Last update - 00:00 23/11/2006
'The Atomic Clock of Love and Work'
By Robert Rosenberg
A selection from his poetry collection on the occasion
of Robert Rosenberg's shloshim.
The precision with which love invents
is as clear as the ticking of an atomic clock.
Don't get this wrong. This is not about time.
This is about how much - how deep, how wide, how much -
and no ruler or meter is involved.
Still, there is a precision to love's inventions.
Curves and curls that only the lover can see,
fragrances and feelings only the beloved can feel.
How to write a poem:
Make a mess
Clean it up.
Something will always get missed.
How to read a poem:
Look for what was missed,
so you can find what was made.
It all comes down to choosing,
to paths in the woods,
to snow or summer,
to mountain or sea,
to you or me.
Every word is a choice,
every step is a decision.
That's why
it's a good idea
to start out
knowing where you want to go.
But remember that in adventure land there are no guarantees.
Welcome to adventure land.
You'll need a map and supplies
we're not talking pre-fabrication or robots here.
This ain't Disneyland or Spielbergland.
It's adventure land
where the only way out is to complete the trip
and nobody can tell you how the story ends. Except that
Love and art have something in common with anything bought second hand.
Recipe piece
Put two very different people in the same room
Tell them to describe how love feels.
Lease your property, even if it is moveable.
Write a guidebook to your home so that your enemy,
by definition blind, knocks nothing over
while finding the most comfortable chair in which to fall asleep.
Is a martyr a martyr if martyrdom is chosen?
Can a saint be proud of being a saint?
Do we ever know ourselves or just the mirror?
Do we ever learn all the rules of the game?
Does a Bedouin feel thirsty or ignore it?
Can a fundamentalist learn the fundamentals of any game?
Do we know how to get where we're going?
Do we ever get a chance to choose?
Is a reasonable question just laziness?
Can a monster ever weep with joy?
Do we ever know ourselves or just the answer?
Does it really matter if we have the solution?
I am dependent on food, drugs, and the knowledge of being loved.
I am dependent on daily newspapers, coffee and the recognition of those I recognize
I am dependent on the good will of the bank manager, the cafe owner, the grocer
I am dependent on my friends and even those few enemies I have created without intention
I am dependent on heat in winter and the smell of my own sweat in summer.
I am dependent on the kindness of strangers and the interests of business people of both sexes
I am dependent on the love I hear whispering to me in the sun as I walk to work wishing
I was a man of independent means.