Poem 1 - "The Face of God"
The Face of God
Avigayil Rosensweig
"לְאָדָם מַעַרְכֵי-לֵב וּמֵה' מַעֲנֵה לָשׁוֹן"
(משלי טז א)
(Proverbs 16:1)
I
drew the face of God:
Indeterminate
ink lines
Bleeding
colors through white computer paper,
My
fingers small and clumsy,
Markers
scattered across the kitchen table
Sticky
with milk splashes and slick from a
Then-recent
spill of paint varnish,
The
table sunlit, the wallpaper curling at the edges,
A
drawing as formless as anything that can be said to have shape,
As
though I were trying to draw the wind
Blowing
over the face of a primordial world,
Even
at that age having somewhat internalized
That
Maimonidean principle of Divine incorporeality.
My
mother said it was beautiful,
And
my brother said, "Don't be silly.
You
can't draw a picture of Hashem."
Once
I asked my father
The
meaning of the ten sefiros in kaballah.
"Theosophic
emanations," he said.
I
said, "Oh."
Another
time, I said, "Do I really have to spell 'God' G-slash-D?"
Troubled
by the gaps it made in the page,
How
unlike a word it seemed
Unaesthetic
to my eyes.
And
he said, "You don't have to bother.
You're
writing in English, right?
At
most it's considered a nickname.
Not
a proper name of God."
Which
means I speak of God in a foreign language
My
native tongue that is:
English.
All
my life speaking the wrong language.
And
while singing Yedid Nefesh
When
we say, "reveal Yourself, my Beloved,"
At
the word "chavivi":
My
Beloved
Always,
as if by instinct, I pronounce it "chabibi"
In
the Arabic sense,
Lips
closing on that one consonant,
Turning
a declaration of longing
Into
a slap on the shoulder,
That
most informal expression of endearment,
Voice
nonetheless rising in supplication.
I
don't really know why.
Isaiah
spoke of a hidden God,
But
Maimonides said He could be found in nature,
Rav
Soloveitchik in the law,
Rav
Kook, seemingly, in everything.
Fridays at noon my dad swapped out
A skullcap for a baseball one,
Visor folding tight around his eyes,
Shabby sneakers pounding asphalt,
Throwing arm winding up out of
The kind of loose, short-sleeved button down
Worn by rabbis and old men.
Friday nights, eyes pulled open against drowsiness,
In the glare of lamps
On timers clicking towards darkness,
We spoke about what faith was and what it wasn’t
And if it included people, too.
“The lips of the righteous speak in the grave,”
He said.
By which he meant that he had seen the face of God
In the faces of men.
When the lights blinked out
And the candles guttered on the table,
He said, head lolling against the couch,
“The most important thing is to be God-fearing,
But you know that, right?”
I rolled my eyes but answered honestly,
Yes, Abba.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHonestly, I think this poem is beautiful. Really the only comment I have is that which was mentioned in class which is that the details are gorgeous but that every detail should be significant to the overall piece and should earn their place in the poem. Especially in the first stanza which feels disproportionate to the rest of the poem. It deserves extra weight because it is the frame of the rest of the piece but it also feels a bit imbalanced right now. Overall I love this.
ReplyDeleteThis poem is great. I love poems that talk about trying to define the indefinable, and I think you did it beautifully. In truth, my favorite parts were the lines that stayed away from excessive description. Lines like "All my life speaking the wrong language" were effective because they were simple and blunt. I also think you could have ended differently. It's nice to parallel the opening but I would like to see how you come up with something else.
ReplyDeleteThis is awesome. I especially like the thought behind intertwining the voice of the child; the voice of retrospect; the blunt, big words; and the cultural references. I think it melds the child of the past with the child still in you -- the face of G-d and the questions that remain as vast and undefinable as ever. Maybe some pruning of details could be helpful, but the expression in this poem really moved me.
ReplyDeleteAvigayil, well done (!). Stunning. This poem reflects your 'chops' as Miller said in class. I won't comment so much, first because everyone else basically voiced all my comments/ suggestions/ praises (reduce the description) already.
ReplyDeleteOne thing I noticed is that the simple, blunt lines of telling instead of showing work because you've set up the line through all your other showing/ descriptions. For example: The line "I don't really know why", which is told very bluntly, doesn't fall flat because you've spent the previous lines expressing a habit in great detail. The contrast between a lot of description and then a blunt one liner feels fresh, striking. Same with the contrasts between descriptions of a kid's drawing and the Maimonidean principle/ your mother calling it beautiful.
Well done (*clapping*).
Crashing this blog to say that this is awesome, in my totally uneducated opinion.
ReplyDelete(This is Chani- no idea what weird pretentious phase of my life the name is from)
Oh my gosh gorgeous!
ReplyDeleteI was not in class to hear the critique but wow. Very unique. My favorite is "Isaiah spoke of hidden Gd " stanza. I like how you tied in different figures . well thought out!
I offered most of my comments during workshop and after class, but reading this again, something else occurs to me. This poem might work better structured differently. As an experiment in line order and arrangement, I have taken the liberty of re-arranging this poem and cutting a couple little parts. I offer this not in an effort to say "you must do this!" but rather to give you something to think about--how a different order inflects different meanings and puts pressure on different parts of the poem. Consider:
ReplyDeleteThe Face of God
"לְאָדָם מַעַרְכֵי-לֵב וּמֵה' מַעֲנֵה לָשׁוֹן"
(משלי טז א)
(Proverbs 16:1)
I speak of God in a foreign language
My native tongue that is: English.
All my life speaking the wrong language.
While singing Yedid Nefesh
When we say, "reveal Yourself, my Beloved,"
Automatically, at the word "chavivi":
My Beloved
As if by instinct, I pronounce it "chabibi"
In the Arabic sense, lips closing on the consonant,
Turning a declaration of longing
Into a slap on the shoulder,
That most informal expression of endearment,
Voice nonetheless rising in supplication.
I don't really know why.
Isaiah spoke of a hidden God.
Maimonides said He could be found in nature,
Rav Soloveitchik in the law,
Rav Kook, seemingly, in everything.
Yet, many days,
I seem to have gotten no further than
Scattered markers in a sunlit kitchen,
A scribble,
The simplicity, and the ignorance:
controlled chaos of a child's scrawl.
Clumsy, indeterminate lines
Bleeding through white computer paper,
Markers scattered across the kitchen table
Sticky with milk splashes, slick
From a then-recent spill of paint varnish,
The table sunlit, the wallpaper curling at the edges,
Baskets stapled beneath the ceiling rim,
Marker trailing over a paper skyline:
A drawing as formless as anything
That can be said to have shape,
As though I were trying to draw the wind
Blowing over the face of a primordial world.
I really enjoyed reading the amazing descriptions of your vivid childhood memories and your feelings on the subject of G-d. I would say: maybe clarify more on the Scholars in this poem? It seems to be more of a vague part in the poem with little interpretation. Otherwise, great poem!
ReplyDelete"Maimonides said He could be found in nature,
DeleteRav Soloveitchik in the law,
Rav Kook, seemingly, in everything." Maybe add more about the Scholars in connection to your main subject?
Love, love, love this poem.
ReplyDeleteSo. Getting into it. The first stanza has a few extra lines which I think begin to detract from the brilliance of this piece- maybe cut them back to lay bare the deeper "wow" moments here. like "the baskets stapled to the rim"- I don't think that adds enough to stay, when your description of the markers and the sunlight and the sticky table and the unclear varnish is already so clear and excellent.
"A drawing as formless as anything
That can be said to have shape,
As though I were trying to draw the wind
Blowing over the face of a primordial world,
Even at that age having somewhat internalized
That Maimonidean principle of Divine incorporeality."
This, this is pure genius. You took us from child to adult to a philosopher in less than a complete stanza. That's NUTS. You go from formless, to discussing a primordial soup of a world- a historian or scientists- and then on to Maimonidean rejection of anthropomorphizing and assigning shape to God. In this act, you give yourself enormous credit as a child, claiming to recognize complex philosophical principles so early on.
"My mother said it was beautiful,
And my brother said, "Don't be silly.
You can't draw a picture of Hashem."'
here, just like that, your self image comes crashing down, and we see you as a child once more. You mother thinks its beautiful, as moms do, and your brother thinks its silly, as brothers do. With just those words, you restore the natural balance and return the reader to a semblance of normalcy after their brief foray into religious philosophy.
You do that throughout the poem, pulling us in and out of your head, flipping between child and deep thinker, without ever telling us so, but never having to. Straight up genius.
Updated
ReplyDelete