ULTERIOR MOTIVATIONS
(What IS the matter?)
This is not Nature; these are not 'things.' Instead, all
of this is solid matter, forms and shapes; colors befitting
a king. Volumes and planes, the witty forms of all
Creation - never batting an eye, never blinking.
But, yes, all eventually returns to its elementals
and roots. I was taking the toil to heart, all that
work and so little play - you know the rest.
-
Watching those Lakewood boyhood Jews with
all their pretty girls made me uncomfortable
in a circumstantial way : the boarded up
motel along Route 9 - some huge worldly
palace, incongruous and now gone, amidst
all that religious puffery. Prayer shawls and
those crazy hats. The women, with that
certain blessed dignity, trudging past ruin.
-
Ravens, vultures, those careening skyward
creatures - all Heaven sent to hawk the
burial yards. Convenience stores in the
most inconvenient places. Old churches,
left out in the rain to rot. Three Hasids,
somehow looming past me, in their big
Buick Electra, outrageously out-dated
but running as well; smooth and
easy. They stared out the window
as they drove me by. I, it was
thought, should be looking
at them. No?
-
Life is a minefield of a million different
things. We walk, we cavort, we sing.
With stories of family, or the tribe
we came in with; it's all the
religion we bring, (though
chosen by a committee
specific to us).
(What IS the matter?)
This is not Nature; these are not 'things.' Instead, all
of this is solid matter, forms and shapes; colors befitting
a king. Volumes and planes, the witty forms of all
Creation - never batting an eye, never blinking.
But, yes, all eventually returns to its elementals
and roots. I was taking the toil to heart, all that
work and so little play - you know the rest.
-
Watching those Lakewood boyhood Jews with
all their pretty girls made me uncomfortable
in a circumstantial way : the boarded up
motel along Route 9 - some huge worldly
palace, incongruous and now gone, amidst
all that religious puffery. Prayer shawls and
those crazy hats. The women, with that
certain blessed dignity, trudging past ruin.
-
Ravens, vultures, those careening skyward
creatures - all Heaven sent to hawk the
burial yards. Convenience stores in the
most inconvenient places. Old churches,
left out in the rain to rot. Three Hasids,
somehow looming past me, in their big
Buick Electra, outrageously out-dated
but running as well; smooth and
easy. They stared out the window
as they drove me by. I, it was
thought, should be looking
at them. No?
-
Life is a minefield of a million different
things. We walk, we cavort, we sing.
With stories of family, or the tribe
we came in with; it's all the
religion we bring, (though
chosen by a committee
specific to us).
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