The Israeli Poets

I had the pleasure of listening to Shimon Adaf, Tal Nitzan, Haviva Pedaya, and Anat Zecarya twice today. The first experience in AF 209 during class was highly enriching. The poets were seated together and a woman came up to the podium to introduce each one before they spoke. I remember being in awe of how accomplished they were as writers.

Poetry is actually my main form of writing because I have always loved the conciseness of it. I love that I can spill all my emotions onto a page and only end up with five lines. For me, it is a form of expression that carries a certain musical tone. Each poem has a tone, a song even. When Adaf came up to the podium and started talking about how he loved telling stories, I couldn’t have agreed more. It brought me back to times where I’d sit with my brother and create spin-offs of fairy tales or TV shows or whatever I had in mind. It also helped me appreciate fiction more when he said that it allows you adequate room to develop characters and plot. As much as I love poetry, nothing really compares to being able to create a world of your own to share with others. Another thing he said that struck me was that writers, or artists in general, should avoid patterns. I recently reflected on some of my poetry and notice a lot of similarities in structure. I think this advice is useful because experimentation is how you find out what you are capable of. You’ve got to risk some of your sanity to create something that could potentially be brilliant.

The second speaker, Nitzhan, was a lovely woman who I think I related to the most. I say that because of her words of advice: “Write the poems that beg and scream to be written.” Like her, I am a busy person with other obligations. I know a busy schedule is not an excuse to not write every day, but I don’t think you need to write 24/7 like that man she was talking about. Sometimes there’s that idea that has been in your mind for a second or a day or months and that’s the one you need to get out there if you can’t manage anything else. This is especially true for fiction and short stories. I can write every day and hate every single sentence, but if I stick to that idea that jumped out to me, I know I’m heading in the right direction. I want to capture the ideas that mean the most to me because I know they’ll reflect that way on the page. If I am passionate about something, it will be easier to write everything about it. I think my problem lately is there is a lack of passion for a certain idea that leads to ambiguity and a sense of distance in my stories. I need to work on grasping and not letting go of the poems or stories that are begging me to write them. On a side note, her tangent about poems being like a cat was too funny and too true. As a proud cat owner, I can’t tell whether I want to pet my work or kick it out the door.

The third speaker, Haviva Pedaya read a poem first which I thought was a great context for what she had to say. She said that “writing is an act of generosity.” At first, I almost laughed at this statement. Who would think writing was generous? If I gave someone a story they’d probably thank me out of pity. But then I pondered it more, thinking about all the stories, novels, and poems I’ve ever read. In a sense, they were a privilege to read. Some were more like gifts because of the stories from them that resonated with me. Even if I don’t recall others, I still understand it was generous because someone put their time and effort into a piece of work to talk to me. That write wanted to talk to me, to rant to me, or whisper to me something they felt important. I never realized how intimate the bond is between author and reader, even if indirectly. I love this idea of writing being something generous, kind.

 Anat Zecarya was the last to speak and ironically she presented this gem: “Poetry is writing about something that is unspeakable.” That one took a while to sink in. It reminds me of children’s books that you adore as a child and later find out are about the Holocaust or World War (). Writing is a wonderful medium to not only experiment with language but with ideas. You might be saying one thing, but you are also always saying something else. Whether or not the reader picks up on does not affect their enjoyment of the piece. But being able to speak freely and openly is what writing is. I want to be able to write something that is new, invigorating and hasn’t been done a thousand times. A lot of my poetry is considered experimental because I like pushing the boundaries.

My second session with these poems was at the chapel in the Interfaith Center. This came with introductions similar to the first, but the poets all read some of their poems. It was one of the powerful things I’ve witnessed. There’s nothing that compares to hearing a poet read a poem you’ve wanted a tune to. I can’t say exactly what each poem was about, but I will briefly reflect on my feelings towards each speaker.

Pedaya was the first to read and she has a little black sheep in her to say the least. She had a specific way of speaking that relied heavily on sounds and rhythm. One poem that stuck out to me was one addressed to the prime minister that involved a lot of ice cream. It had enough playful qualities to make the poem not strictly political Zecarya was the first poet to introduce both English and Hebrew versions of her poetry. Her poems were dense, lengthier, but in the best kind of way. She read a two page poem in Hebrew that flowed so eloquently that I got caught up in it. It also felt familiar and comfortable to me because it sounds slightly like my mother’s language, Farsi. They have similar tones and inflections so it was interesting to hear what poetry sounded like with that filter. You could tell she wrote that poem in Hebrew even if the English version was just as beautiful.

Nitzhan also read some poems in Hebrew, but her two poems about children resonated with me. She read one poem about her daughter that was a commentary on balancing being a mother and a writer. She talked about this growing sadness her daughter feels for her and that same sadness reciprocated in herself as well. The last lines: “you keep me from writing this poem about you” were heartbreaking. The next poem was well-placed because it was about a third child of hers that only lives in her nightmares. This child creeps into the backs of her eyelids and does not want to let her go. I loved the haunting imagery in that. Adaf had the least amount of poems to share, but his were more universal and involved nature imagery. He didn’t read any in Hebrew, which worked fine for his style. His too had a distinct rhythm and carefully thought-out pacing.

The poets were asked about their translations experiences from Hebrew to English and Nitzhan made the comment that we are constantly translating things so it doesn’t make a difference to her. We translate thoughts into words, emotions into actions, etc. This idea is completely new to me but it’s true. We translate ever day whether we are aware of it or not.