Go My Uncle and Fetch the Bride
by Jane Rice
1.
Under the road
a floor
black heat kidnaps the sun
and the desert planes land, land, land
soldiers float dreams
in shallow-
dug holes
as if they need
only width of shoulders
length: with boots
as if they scoop
fading light
to keep it
world of stories below
spring from the sea
2.
Who remembers
the tree
the garden
words make faces
something
lies in wait
side street
of trembling
labyrinth
arms itself
with branches
stream trickles
no wider
than a wrist
who
remembers
pebbles
hand’s gray face
nostrils on fire
shaken
eyes echo
each voice
of a candle
sings to the tree
3.
Little thing
like distance
soldiering a nest
of stones
smoke fans gray
and gray
fans smoke
fluke of breath
revives
sky of crushed
tilts wandering
the word earth
limited to land
amounts
to flight
charcoal tree
against the mountain
as are pronouns for those
not in the room
one plus one equals and
distinct
not interchangeable
ears weep
even if eyes
refuse
dust of nameless inks
remember the tree all green
*
Note: A 16th century poem, know as L’Chah Dodi, is sung at Friday night services to welcome the sabbath bride. There are many variations on the tune and numerous translations. The literal translation of the first line is Go my uncle towards bride. I heard it translated as Go my uncle and fetch the bride. I loved that translation much better than another version I had read: Beloved, come to meet the bride (or) Let’s go, my friend, towards the bride. This summer I was studying prayer-book Hebrew as part of my process of converting to Judaism. We were studying possessives, hence an explanation of “my” uncle.
Jane Rice lives in San Francisco and pursues her interests in poetry, art and art history. Please visit Propolis Press for information about her letterpress chapbook entitled Portrait Sitters.
qarrtsiluni 
Oh! I love this poem! Love the poem, the words & the back story. This is one I will re-read again and again.
gorgeous poem, thank you Jane and to qarrtsiluni
for the chance to see it here…
Beautiful poem again.
What a fine poem. The short lines here allow each small packet of words to sizzle a little before moving on, a momentary hesitation that allows a small charge to leap from line to line, building and building into a very powerful poem.
Thank you for your comment, Barbara.
This is a beautiful poem. The specific images, so terse, so clear, provide a huge picture of “shtetl” life. At least that’s my interpretation . Maybe I’ve just been reading too much Yiddish poetry – in translation of course.