By Eileen Wingard
LA JOLLA, California — “Jewish Poets—Jewish Voices” hosted an exciting array of poets Saturday evening, Jan. 19, at the Astor Judaica Library. The three featured poets, Rabbi Patti Haskell, Ysmael Escudero Tisnado II and Joni Gurstein, attracted an audience of 40 listeners. Below are two examples from each of the talented presenters. Ysmael writes in Ladino. He translated his poems into English as he went along, line by line.
In addition to the featured poets, nine people took advantage of the open mike opportunity, including Planning Committee members, Sara Appel-Lennon and Michael Horvitz.
The evening was once again conducted by Joy Heitzmann, another poet on the Planning Committee.
Tu B’Shevat by Rabbi Patti Haskell
Smells of rain on sidewalks,
Of sun soaking up water droplets
And evaporating them into wind,
Of atmospheric changes.
Visions of budding leaves
Here and there enlivening
The winter-scape which begins
It’s fade into spring tide.
A glimpse of spring, a glimpse of
Happiness, playfulness, and joy
Peeking through the unfolding leaves
Of the flowering fruit trees.
Memories of a Jerusalem hillside
Like flowing floating yards and yards of
Swiss dotted fabric blooming into
A multitude of blossoming almond flowers.
With the tithing of the trees,
And the flowing of the sap,
With the lengthening of days,
Comes the celebration of life.
On Pelican Wings by Patti Haskell
I step into the gardens and the brilliant hues of February flowers
Instantly guide my feet into the gentle rocking of a walking meditation.
Purple, fuchsia, sunshine yellow all boldly blend
With shades of green into their azure sea backdrop
Sensations of soaring bareback on wings of California Browns:
one pelican Flowing above, another soaring beneath the cliff where I gaze seaward.
My soul sinks into the roots and expands with the awesome
Low twisting spread of the Acacia tree that shelters sacred ground.
Behind me in the slope of this Edenic peaceful oasis
Koi glide, one atop another in the near stillness of their pond.
Awe in the knowledge that I live in the echo of these gardens.
Awe that I stand on the cliffs over the Pacific and breath the air of home.
I am lulled by the rolling swells, as I observe surfers play on the
Crests of waves. I watch yoga in motion where tide pools swell
But amidst all this unbearably glorious life, you-
You no longer live in the time or space of my world
And yet, there is life, so very much life. And it is life that calls out
To be lived with joy and to be embraced with grace.
White stairs, freshly painted and clean go down, down, further and further
Until they mesh with the sand below connecting cliff to shore.
Do they climb also, unseen, upward from cliff towards Gan Eden
Connecting my earthly heart and soul with your ethereal essence?
*
No fui a maldara judeo by Ysmael Escudero Tisnado II
No fui a maldara judeo
Kuando me engrandesi
Para ambezarme ebreo
Ni skrivirlo o meldarlo.
Kresi in una konsensia no
Djudia sefaradi ni konosko
Las kumidas sefardis
Ni avli judezmo en la kaza
En kresiendo de mi chikez
Todo lu ke me ambezi no inkluyendo las kumidas es komo un grande de 27 a 38 anyos porke no savia ke era un Benei Anusim Ve Sefarad.
De los 16 a 27 bivi komo Anusim. Agora de los 27 a los 38 bivo komo djudio sefard avyertamente komo un Anusim ve techuva
Me siento kontente ke so sefardi Meksikano-Americano
Todavia esto en proseso de konversyon ainda a mis 38 anyos no me ambezo el ebreo presto? Senti Kestava en la chara de eskuridad.
I Did Not Go to Religious School (translation)
I did not go to religious school
When I grew up
To learn Hebrew
Nor write or read it.
I grew in a conscience not
Sephardi Jewish nor do I know
The Sephardic foods
Nor did I speak Ladino in the house
In growing up in my youth
Everything I learned, including the foods, was as a grown up from 27 to 36 years old
From 16 to 27, I lived as a Crypto Jew.
Now I at 27 to 38 live openly as a Sephardi Jew like a Crypto Jew in repenting.
I feel happy that I am a Mexican-American Sephardic.
I’m in the process of conversion still at my 38 years and have not learned Hebrew quickly
I felt that I was in the forest of darkness.
Agora bivo yo sin lus agora by Ysmael Escudero Tisnado II
Agora bivo yo sin lus agora
So djudio no Hristiano del Jesus.
Apagado esto porke no topo mi mujer sefaradia ni mi amigo Ashkenazi su lehlia.
Siempre para mozos la merrekia no atopamos muestra djudia.
Kizeramos ser felises kon muestras raises toparla mujer djudia.
Solo del Dyo sabra ke mos akontesera
Kon ken vamos darmos kidushin.
Mozos seriamos los mas kontentes del mundo kon muestra djudia
Mozotros no keremos una mujer no djudia para kasarmos.
Now I Live Without Light (translation)
Now I live without light
I am Jewish not Christian of the Jesus
Forlorned I am because I don’t find my Sephardic woman nor my Ashkenazi friend his counterpart
Always for us the worry we don’t find our Jewish girl
We want to be happy with our roots but find the Jewish woman.
Only GOD will know what will happen to us
Who will marry us
We would be the happiest in the world with our Jewish woman
We don’t want to intermarry with non-Jewish woman.
Agape by Joni Gerstein
“What would you die for?” the rabbi asks.
No hesitation, I whisper, “My son.”
Only a parent can understand
the experience of absolute love
which engulfs a mother upon welcoming
her child, an eternal emotion that never
wavers, stays strong as granite, grows
with each moment of connection.
His suffering, a mother’s pain, his hurt,
a mother’s wound, success, a mother’s joy.
A love so fierce you want to do battle
with his now and future enemies.
A child leaves your home, never your heart.
The signals from the center of your world
are faint and often fade away. He is your core,
but you are in his peripheral vision.
He’s busy, remote, uncommunicative.
There is nothing you can do to ease the ache,
a phantom limb of what made you whole.
Distance does not diminish devotion.
*
Compass to My Son by Joni Gerstein
I imagine the mystical song
of humpback whales
as they traverse the oceans
from Hawaii to Alaska.
They need no roadmap,
nor flocks of geese and cranes
migrating across northern skies.
Salmon leave the sea,
travel thousands of miles
to the place of their birth.
Even the sea turtle finds her way to shore.
Yet I am lost.
My directional gene is marred or missing.
I cannot orient myself to sun or stars,
do not see navigational cues.
I had no early practice,
not allowed to venture
from my Brooklyn block.
I may have traveled the road less taken
and not known it,
so anxious to find my destination.
Earth’s gravitational pull has no sway
as I blindly wander about.
I miss mysterious paths
and hidden byways.
Today with written directions,
memories of six times
meeting Daniel at his place of work,
I drive down a wrong street.
I do not orient myself to son or stars.
Lost again.
*
Wingard is a freelance writer based in San Diego. She may be contacted via eileen.wingard@sdjewishworld.com