Dr. Kaufmann's Poems - Dorval Jewish Centre

The Trees Sing the Raindrops

Thursday, November 13, 2014 - 10:23 PM

The Trees Sing the Raindrops

The trees sing the raindrops after the storm,
The leaves glisten green in a minor key
The branches sway a tempo, a deep bass note -
While the roots whisper forth in filaments.
The park is silent, save for puddles
Adjusting to the afterflow - ridges
And rivulets go underground, while pools
Debate the definition, the length of a lake.
The drains are clogged and gurgle without end,
The sweat of the earth rises in humid steam
The cautious grass unbends its leaves and stem.
Insects and fish first know the storm has passed,
Then birds and squirrels come searching for their homes.
People fled, panicked, when the storm began
Hours ago, and it will be hours yet before they return
With skates and bikes, and unleashed pets
Jogging in virtual marathons, stretching
And grunting on exercise bars, frisbee
Picnics between the debating pools.
The gray clouds still cover the sky; observing
The sun restrains itself- it's too near twilight.
Other days across the years, coming soon,
We'll walk again together In the park.

How old am I?

Thursday, November 13, 2014 - 10:22 PM

How old am I?
Old as the ocean newborn in rivers
And springs, old as the dew, and the drop of rain
That tickles the nose or makes one blink
I'm old as the song that touches the heart
And old as the giggle of a peek-a-boo child
I'm old as the words that look at the stars
And old as the wonder in young lovers' eyes
I'm old as a hand that reaches to clutch
Another hand grasping the edge of a cliff
I'm old, so old, each moment I'm new
I'm the soul searching and residing in you

Diagnosis

Sunday, November 2, 2014 - 3:55 PM

Friday Morning, before Yom Kippur

"We'll reset the clock," the doctor said,

Describing the surgery that will give me years.

"There's risk of course in a case as complex as yours,

Still, we'll do what we can and trust in G-d."

"Reset the clock" is Teshuvah defined,

The small turning of the soul, compass lost,

Homeward, as far as turning east to west,

For the first shift of legs or eyes resets

Direction - a step, a word, a thought may

Open channels through which flow correction.

So easy to return with home in the mind -

And yet the risk of evil, like a tumor,

Must be met with resolve and more, much more -

(We are metaphors for our souls, bodies

Paradoxes of the Divine concealed,

Yet revealed in a mitzvah, tzedekah,

A surgeon's skill, a teacher's guiding hand,

The still small voice in acts of kindness.)

Shrink, cut, shrink - or the radiation burn -

Sends the tumors of our sins ashrieking

Into oblivion. We are all doctors,

Yet cannot heal ourselves. Still while we have

Trust and faith and joy, the deep, immeasurable

Love of friends and family, then indeed,

Though the channels narrow, the pain's intense,

The doctor's hope, the doctor's prayer, become

So real the clock's reset. Then with blessings

We know the Exodus, and Redemption.