oh dear, oh dear – from this poetry festival in Mishkenot Shaananim and the Confederation you would think that poetry is dead.  After all it was mostly about dead poets.  The living poets were few and far between. There were mostly memorials and analyses or groupings of types of poetry – religious poetry, right-wing poetry, poetry about graves…

Of course I talked about dead poets, but the highlight for me was having a chance for me to read Rafi Weichert’s poems to the sound of Yair Dalal’s oud.  

He hadn’t intended to remain on the stage with me.  He accompanied Rony Sommek and then I was called to read, and I whispered to Yair to stay.  Accomodating as always, he stayed, and his music gave the lines a chance to breathe.  Ezi filmed it and promises to share it with me.  If that happens I’ll share it with you.

And even though for some strange reason the talks were squeezed into a time frame of 2:30 p.m. – 9:30, with three parallel sessions at the same time, everything was incredibly well attended.  

I can’t wait until next year when we get back to Metula and poetry becomes something living.  Maybe Ezi will find some pretty girls to photograph instead of us old ladies.