some moments in Jerusalem . . .


From James Fenton’s poem “Jerusalem”

Who packed your bag?

I packed my bag.

Where was your uncle’s mother’s sister born?

Have you ever met an Arab?

Yes I am a scarab.

I am a worm. I am a thing of scorn.

I cry Impure from street to street

And see my degradation in the eyes I meet . . . .

You are in error.

This is terror.

This is your banishment. This land is mine.

This is what you earn.

This is the Law of No Return.

This is the sour dough, this the sweet wine.

This is my history, this my race

And this unhappy man threw acid in my face.

Stone cries to stone

Heart to heart, heart to stone.

These are the warrior archaeologists.

This is us and that is them.

This is Jerusalem.

These are the dying men with tattooed wrists.

Do this and I’ll destroy your home.

I have destroyed your home. You have destroyed my home


Another way of thinking about Jerusalem; Uri Dromi, and us, at the Mishkenot writers and culture centre . . .

katerina horevei . . . exo ap teen Ellada

Our Ognen and Israeli poet Shai Dotan being thoughtful and literary in the accepted/recognizable/cross border gesture . . .

sarah saffian and the poet ariel zinder in jerusalem: tortured artists.


by Shai Dotan (seen above w/ Ognen)

“Love I sing, I say love”

Meir Wieseltier

Let’s pretend that the war here was made of love

An oppressed enemy swept away by love

A mutual, one-sided occupation of love

Bustling settlements swarming with love

The eyes of preachers in mosques bellowing love

In refugee camps, walls stained with slogans of love

The news every hour, sugared announcements dripping love

Roadblocks with barbed wires in the name of love

Terrorists infiltrating shopping malls buckled with love

Coexistence, a hollow word, an abandoned tank made of love.


One Response to “some moments in Jerusalem . . .”

  1. karenconnelly Says:

    The top picture of graffiti was painted in the courtyard of Jerusalem Arabs whose house has been taken over by Yeshiva students. The family is squatting in the garden . . .

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