JACK GALMITZ

Jack Galmitz was born in N.Y.C. in 1951. His poems have appeared in numerous journals worldwide. His first books of verse, The Effects of Light, was published by AHA Online Books last year. He currently lives with his wife in Elmhurst, N.Y.

--------

A FOREIGN COUNTRY

There is a woman
Beating a carpet
Strung by a wire
From the chimney to her building.
She is singing
A song of her country
That she left long ago.

Adjacent to the building
Are the tracks of the railroad
Where the wild cherry trees
& the brambles grow.
In a branch not exploded
With flowers & berries
A robin is spreading its wings
Singing to a future
It holds in its bones.

Below, on the street
I walk in a frenzy,
Holding my breath back,
Knowing at each corner
I turn & discover
My own.

--------

THE SERF

(For Rabindranath Tagore)

In the morning, though its freezing,
I energetically slip on pants,
Strap up laced boots,
& leave the tired fire of my home
without a groan escaping from my lips
or arising in my throat.

Amidst the chickens in the yard,
I grip the plough
As a different part of myself
That I had the good luck
To have found.
I would not have it easy.

In the mid-day heat,
When shadows dare not show
Their faces
I do not dream of lying down
Under the shade of an umbrella tree
To play the balalaika.
I have seen the curling
Leaves that died prematurely,
Smelled the compost-heap.
Under this hatband,
Under this harness straps,
Let me grow stronger.

When night draws up
Like a neighbor' s wagon
Full & wobbling
I walk upright
Swinging to & fro
What light is needed
From within myself

--------

KUAN SI YIN

I watched a man
Outside my window
Hurriedly walking-
Dashing, really-
Down the block
Bordering the railroad tracks
Toward someplace important
When out of the garbage cans
Dented loudly
Crawled a yellow cat
Scrawny as a damaged heart
Hungry crying.

The man walked on
But soon came back
From the supermarket
With tuna canned
& popped open the lid
& called & called
under the car chassis
its familiar dark
from where the cat peered
but wouldn' t step out.
By the trunk
Of a plain tree
In summer
The man left an offering
As it grew dark
As a winter flounder.