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FEATURED POET: Esther Altshul Helfgott is a nonfiction writer and poet with a Ph.D. in history from the University of Washington. Her work appears in the Journal of Poetry Therapy, Maggid: A Journal of Jewish Literature, Drash: Northwest Mosaic, American Imago: Psychoanalysis and the Human Sciences, Raven Chronicles, Floating Bridge Review. Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose about Alzheimer’s Disease, Jack Straw Anthology, Blue Lyra Revie, HistoryLink, and elsewhere. She is a longtime literary activist, a 2010 Jack Straw poet, and the founder of Seattle’s “It’s About Time Writer’s Reading Series,” now in its 23nd year. She is the author of the The Homeless One: A Poem in Many Voices (Kota, 2000), a poetic docu-drama about schizophrenia and homelessness, which has been performed as a play. For three years, Esther wrote the blog “Witnessing Alzheimer’s: A Caregiver’s View,” for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer online. Her wish is that young people get to know their grandparents, and hold their hands. www.estherhelfgott.com
Look for her new release on Amazon! Just click the photo!
Here's a couple of poems to check out.
November 3, 2005
Alzheimer Couple
They have grown
into each other
like two plants
in a small pot.
Arms and legs
encircling
the same
trunk
they wait
for anyone
to come
and water
them.
— Esther Altshul Helfgott
April 26, 2009
Thirty Seconds Before Dinner
He was different tonight
more withdrawn
though he did raise his arm
when he saw a motorcycle
hanging on the wall.
You wouldn’t expect
to see a Harley-Davidson
in a nursing home
but this Harley flew
out of the picture frame
as if it were a bird.
Abe was astonished,
even though his facial muscles
remained tight
and his mouth stayed closed.
For thirty seconds his eyes lit up.
Afterwards, we returned to where we were before:
me wondering what to do next,
he not waiting to go to dinner.
— Esther Altshul Helfgott
WRITE YOUR POEM:
Когда для смертного умолкнет шумный день
И на немые стогны града
Полупрозрачная наляжет ночи тень,
И сон, дневных трудов награда,
В то время для меня влачатся в тишине
Часы томительного бденья:
В бездействии ночном живей горят во мне
Змеи сердечной угрызенья;
Мечты кипят; в уме, подавленном тоской,
Теснится тяжких дум избыток;
Воспоминание безмолвно предо мной
Свой длинный развивает свиток:
И, с отвращением читая жизнь мою,
Я трепещу, и проклинаю,
И горько жалуюсь, и горько слезы лью,-
Но строк печальных не смываю
1828 Alexandr Sergeevich Pushkin
What lines have you written that hold both?
Write your poem with a stick in the sand on
the beach. Write it in your journal and
translate it once. Pushkin was able to
combine Slavic church influence, with
European idioms and Russian
vernacular giving a voice to a new
way of poetry. What are you combining?
Give your poem to your granddaughter.
Give it to your spouse. Write it to the aunt who
passed on and you remember.
| Whene'er for mortal men the noisy day grows still
And half-transparent shadows of the night.
And slumber, the reward of daily labors,
Sinks down upon the muted city streets
That is the time of night for me, when silent hours
Drag by in agonizing wakefulness:
During the idle night the sting of my heart's serpent
Flames up in me more fervently;
Imagination boils: my mind, opppressed by yearning,
Plays host to a tormenting crowd of thoughts;
Before my eyes, remembrance silently
Draws out its lengthy scroll;
And I, repulsed, review the story of my life,
I shudder and I curse,
Weep bitter tears and bitterly complain,
But cannot wash the dismal lines away.
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