By Eileen Wingard
Eileen Wingard
LA JOLLA, California — Gloria Gervitz, of blessed memory, the acclaimed Mexican-Jewish poet, had her poetry read, the first of three featured writers at the Tuesday, March 5, Jewish Poets–Jewish Voices program. Jane Zeer read the English translations and Monique Kunewalder read the original Spanish. The audience was captivated.
Gervitz’s translator, Mark Schafer, was informed about our program and he sent me his in-depth article about this great poet. Gervitz studied Art History at the Universidad Iberoamericana in Mexico and gave poetry workshops throughout Mexico. In 2011, she was awarded the PEN Mexico Prize for Literary Excellence and in 2019, she received the Pablo Neruda Ibero-American Poetry Award from the Chilean Ministry of Culture.
Schafer, who teaches Spanish at the University of Massachusetts, Boston and is an award-winning literary translator, wrote, “Eileen, I wish I could have attended–but I live across the country, in Boston! ….. thanks for the great work you’re doing in San Diego!”
The second poet was Jim Lewis, a member of Ohr Shalom Synagogue, whose bold and honest poetry reflected his experiences in HIV medical trials, his loves, his relationship with his father, and his Jewish experience. Several of his poems reflected how he gets inspired to write poetry, as the example below.
The third poet was Phyllis Schwartz, who received her B.A. in Radio-TV Journalism from SDSU. In 2001, she was the recipient of the Monty Award for Outstanding SDSU Alumni. She had a distinguished career with TV stations in San Diego and Chicago, and from 2010-2020, she was president of Phyllis Schwartz Solutions, a consulting and programming development company. She has survived three cancers and her poetry, such as her children’s book, When Mom Feels Great, Then We Do Too! reflect her experiences.
Below are examples from the poetry read during this outstanding evening of Jewish Poets–Jewish Voices.
Excerpt from MIGRATIONS by Gloria Gervitz, English translation by Mark Schafer the women sit on the floor I say Kaddish for you and for methe words are worn like the marble of those pietas worn by kisses Mother of God pray for usand she who came from Kieva bunch of flowers clasped to her bosoma life meant to be lived in a more expansive timeoh mother whom I forgotnow and at the hour of our deathAdonai Eloheinu Adonai Echadfarewellfarewelloh mother
farewell
and who cares about those memories?
she a girl with flowers and her pleated dresses and her bright and red mouth smilingnow just a photograph stored in a cigar boxExcerpt from MIGRACIONES
las mujeres se sientan en el suelo yo digo Kadish por ti y por mí *las palabras están gastadas como esas piedades con el mármol gastado por los besos
Madre de Dios ruega por nosotras*
y ella que vino desde Kiev ramo de flores contra el pecho vidaa para ser vivida en un tiempo mas largo oh madre que olvidé en esta hora y en la hora de nuestra muerte
Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Ejad
adiós adiós oh madre adiós
¿ y a quien le importan estos recuerdos?
ella muchacha con flores y los vestidos plisados y la boca muy roja sonriendo ahora sólo un retrato guardado en una caja de habanos
MY PROCESS #1 by Jim Lewis
Poetry begins at home. The afternoon sun reflecting off of the water in the sink and playing ripples of light on the ceiling.
Poetry is in the aroma coming from the sauté on the stove, in the selection of wine on the table.
Poetry is born out of dinner conversation, the nuances in speech and expression, the fellowship among the people we call family.
Poetry is in the cooing of the Turtledove’s in the morning, the Cicadas singing at sundown. The Owls screeching in the night.
Poetry is routine, interwoven with the prayers we repeat three times a day. Poetry is ancient as the language we pray in- it makes the arcane familiar.
Poetry is lived. It is gleaned from experience and reflection. It brings the unlived to life, the dreams, the longings, the plans.
MAYBE I WON’T DIE TODAY by Phyllis Schwartz
Maybe I won’t die today,
*Maybe I will tomorrow.
Maybe I won’t fly today,*
Maybe too tired from sorrow.
Gotta make your own hope.
Gotta throw yourself your own rope.
Maybe I’ll wake up in the morning.
Maybe I’ll get tired of mourning.
Gather myself together.
Not wait for sunnier weather.
The heart clouds are breaking.
My soul bones are aching.
Maybe I won’t die today!The next Jewish Poets–Jewish Voices program will be Jewish Poets of the Past,
featuring the works of Yiddish poet, Abraham Sutzkever ( 1913-2010) and Israeli poet, Dahlia Ravikovitch (1936-2005).
*
Eileen Wingard is a freelance writer specializing in coverage of the arts. She may be contacted via
