Poetry 9

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Hadass Golandsky
[email protected]
These poems are written in Hebrew, and scanned in directly from Ms. Golandsky’s prints. We have used the date as provided by the poet for each poem, they are in European format (day.month.year). “Born in Israel in 1962 to a father who was a Jewish immigrant from White-Russia, and a mother from a well known family in Tiberias (Northen Israel). I am the last of three children, and the only girl. I attended an artistic high school in Haifa, where I finished my A-Exams in photography. After that I spent 2 years in the Israeli Army. I didn’t really feel at home in Israel, and in 1987 I moved to Austria, where I married and divorced an Austrian. It was here, far away from Israel and my family that I also came upon the fact that I am a survivor of sexual abuse in my childhood. Painting and writing poems (in Hebrew) help me go through the process of healing.” See also her Visual Art.

20.3.2001

Like a Butterfly

like a butterfly in winter
she sits cuddled up
in herself

like a butterfly in winter
she yearns
for some warmth and care

like a butterfly in winter
she declines to believe
that this is her end

like a butterfly in winter

she shuts her eyes

and the sun shines

10.6.2000

In the Shade of Trees

sitting in the shade of trees
on a shore of a flowing river.
a plastic bottle
floats
passes by.
birds chirping.
children playing.
in the distance
an ambulance
honks.

sitting in the shade of trees
on a shore of a flowing river.
an old newspaper
floats
passes by.
a woman sunbathes
half naked.
a young man passes her
on his bike …
and doesn’t glance.

sitting in the shade of trees
on a shore of a flowing river.
my feet are in the water

and everything

ceases

momentarily

to exist.

16.1.2000

Birth

a baby emerges
to the air of the world
small
pure
not ready.

a baby emerges
to a world
hostile
hating
and cold.

a baby emerges
to a world
loving
supportive
and warm.

a baby
emerges
to the world…

who decides?
who has the saying?
who determines
where we are born?

God?
fate?
the baby himself?

8.7.1998

Small Moments

she lay on
the floor in
her room
and listened to
soft jazz
and the cat
cleaned its face.

so what does this
have to do with it?
he asked in surprise.
it doesn’t …
she answered
… it’s just a small moment
in my life.

my life is full
of small moments
connected to each other
with transparent fibres.

and suddenly everything is clear
and suddenly everything is bright
only for me
to see

some more small moments
not belonging
connected to each other
with thin, transparent
fibres
of life.

12.11.1997

Man

I once saw a man
walking on the street
with a walking street.

he crossed the road
without looking
and walked on
in small
slow
steps
to Herzel street.

there he turned to the right
and disappeared.

and since then
I never saw him again …

Melanie C. Morgan
[email protected]

“I am an incest survivor and have been on my healing journey since 1993. I found my way to the National Mental Health Association working as a project coordinator and supporting their mission. I started writing when I was ten. I have kept a journal since I was 10 years old. My poetry is a creative outlet to all of the pain and other emotions evoked from the abuse. I also write short stories and draw. I am interested in the healing arts and hope to someday work in the field.”

“Untitled”
by Melanie C. Morgan

I often wonder what I would be
If life had not given me this strangeness,
Like an abnormal growth that is not
Supposed to be there,
But lingers in silence, standing out
Brandishing its difference
Like a left wing independent.

What if I had gone to Harvard
Or grew up a happy child?
With a father and mother who loved me?
What if I grew into this normality?
I see walking everyday beside me,

Down the road, across the river
Where are you?
Who are you?
Why cant you love?
Why cant you feel something
That means anything?
Except longing.

You are like wind and rain
Disappearing from my thoughts.
Distant and vague like a Cirrus cloud,
Why cant I touch you when I so long too?
My fear is grander than I ever believed
It straddles my heart, takes me hostage
And I am left with emptiness,
A vacuous tunnel
A bird hidden in the trees.

Adornments distract me and
I make them matter.
Dancing to your songs only
Makes me feel alone.

So I am shattered and it
Never ends, like seasons it
Only changes, but returns again.

The Lost Father
by Melanie C. Morgan

I am afraid of him as he opens the door.
What will I find with the sad aroma of
Candles and dry flowers?

He seems grand, strong, and omnipotent.
From afar I see love, old and worn,
The longings of a little girl.

In hopefulness I long for his love,
A shelter from the pain.
To take away the search, surrender the fight.

He will never gather me in his arms,
Or carry me afar, not even hold my hands

The scent of wistfulness allows me todream
Of dolls, childrens laughs, moments unseen.

I long and wander searching in the vast
Emptiness of fear and loneliness,
I reach out, yet know he is no longer there.

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