November 14-20, 2005: Denise Noe and Helen Bar-Lev

Denise Noe and Helen Bar-Lev

The Song of Ruth & Naomi This is the song .of Ruth & Naomi .Woman followed .woman freely Living in the desert .Each carried .a pocket of sea .Slippery cavern .called femininity When Ruth .loves Naomi .she loves softness, .fine silver hair .the creases .in multiplicity      Ruth cannot fear .the wrinkling .of her skin, .the graying of hair Aging holds no terrors .for Ruth loves Naomi & loves what she will be A good woman teaches a woman .to love .her femininity A good woman teaches a woman .confidence .joy & .ecstasy Female body .warm & .warmly best Oh Naomi! Teach the fountain, .the wish & .the crest! When Naomi loves Ruth She loves herself .in memory .Hills newborn & .Flesh supple Black jungle .And the red sea .parts in privacy Ruth’s miracle .for Naomi Published in Wicked Exodus 33:23: “And I will take away mine hand, and thou shalt see my back parts: but my face shall not be seen “ Why God Mooned Moses Exposing ass, the place of punishment and defecation, is cross-culturally recognized as an act of impudence When God said to Moses, “My face cannot be seen by human eye” God’s best friend watched, his heart full of joyous anticipation, as God pulled His hand away and His Holy Buttocks filled the sky Burlesque has no tease when it is redeemed by Divine Providence. Published in artisan She had a name .but I don’t know it she had a name .but I don’t know it though all know her Potiphar’s wife .the man deceived .the role betrayed she studied her mirror .skin wilted       .chin sprouting weeds sagging breasts .birth-scarred belly .and a butt as big  .as a chamber pot Potiphar’s wife (she had a name .but I don’t know it) was a woman for whom .the time of red wine .had died no swollen stomach .no false child Potiphar’s wife (she had a name .but I don’t know it) saw Joseph .supple skin and       .hard muscles felt her private Nile .warm and moisten, .then ache .and flow Joseph curdled at .her lust; she was .Potiphar’s wife Potiphar’s wife (she had a name .but I don’t know it) thought Joseph’s eyes .were mirrors .mean and merciless did Potiphar thank .his wife when she .poured his wine or .stirred his soup? did he buy her gifts, thinking: .she would like this– .no, this one instead, did he call her .by her name? did he even know it? Israel, God-Clutcher Wrestling .face to face .with God Jacob’s hands .grip His flesh .knees thrust .beards tangle Close .as a kiss Jacob’s hip .breaks and .day breaks But God holds .still holds .the broken man .Jacob, who .holds Him Unnamable, He .names Jacob: .Israel, God-Clutcher “For Israel, God-Clutcher, .you wrestled with God .yet .held onto .your flesh, you saw My face .yet .held onto .your life “ Broken .yet .holding life No longer limping .but .still scarred Remembering .the face .of God Close .as a kiss This country, .the one He .named: .Israel, God-Clutcher

Paris in the Autumn O sweet peace loving French moralistic to the core of your essence how you love to preach to us for our infamous intolerance of terrorism for our suspicion of our cousin nations their innocent outbursts justified in violence victims of cruel circumstance You have become a bit obnoxious in your self-righteousness assuring us of their noble intentions providing the best of medical attention to the emissary of the devil who was the cause of it all And so in exchange for your hospitality and with a flourish of Middle Eastern gratitude your cities today are enflamed World War II enemy plans at long last fulfilled “Is Paris Burning” is no longer a question no longer lives in the imagination of a terrible enemy is now an historical novel begging to be rewritten You, historical defender of liberty, brotherhood and equality of all the world’s multitudes except the Jews (of course if we take a longer look these three graces do not seem to have lived up to certain demanded international standards) even though you grimace in disgust every time we defend our existence Is it possible that you might now take a clue from the rioters’ countries of origin who would, under similar circumstances without introspection or time-consuming hesitation without the inconvenience of missing a dinner with suave savoir-faire by a few unfortunate heads staked in the square restore order in a few ordinary moments So now all eyes on you France the tolerant whatever you choose to do however long it takes you to continue to brew in your flaming stew debating proper solutions over fresh baguettes wonderful  wine and camembert cheese Please next time we stop a supposed-innocent at a roadblock or a department store or a market do attempt to be nonjudgmental try to avert your criticizing eyes divert them inward where they have more important matters to attend An October Thursday Morning We should have been tired last night but weren‚t were not in bed yet at midnight but chose not to hear the news Yet now it is early morning Thursday sleep has been short and dreamless The pillow does not give as much comfort after an attack The body aches with the strain of waiting only the ears are not exhausted We have a cousin in that city who was at the market a few hours before the attack and heard the explosion from her flat And of course you used to go there often when you lived in the adjacent town prior to the intertwining of our lives They were all our ages, the five who died beyond their prime and having contributed already to society, this is no tremendous tragedy, and the country sighs with collective relief that the children were all in school One of the dead was Arab, why not? One has the same last name as our neighbours upstairs Is that why they were so quiet last night? Thursday morning hugs are suspended the telephone rings it is the man from the internet provider to address a question Business as usual and five more funerals The Golden Moth You were a moth magnificent wings a regal golden yellow black-flecked to accentuate your uniqueness one night you flurried fearless into the lights of this home Fluttered from the clutches of one curious cat to another they juggled you and teased you but you refused to play into their paws rescued, you were banished to the kindness of the outside darkness The next night you were back into the claws of the cats again escaped by the grace of some sort of moth miracle You were so beautiful we cheered your tenacity Then you were gone we were relieved your pinpoint brain realized this property was off-moth territory But we found you foolish moth wings still intact singed dead in an instant of moth madness burned by a lightbulb irresistible Almost like a soldier returned home after battle killed crossing the road while running an utterly mundane errand