S O U N D E X P E R I M E N T S
University of Chicago
2022
daydreaming w/ Bob Arnold
On A Starless Night
On a starless night,
I toss and turn.
The earth shakes, and
I fall out of bed.
I look out my window. The house
next door no longer
stands. It's lying like an old carpet
on the floor of the earth,
trampled by missiles, fat slippers
flying off legless feet.
I never knew my neighbors still had that small TV,
that the old painting still hung on their walls,
that their cat had kittens.
Palestinian Streets
My city's streets are nameless.
If a Palestinian gets killed by a sniper or a drone,
we name the street after them.
Children learn their numbers best
when they can count how many homes or schools
were destroyed, how many mothers and fathers
were wounded or thrown into jail.
Grownups in Palestine only use their IDs
so as not to forget
who they are.
Sobbing Without A Sound
I wish I could wake up and find the electricity on all day long.
I wish I could hear the birds sing again, no shooting and no
buzzing drones.
I wish my desk would call me to hold my pen and write again,
or at least plow through a novel, revisit a poem, or read a play.
All around me are nothing
but silent walls
and people sobbing
without sound.
Hard Exercise
In Gaza,
breathing is a task,
smiling is performing
plastic surgery
on one's own face,
and rising in the morning,
trying to survive
another day, is coming back
from the dead.
A Rose Shoulders Up
Don't ever be surprised
to see a rose shoulder up
among the ruins of the house:
This is how we survived.
_________________________
Mosab Abu Toha
Things You May Find Hidden In My Ear
Poems from Gaza
City Lights Books, 2022
Mr. Luddy at the 2017 Telluride Film Festival. The festival became a gathering of devotees to the religion of filmmaking, and Mr. Luddy was its most fervent believer and its main officiant. Credit...Pamela Gentile, via Telluride Film Festival
1943 ~ 2023
Look for the Local
It would not have been possible
to say to you, Here, inhabit
this now. Rain and leaves
suggest time is with you.
Corners, cluttered with plants,
books, pictures. The trees
were full of leaves, and now not
so red, so yellow.
In this blur what is apprehended
bends toward, and away, from you.
Slow day of rain, and naked,
hair up, casual in this light.
________________________
Dale Martin Smith
BLUR
Knife | Fork | Book, 2022
Canada