Geoffrey Hartman
Geoffrey Hartman
In honor of Irving’s 80th Geoffrey Hartman
Jerusalem Winter
A whited sun, whiter than the moon.
Whitehot: icehate, icefire.
Collapsed hopes, shuttered lives, end of dream.
A miracle, this land, a bloody miracle.
Fumes of passion, exhaust of too much love.
“Love is Wrath quenched”: contempt, pity, fear.
Crying from the ground, so much of bloodshed
who can hear? Papery prayers
litter the Kotel cracks. Ululations
greet young Davids coming of age.
Do nations have a soul? My soul mourns,
troubled unto death. Watch with me,
stay me, faithful words: keep me company.
The blank sonnet runs out, addressee unknown.