Printer Friendly

Spinoza.

 How many times did he tell me of walking to the civil service exam
down melting sidewalks of Baltimore to get all the questions right, to
finish first and be the only one that day to shine?
 A Zionist in vain who searched Israel for his family's holy path,
a path perhaps he saw in the libraries and museums he took his
  children after a week's work and Saturday morning's call to
the Sabbath,
he read Spinoza and raised a battered forefinger in his retelling, a
poor ecclesiast to boast in monologue of all he'd gathered as he
put ten rubber bands around a bag of chips and we nodded at
  his words.
And in the last decade of his life he came upon us in our shady
  suburb, visiting longer than anyone wanted, sneering hurt from our
grudges to sulk away folded in the aluminum lawn chair up from Florida.
I didn't understand the ancient words our Rabbi spoke across the
  cemetery's lawn any more than I knew why my grandfather had
poured ketchup over
  everything he ate, but I felt those words and cried before standing in
line to trowel dirt on
  his coffin:
We are the light of the Lord." We will help you to he on your way.
As he rode the mail train up the northeast corridor organizing zip
  codes, the engine and freight cars rushing then screeching down in
their
  wind--
what was he thinking when he threw out letter bags onto the train
  platform? About Spinoza and his many-headed God, about the equity of
atoms
  in an arc? He must have been a completely different person each day by
New York.
Who then is given me? The worker, the philosopher? The pedant, the
  worrier?
He did tell me Stop your reading and go out
, called me Absent- minded
     professor
when I left my crystal radio project out on the kitchen telephone
  table--
yet I'd seen him leaning into the dial plugged into its tinny
earphone, mouth half open, with his furrowed brow and bony nose I have
the
  shadow of tuning in the old world, hearing a new and slighter one. 
COPYRIGHT 2010 Northwest Review
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 2010 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Author:Dagold, Raphael
Publication:Northwest Review
Article Type:Poem
Geographic Code:1USA
Date:Nov 1, 2010
Words:409
Previous Article:Portrait.
Next Article:Red Tulips.
Topics:

Terms of use | Privacy policy | Copyright © 2019 Farlex, Inc. | Feedback | For webmasters