By Eileen Wingard
LA JOLLA, California — Jerry Greenspan, a youthful looking senior with a keen sense of humor began the May 9 evening of Jewish Poets—Jewish Voices. He is a founder of the Coronado Scribes.
One of his poems, an ode to his home town, is printed below. The next featured poet, Sylvia Levinson, has been writing for 25 years, with many prizes and publications to
her credit. She read with dramatic flair. Below is one of her poems, published in her book, SPOON.
Gabe Lehrer, who cut a handsome figure, standing with his guitar, sang several of his original songs, plus the Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. His lyrics were clearly enunciated and reminiscent of the folk singers of an earlier era. An example follows.
After the featured poets, the open microphone included five local poets
reading in English and Russian.
It was an evening which revealed the wealth of local talent and the poems and songs were savored by all who filled the thirty-some seats in the Astor Judaica Library.
I Live in Coronado and You Don’t
By Jerry Greenspan
I don’t know what’s wrong with the folks in Imperial Beach.
They don’t have as many color-coded trash containers,
No theater or art school for special students,
And the houses aren’t nearly as nice.
We are more special than your average US town.
Of course all Americans share
In our national exceptionalism, but really
It’s just that Coronado is extra-exceptional.
Just look at our bridge.
Built to create permanent lane-changing employment.
We have the most elegant police station in the country,
And military ships armed with nuclear deterrents dock there.
All our lawns are very green
But soon they will all be artificial,
Showing our level of concern for the environment.
And—our average family includes 1.5 dogs.
*
Mindful Soup
By Sylvia Levinson
While onions and garlic are sautéing,
And I am drawing fresh, filtered water,
A woman is walking many meters
To dip a bucket into a well
At a refugee camp in Uganda.
While slicing organic carrots and celery
Carried home from the farmer’s market,
A four-year-old boy and his six-year-old sister
Are sorting food scraps
In a garbage heap in Managua.
In goes clean barley, scooped from the grocer’s barrel
While a girl in Myanmar, a woman in Somalia,
Are stirring a kettle above an open fire,
Rice gleaned from their village’s diminishing crop,
By cyclone or drought, by soldiers torching fields.
Into my garden for chard, spinach, basil
Green and fresh, planted by my own hands,
While the child in Sierra Leone, whose
Hands were severed during civil war,
Begs in the streets.
With each ingredient, I become smaller.
The pot simmers, I stir, taste, season.
A roadside bomb kills an American soldier and two
Iraqis, the streets of Tijuana splatter with blood.
A woman in Congo, left to bear her rapist’s child
*
Tiny Elephant Man (Hathi’s Song)
By Gabe Lehrer
You could eat a horse
With your seven teeth
You liked the chicken liver
But still preferred the beef
But now your body’s out there
Trapped in the monsoon
And you, are you sleeping?
Or are you on the moon?
You were such a connoisseur
You’d sniff the plants like wine
But before you made your choice
You always took your time
Now, your body’s out there
Trapped in the monsoon
And you, are you sleeping?
Or are you on the moon?
You would fight a monster
With your final breath
You always were a hero
Even in your death
‘Cause now your body’s out there
Trapped in the monsoon
And all I have are memories
Gathered in a tune
Did you want to go
Fast instead of slow?
Or did you just know?
Tell me, are you sleeping?
Or are you on the moon?
*
Wingard is a freelance writer specializing in coverage of the arts. She may be contacted via eileen.wingard@sdjewishworld.com