivity.
I saw it last night but it didn’t hit me. An 85 year old poet from Nir Oz.
I can’t bring myself to call my exiled friends whose homes are burning now. It will have to wait until morning. Who knows – maybe those houses have been saved. I know their hearts have burned up, though.
it’s beginning to look a lot like an agreement, a chance for both sides to lick wounds. The possibility of captives being returned, homeless able to rebuild their homes, and maybe work out an agreement to help create a palestinian state – should make me feel wonderful. But I don’t trust anyone or anything right now. I’d be happy to see some people out of the government, but I fear they have tasted power and have built up their own alternative militia.
If it is possible that Hamas accepts this deal, if it could possibly happen, we could all be in a different world.
When President Biden said these sentences, I started to cry. I don’t believe it will happen, but at least there’s a chance…
“I want to level with you today as to where we are and what might be possible, but I need your help: Everyone who wants peace now must raise their voices.”
“Let the leaders know they should take this deal, work to make it real, make it lasting, and forge a better future out of the tragic terror attack and war.”
“It’s time to begin this new stage, for the hostages to come home, for Israel to be secure, for the suffering to stop.”
“It’s time for this war to end, and for the day after to begin.”
Don’t get all excited. The only good news is that Ezi checked the availability of the medication I needed and it turned out there was a pharmacy nearby that had it. That’s the only good news I know about in this country. Everything else is caving in.
Not true. While all the borders are dangerous in different degrees, and many people who were once friends are now delicate acquaintances, we manage to hold celebrations (like Ezi’s birthday party and my long-delayed book launch and many little blessings.
And maybe all is not lost for our wonderful but lost people. The government may just fall apart and a provisional government installed instead. Or the shock of an uncontrollable war may make even our silly leaders wake up.
I mean we do have some good leaders whose hands have been tied but are fine people who in the right environment would accomplish many good things for all the people of this area. Give you examples? I’d start with our president, who has been absolutely castrated by this administration. He went up to Metula the other day to visit the little core of administrators and fighters who remained there when the town was evacuated. Then I’d point out the recently elected chair of the Labor Party who is bravely picking up the pieces of the left and may help to give us a more positive vision of our country. And finally, there’s an enormous number of fine people who are braving through this mess with smiles and powerful wills.
Sometimes memories come back to a person when they are least expected. In preparation for one of the skits being prepared for my poetry evening next week, my mind keeps going back to the first time I met Yehuda Amichai, and I couldn’t understand why. The first time we met we were supposed to read at the Nassau County Museum, and the host took us out for Chinese. When we got to the fortune cookie, Yehuda opened his and pretended to read, “In an hour you will be hungry again.”
The poem:
THERE IS NOTHING TO EAT What is missing is far more present than what is here as if there exists somewhere an ideal fridge in some ideal kitchen that contains all food for all hunger