Monday, January 30, 2012
I went to Israel in the summer of 2009 with the purpose of aiding my partner at the time, B-, in fulfilling his dying grandmother's last wish of publishing her late husband's poetry. This was a man who wrote multiple poems each day, every day, for years. He wrote them in a muddle of language that sashayed from English to Hebrew depending on...his mood? One presumes. He wrote them stream-of-consciousness style, in neat stanzas, as extended stories. He wrote them on sheaves and sheaves of thin paper on his typewriter, which ended up in fat folders on the shelf above the grandmother's computer. Each spine was branded with a year past in thick black.