Tag Archives: postaday2011

Tower of Babel

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Tower of Babel by Shoshana Sarah

My Tower of Babel

So…I am obsessed with the Tower of Babel. I’m not 100% sure why although it’s clear to me that this obsession relates to my love of languages. But it’s not just the love of speaking languages or even hearing them, but just seeing the text of another language sends me into an irrationally ecstatic frenzy. I get giddy. Seriously, I do.

I bought a poster of the Tower of Babel. Once, I took my daughters to the museum for kids day, the day the subject was the Tower of Babel, of course, and then took over one of their projects (hey, she let me!). Then I decided that I wanted to imitate that project in a collage. The product is what you see here.

I started off with two A4 papers that I taped together. I drew out the framework of where I wanted things to be. Then I started cutting…it started out normal enough, pictures of skies for the sky (the cool clouds near the top are pics from Hubble)…but this was my first *pre-meditated* collage. Hence, the obsession reached a new level.

I would laugh like a mad scientist when I’d found a new scrap of language to add like finding an marvelous, not so decomposed ear for my Frankenstein. I would snatch papers from the street (one man’s trash became my treasure), take flyers that were clearly not meant for me from the post office, and hunted down as many languages as I could ‘naturally’ get my hands on like a cold-blooded killer.

Ok, maybe I’m taking this a bit too far.

I started with the old yellowed paper at the bottom which I knew- the moment I saw it discarded on the street- would be the ‘sand’ and the first part of the collage. The sky was the easy part (the moon took a while to find). I wanted the languages I found to really be ‘found’- I knew I could Google whatever I wanted to but I refrained as much as possible (couldn’t resist the Sanskrit, Hindi, Celtic and Georgian though).

The collage includes: English, Russian, Hebrew, French, Spanish, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Persian (thanks, Yuliya), Arabic, Sanskrit, Hindi, Celtic, Amharic, Ancient Hebrew, Hieroglyphics (my pride & joy), Greek, Georgian, what I am 95% sure is Thai (the post office flyer that clearly wasn’t for me) and Ancient Cuneiform(some of which I sketched on top of the collage).

There are also a variety of flags, symbols- such as the Olympics symbol and the Mayan sun and moon gods, the Hebrew name of god at the top of the tower, as well as strategically placed purposeful English phrases such as: “pillars of creation,” “mysteries of the universe,” and “he loved the people.”

I cut the palm trees outs of images of plants and wood, respectively. The camels on both sides are actually one picture. The right side is the water reflection of the left, which I thought was cool and reminiscent of a mirage. The silver windows are from cigarette packaging and the gold windows are from confiscated gold paper from a certain educational facility (*ahem*).

The icing on the cake is the sun I painted myself- I cut it out of another painting (I am forever indebted to Racheli for teaching me how to mix colors) and the REAL sand, which I shamelessly had my oldest daughter ‘misappropriate’ from the school grounds (she was quite impatient for me to use it which took me the better part of a month).

~*~*~*~

After all that, I started thinking, maybe I should have been patient. I should have researched all of the languages that have ever existed (to man’s knowledge of course) and then arranged them etymologically and chronologically from the bottom up with English at the top as the new lingua franca in one enormous, meticulously planned, ridiculously awesome Magnum Opus!!!

*sigh*

So…I am obsessed with the Tower of Babel…

…I’m also obsessed with words, clocks, maps and compasses (by the way, I’m almost finished with the words collage and I’m collecting maps as we speak).

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The Sun and I

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Black Holes and Neutron Stars (Redux: NASA, Ch...

Image by NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center via Flickr

the sun burns and tear drops fall from its rays

the internal combustion that is the life of us all

constantly destroys itself and draws energy

from destruction and the contained calamity

one of these days that beautiful star is gonna burn out

one of these days he’s gonna implode and leave a big black hole

a big black hole right in the middle of the universe of his heart

where all matter will be drawn in and deconstructed

in reverse creation, the dismantling of life and love and creativity

and perhaps one particle will survive

and collide into another on its way into oblivion

and a newness of spirit will arise from the dust

I hope so, for our sakes…

for the Sun and I

He

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File:Aivazovsky - Black Sea Fleet in the Bay of Theodosia.jpg

He is the gypsy,

the pirate, the wanderer

He is the mysterious Spaniard

the arrogant Frenchman

the Tartar horseman

He is the Cherokee archer

the Mayan shaman

the Hindu priest

He is the photographer’s eye

the chef’s secret

the musician’s string

He is the desert prince

the wind of the Black Sea

the Celtic knot

He is the Greek myth

the Brazilian ganza

the artist’s heart

He is the writer’s muse

the dancer’s room

the painter’s canvas

Second Published Poem!

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The Spring 2008 issue of Tar River Poetry. Cov...

Image via Wikipedia

“Dear Shoshana,

Thank you for your submission to Yes, Poetry. Yes, Poetry would like to include “No Name” in our November issue. Please reply to this message with any questions you may have. You will receive an email when the issue is online. Thank you again for submitting.

Also, feel free to friend us on facebook for updates: https://www.facebook.com/yespoetry

I’m super-excited!!

Check out Yes, Poetry (yespoetry.com). I just love the name of the journal!

Also, I know I’ve been bad at posting, but I’m trying to do something else big, soon! More news to come!

Love & Joy,

Shoshana

p.s. What do you think of my blog’s name change? It was totally spontaneous from two quotes I’ve loved for a long time…

First Published Poem!!!

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“Dear Shoshana
We’re happy to inform you that your poem, Bread, Water and Gas, has been selected for publication in the Fall 2011 edition of The Ilanot Review.”
Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The perfect gift for my 30th birthday this Friday!

White Night

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I was going to write

I was going to tell you that

You are a light

But I was too displeased with

my life that day

to celebrate yours in my mind

on the way

It took me a while to catch up

to dispel the fear, to join the cheer

To find more love

in your coven of people

like you, like me

Discovered why you are like you, like me

like the she I never knew

who was part of me, part of you

Part of the hurt from you inflicted

on me and now you say “hurt me”

Sorry, too much love in me for you

to do the first thing you asked me to do

Yes, too much love in me for you

to refuse the last thing you asked me to do

“Bésame Mucho” plays under a canopy of trees & eyes

On a white night full of love & fights, full of beauty & vulgarity

full of peace & war, full of unity &

a score…to settle

On a white night where the only compass

is four hearts & an orange star

And the only direction is where we are

On a white night when only the truth hurts,

but not for people like you, like me

On a white night where

the only truth is freedom

& the only rule is be

where the only gift is a lesson

and the only price is free

where the only thing existing

is the salt from moonlit sea

that glistens come daybreak

on people like you, like me

*dedicated to my soul mate sibling

Sage

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How can such beauty exist in sin

and why are the perplex things of

nature so

why is our reality so intricate and full

of  mystery

and question, (pundits), enigma, conundrums,

quagmires, dilemmas

why is our identity composed of so many

variables

why do I have to choose

what is right and wrong- which way

is left and what are the actions of my right hand

or the workshop when I am idle

Where is the art in you

Why does my muse inspire me

What is the motivation of my soul and

the impetus of my fusion

the direction of my spirit when

it returns to the source

what are the coordinates of my constellation

(the star I was born under)

and where was I when the star fell

from the sky

who did I love when the rainbow

shaped itself as a cipher

and zero was infinite as the

foundation of the universe

from whence do the words

descend when I’ve lost my breath

at the sight of you

and with what strength do I

record the scroll of my soul

why does my imagination spin

when the earth turns and it is

day and night in an absolute moment

trapped captured in

the tick-tick or digital switch

of 1 though 12 multiplied by 5

60 each time and 24  in whole

how can men measure that nymph

father time- the span of his wings

or the (barometer/mph) of his feet

who dares to penetrate the mind of God

who dares to penetrate mine

and who believes in a higher power

when we live as if we are the

masters of our fate

why is my love unnatural

why is my beauty deceit

and why do they look at me so

intently when I speak

hear and don’t see

see but can’t feel or fill

the footprints in the sandy plain

or the view from the windy plateau

the blood of the earth without its burn

and the product of the pressure on

Atlas’ back without its shine

who defines worth

and who is that fairy that sprinkles

dust over me while I sleep and dream

of unreal things

what is the truth of my metaphysical existence

what stain will I leave when I depart

ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Know

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I want to write

the books call me from the womb of my mind

I want to establish

the plans ache & beg to be born

I want to paint

the colors, never seen cry out in oblivion

My stories, my places, my scenes & images

My kaleidoscope collages

are there, their non-existent

existence so strong they pain me

to come into being into creation

into acknowledgement

I fight because it’s not time

I fight because I’m busy

I fight because I fear

The art is a foreign body inside of

& part of me waiting to burst forth

to destroy me & reinvent me because

I have not yet become who I am

it is so strong my chest hurts at the

thought of it

it is so strong I feel butterflies

in my stomach

it is so strong my heart pounds in

anxiety

I say “I will, I will, I will” to calm

my beautiful mess, the artistic beast inside of me

She says “sing!” & I say “but I need training”

She says “dance!” but I say “I need classes”

She says “draw!” but I say “I need lessons”

She says “build it & they will come!” but

I say “not yet”

She says “write!” but I say “what if no one

reads it”

She says “YOU ARE THE ONE YOU ARE WAITING FOR”

and I say “I know but…”

And then there is silence.

LOUD, Ridiculously EAR DEAFENING SILENCE

Because I KNOW.

The World is Such a Beautiful Place in My Fantasies

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The world is such a beautiful place in

my fantasies

my love is eternal and my flame is

not smothered by the nations

my truth stands bare and

knowledge is not ashamed before God

my freedom is not suppressed

and runs as the wind skips with leaves

and rocks sip the waters of many rivers

I stand on the tops of mountains

arms spread as wide as the span

encompassed by spirit and song

high on strings of cello and bass

so deep and sultry

I smile at countless faces

far and few in between

looking distant into infinite eyes that penetrate me

from within like imploding constellations

The world is such a beautiful place in

my fantasies

I walk in sandy ocean waves

and I am wet but I am pleased

I am salty but clean

and I can sing my love’s hymn

In unrestrained intensity, I kiss my beloved

and share intimacies with my muse

who smiles at me

and I am suddenly understood

I am known and felt (I am me)

and feel all that inspires

my motivations…(I am remembering love)

my spirit is willing

and I am as open as the sky

I Was Told that I was Haunted

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I was told that I was haunted. Now I know it’s true. The thoughts creep under my covers and snuggle up with me in the bed; they whisper ideas that threaten me with evaporation should I dare not get up, 55 minutes past my bedtime, and write them down. Just as I’d begun to think that there was no way I’d write a post a day but I would try for the once a week challenge and this blog is supposed to be about only poetry anyway.

This is not the first time. It was the one of many when I told a wise friend that I can’t sleep sometimes because I am writing or creating that she told me I was haunted. By what? She wouldn’t say…but I knew. And now I won’t say either for the purpose has been fulfilled (but if you pay attention, you’ll hear about it one day in a song).

Tomorrow, there will be poetry…only poetry…I hope.