David Jackson

Many Tongues
~~~~~~~~
(this poem comemorates the fact that I have only
written 2 poems in Hebrew in the last two years).

I left the Hebrew language
as others leave a loved woman
they have been trying to fuck
for ten or fifteen years, saying
woman I am a man, hear all the
other women that want me and
now I have to go and get what
I need from them, I am a poet
woman, and you can’t be my
fantasy forever, I am poet in search
of a a language and many tongues
have loved me and your door has
been closed for so long, I had to
open other knobs with other hands
I can’t behave like an amputee forever
and now that so many doors have
opened, now you open yours to see
if I’m still there, I am not and when
you see me near it’s because I took
a walk, a walk through my old habits
I don’t need your tongue, many tongues
have loved me now and I don’t miss
your never existing carress anymore.

##################################

***

The Real Meeting.

We sat in a circle fourteen of us,

pointing knees at each other, drinking

coffee and trying to look relaxed.

Sweaty palms discretely dried on

trousers leg

One of the six women in the group

began talking – women are better at

airing their feelings than men- she

went on, a great length, about a life

of endless cocktail parties around

a swimming pool, posh wine in

expensive restaurant, of which I knew

nothing; fiddled with a lighter,

a sign on the wall read NO SMOKING.

Then the other five spoke in turn,

they all seem to have sprung from

the same glamorous background.

Ten minutes left when the chair asked

if any of the men had anything to say,

we mumbled something about feeling

fine; a short prayer, meeting over and

could go outside lit a fag and the real

meeting began.

————————————-

***

Jan Oskar Hansen

Palestine.

I sit in my kitchen the wall clock

Ticks ten past seven evening time.

I feel at ease and doves of peace

Cross a distant sky.

The unchanging hum of the fridge

Accentuates my inner harmony,

Perhaps there will be peace too in

Palestine where a child, newly born,

Died in a senseless war and became

A bitter memory long before she

Had a memory herself.

” We’re so very sorry, we apologise,

But we have the right to defend our

Settlers of this land.”

“¦And from the dispossessed, a cry

Of revenge echoes through ravaged

Streets.

I sit in my kitchen and the fridge

Hums a lullaby of everlasting sorrow.

————————————————

***

between the breasts
of bestial
Marj lie large
men who praise

Marj’s cleancornered strokable
body these men’s
fingers toss trunks
shuffle sacks spin kegs they

curl
loving
around
beers

the world has
these men’s hands but their
bodies big and boozing
belong to

Marj
the greenslim purse of whose
face opens
on a fatgold

grin
hooray
hoorah for the large
men who lie

between the breasts
of bestial Marj
for the strong men
who

sleep between the legs of Lil

***