Infinite and wonderful life

In his editorial entitled, "The Luxurious Growth" from July 15, 2008, New York Times columnist, David Brooks writes:

[S]cience finds itself enmeshed with social science and the humanities in what researchers call the Gloomy Prospect, the ineffable mystery of why people do what they do.

The prospect may be gloomy for those who seek to understand human behavior, but the flip side is the reminder that each of us is a Luxurious Growth. Our lives are not determined by uniform processes. Instead, human behavior is complex, nonlinear and unpredictable. The Brave New World is far away. Novels and history can still produce insights into human behavior that science can’t match.

...

This age of tremendous scientific achievement has underlined an ancient philosophic truth — that there are severe limits to what we know and can know; that the best political actions are incremental, respectful toward accumulated practice and more attuned to particular circumstances than universal laws.

In reading these lines this morning, I could not help but think of the seemingly infinite openness that is the basis of Talmud study as I have slowly learned--an openness that does not allow an "anything goes" type of interpretation or implementation, but one that encourages and nurtures creativity and personal initiative.

Within our finite limits and the infinite possibilities that our imaginations and creativity can produce, we are challenged with the task to strive to build and develop an in-depth, heartfelt relationship with Hashem, with Hakadosh Barukh Hu, with God. We are challenged to find the truth of our lives. It is also my profound belief that that play of poetry, at its best, can also help forge and develop this relationship and help develop this truth.

The philosopher David Michael Levin, who I quote it my essay on the poet Charles Olson, compares this more open sense of truth (in contrast to truth as correctness) that only can emerge is the space of this type of openness:

In poetizing discourse, both sound and sense require a theory of truth which understands and appreciates their ‘ecstatic’ play within an open field. In the phonological dimension, there must be a field for the play of sounds: echoes, resonances, overtones and undertones, onomatopeia, polyphony, emotionally evocative sounds. Similarly, in its semantic dimension, the dimension of signifiers, there must be a field for the play of meanings: ambiguities, allusions, metaphors, shades of meaning, adumbrations of what is to come. Truth as correctness, truth represented in the discourse of statements, assertions, propositions, cannot do justice to the interactive processes essential to poetizing discourse. Truth as aletheia can, because it is hermeneutical: it lets sound and sense play in the interplay of presence and absence, identity and difference. To the poetizing process, the process of bringing experience as it takes shape into words that further shape it, aletheia gives a multi-dimensional field in which to unfold. (437)

Aletheia is the Greek word for truth that Heidegger defined as "unconcealing" and which in some way to my mind expresses the work of Talmud Torah and the creativity that underlies it.

Charles Olson, poetry and multivalence

A number of years ago I wrote an essay for a modern poetry class. The topic was Charles Olson and what I called a "Polis of Attention and Dialogue."

I have been silent on this blog for almost a month now for many reasons, but thinking about what I wanted to say, I returned to this essay, which tried to described the multivalent (many meanings) nature of Olson's poetry and in turn the multivalent nature of our world. And I believe that it is my interest in the viewpoint that drew me to the Talmud's multivalence, and why I have been attracted to it over time.

I thought I would share a number of paragraphs from the essay, the whole piece can be found here.

Charles Olson’s Maximus: A Polis of Attention and Dialogue

Don Byrd in his Charles Olson’s Maximus says this about Olson’s interest in more traditional academic work, “His problem was simple: how does the writer manage to finish a project when every day he discovers information which changes the entire picture?”. This is how I feel about my own work with Charles Olson, every page of Maximus seems to open new angles on Olson, on the world, on reality and on myself.

What draws me to Olson’s work is his ability to hold in tension two apparently opposing messages. The first is that “life is strangled by systems” (Christensen 212) and the second is the importance of “making a mappemunde” that includes his “being” (Olson M II 87). While Olson clearly desires to join with Nietzsche and others in toppling the “whole line of life that makes Delphi that center,” (Butterick 7) he does not simply create a mass of ruins. Rather, he takes those ruins and creates a mythology and cosmology out of them. However, these creations are not a Ptolemaic system of perfect circles. Instead, it is a wild, open, becoming, creative, imaginative, unfinished mythology that asks readers for their attention and participation.

A example in nature of this process of both destruction and creation is a terminal moraine–the geological deposits left at the end of a glacier’s journey. It contains everything that the glacier consumed in its path. This image works on many levels with Maximus. First, on a literal level, the section of Gloucester known as Dogtown is actually a “terminal moraine” as Olson says in “Maximus from Downtown–I.” Second, Maximus, itself, can be seen as a terminal moraine created by the movement of Charles Olson–a glacier of a man, whose interests included:

Hopi language, Mayan statuary, non-Euclidean geometry, Melville’s fiction, the austere thought structures in Whitehead’s philosophy, the fragmentaary remains of the Sumerian and Hittite civilizations, Norse, Greek, and Egyptian mythology, numerology and the Tarot, the history of human migration, naval and economic history, the etymology of common words, pre-Socratic philosophy, the historical origins of the New England colonies, the development of the fishing industry off the coast of Massachusetts, accounts of the conquest of Mexico, the collapse of the Aztec and Mayan civilizations. (Christensen 5-6)

Finally, the image of the terminal moraine also resonates with the view of the mythologist, Joseph Campbell, who used this image as a description of the state of myth in our time. Campbell imagined that individuals in the twentieth century were standing on a terminal moraine containing the fragments of thousands of years of myth. And from this great treasure chest of myth he encouraged individuals to create their own personal mythology by picking and choosing from what lies about them. It is with a similar sentiment that Olson writes Maximus.

. . .

Heidegger’s work is immense and extremely complex, but if one turns to his essay on “The Origin of the Work of Art,” one can find some interesting descriptions of truth and the role of the artist in the revelation of that truth. The essential aspect of truth for Heidegger is “unhiddenness,” which Heidegger uncovers within the traditional Greek term for truth, aletheia. It is this sense of truth that Heidegger refers to when he writes,

The art work opens up in its own way the Being of beings. This opening up, i.e., this deconcealing, i.e., the truth of beings, happens in the work. In the art work, the truth of what is has set itself to work. Art is truth setting itself to work. (390)

For Heidegger, art creates an opening out of which truth is unconcealed. Thus, for Heidegger, much like Olson, truth emerges in the openness of a field created by art, by poetry. In a passage that seemingly could have come from Olson, we hear Heidegger say,

What poetry, as illuminating projection, unfolds of unconcealedness and projects ahead into the design of the figure, is the Open which poetry lets happen, and indeed in such a way that only now, in the midst of beings, the Open brings beings to shine and ring out. (72)

Reality, being, truth only emerge in the Open, not within the confines of a clearly delineated system of classification and identification, which stagnates life. The nature of the Open allows for the freedom of creation necessary to bring art to life­–an art not of measure and control, but one of freedom and creativity:

The more poetic a poet is–the freer (that is, the more open and ready for the unforeseen) his saying–the greater is the purity with which he submits what he says to an ever more painstaking listening, and the further what he says is from the mere propositional statement that is dealt with solely in regard to its correctness or incorrectness. (216)

In this passage from “‘. . . Poetically Man Dwells . . .’” Heidegger could have been talking about Maximus, since it certainly requires a “painstaking listening” and cannot be judged on a basis of “correctness or incorrectness.” It also clearly relates to the nature of reality that Olson is striving to give voice to and create a space for–a reality that demands “painstaking listening” and “eyes,” and cannot simply be measured, organized or classified.

. . .

Olson does not simply tell his readers "to find out for yourself." Instead, he forces them to make those discoveries on their own. He does not provide simple answers or solutions. How could he, if he truly believed in the centrality of process and the fluidity of absolutes? By using unorthodox sentence structures, incomplete statements, obscure references, original layout techniques, Olson forces readers to engage the text in an attentive, conversational, dialogical manner in which new meaning is created in the opening of the poem. One cannot assume that the next word will follow from the previous. Each word has to be attended to and given the space to play. Readers must work; they must use their eyes, ears, breath and bodies to engage the text. If they do not pay careful attention to the text and its nuances and participate in a open, transforming dialogue with it, then they will miss its meaning completely, and will fail to create the “polis of the self” (Christensen ix) that it challenges them to create. Eniko Bollobas describes the participatory nature of reading Olson in the following way:

The rich texture of Olson’s poem demands a participatory (creative) reading from the reader rather than “literate” passive listening. Also, it demands from this reader a certain openness and a willingness to resist and ignore prior expectations, preconceptions, prejudices, and routines of apprehension. The multivalent text, the text characterized by free syntactic and semantic valencies, seems a more faithful transcript of the creative moment, and at the same time promises a more active, activating reading experience. (62)

Olson, in fact, gives readers a hint on how to engage his text by how he uses texts within Maximus. Olson makes the texts he reads (e.g. an Algonquin legend in M II, 21) his own by incorporating them into his poem. He may change a word or two, but that is all. However, the new context Olson creates for the story gives it new meanings of which the Algonquins probably never dreamed. Through juxtaposition with other stories and repetition (Olson repeats this legend in M II 142) the meaning of the story is unleashed from its indigenous roots and allowed to float within the readers’ lives where it can possibly plant new roots. In this way Olson demonstrates that reading is not a passive process, but is an active and integrative process in which readers are challenged to unleash Maximus and make it their own in order to give “daily life itself a dignity and a sufficiency” (Christensen ix).

Even the incompleteness of Maximus, which was only gathered together in its current form after Olson's death, provides yet another entrance, another challenge for the reader. In some ways Maximus begs for the reader to complete it. Or perhaps more correctly expressed, to continue it. By engaging the text and attempting to continue it, to make it their own, readers become part of an ongoing conversation, a never-ending process of creating a “mappemunde” out of the terminal moraine on which they dwell.

my constant desire

my constant desire

my constant desire
to know,
to understand,
to experience,
to praise,
to love,
to breathe in
the God that holds
and creates each moment
through self-surrendering love

(c) copyright Jeff Wild 2008

Jonathan Williams: a discovery and a loss

Yesterday as I was reading a blog named Nomadics by the poet Pierre Joris, I happened to come upon a write-up in memorial to the passing of the poet and publisher, Jonathan Williams. In the post, Joris writes:

"The pleasure dome of American poetry," he once called his friend, the poet Robert Kelly – a description that fits Jonathan to a t. He was a student of Charles Olson at Black Mountain, but dedicated his first book to Louis Zukofsky, though he will probably be seen more the spiritual son of William Carlos Williams – no poet of his or any generation since then has had as fine an ear for American speech as JW, nor been able to score that speech on the page with greater accuracy of tone and phrasing. And between writing what must come to about 2000 poems, he managed to found & keep alive for more then half a century one of the greatest poetry presses in this country, Jargon Books, which published over a hundred handsomely printed books.

Being a fan of Olson and William Carlos Williams and poetry that tries to capture the joy and beauty of our lives, as well as a fan of small presses, I was intrigued and went to the Jargon Books site, where I found a wonderful essay called "A Snowflake Orchard & What I Found There," by Jeffery Beam.

The essay did a wonderful job of describing Williams and his small but influential press. Some excerpts:

Whether celebrating backwood visionaries or oddly precious examples of contemporary art, Jargon endures as a mother-lode of the essential. Enduring art not only affirms what is best within us, but also illuminates the dizzying variety of forms, destroying all illusions that what is Other, seemingly alien, is outside us. Jargon aims to show that what is there, is there, and that no amount of fancy word play, paint manipulation, or back-slapping can prove otherwise. The result constantly reminds me that for every artist hailed and recognized for her or his work, another hundred languish unlauded by the force of the current. . . .

At Skywinding [where Williams lived in North Carolina], Art (read Freshness) counts for something. What transpires inside this world reflects the natural world outside. No politics, no backslapping and bribery to muddle the words. No greed or prostitution or pollution to sour the voice. Only the human ache to make something of worth which stands on its own, and which instructs and deepens the quality of Being. Cleansing and lifting up. Elite/Elate.

Reading this led me to Jeffery Beams webpage, where I read a number of his poems, liking in particular, "I Have Never Wanted."

I have also listened to the two readings of Jonathan Williams that are archived on Pennsound, and read this lovely interview of him by Jeffery Beam.

What a lovely journey and what wonderful discoveries. I look forward to ordering Jonathan Williams', Jubilant Thicket: New and Selected Poems, and to continue to read more of Jeffery Beam as well. And in keeping track of Jargon Books as it begins the difficult transition with the passing of its founder and champion.

As the title of this post implies, I am very happy to have discovered the work of Jonathan Williams, but feel that it is a great loss that I did not discover him earlier.

"Universal, philosophical, and vague" . . . "poetry and life are not like that"

In a much earlier post, I wrote:

And so the Talmud is now for me the truly epic poem that is immensely alive and breathing and creating every day. It is studied, discussed and debated constantly by observant Jews, and so, why can I not walk through its pages discovering what I can find out about myself, God’s will and halakhic observance and in doing so begin or continue charting my own observance, which can only take place in the day-to-day world I live within.

And just the other day I decided to re-read a poem, entitled, "The Art of Poetry" by Kenneth Koch and wanted to share these lines that resonate with me and how my study of the Talmud when I am working at my best can truly be "one of the finest things in existence" and make me "curious to be alive," but is yet, not too "universal, philosophical, and vague," because as Kenneth Koch concludes, "poetry and life are not like that":

Total absorption in poetry is one of the finest things in existence—
It should not make you feel guilty. Everyone is absorbed in something.
The sailor is absorbed in the sea. Poetry is the mediation of life.
The epic is particularly appropriate to our contemporary world.
Because we are so uncertain of everything and also know too much,
A curious and seemingly contradictory condition, which the epic salves
By giving us our knowledge and our grasp, with all our lack of control as well.

* * *
. . . . . . . . . A reader should put your work down puzzled,
Distressed, and illuminated, ready to believe
It is curious to be alive.

* * *
It is true that good poetry is difficult to write.
Poetry is an escape from anxiety and a source of it as well.
On the whole, it seems to me worthwhile. At the end of a poem
One may be tempted to grow too universal, philosophical, and vague
Or to bring in History, or the Sea, but one should not do that
If one can possibly help it, since it makes
Each thing one writes sound like everybody else,
And poetry and life are not like that. Now I have said enough.

Notes on nomadics

Notes on nomadics

focus on the creative
the new
the rhizome not the root

no set path
though all paths can be “raided” for necessities and treasures

constant movement
constant correction
constant rebirth

constantly making connections
new connections for new possibilities
new life

no authorities
no organization

love of the new
the possible of all the connections
that create the world new every moment

humility to the unknown and unknowable
surrender to the creative
embracing of the virtual and the unthinkable next moment

nomad poetics
new chiddushim

Copyright (c) Jeff Wild, 2008

Speak the World -- a poem

Speak the World

Can I be a voice for the world?
Can I be anything else?

Are we not all
a voice, really the voice
for the world?

I begin writing today,
after months of silence.

After months even years
of searching for other
means of expressing
who I am
and where I fit.

But I don’t fit in . . .

I don’t belong in any group:
Catholic, Buddhist, Jewish, New Age, Integral . . .

Not even Nomadic . . .

So, I can only speak me
and so speak the world.

Copyright (c) Jeff Wild, 2006

An 'immense world of delight'

More from the poet, Kenneth Koch:

"I think poetry really accomplishes something and is really useful. I think it connects us to the world we use, to our language, and connects those words to things that are outside of us, that are out of our control most of the time and in many ways and enables us to feel a kind of mastery of those things, to participate in them, to have experiences we wouldn't otherwise have, and to understand things and see things that we wouldn't otherwise see. Blake speaks of the 'immense world of delight' which may exist in things without our knowing it -- I think poetry can help one to be close to whatever that is."

From my experience, religion and philosophy at their best can do the same thing.

A celebration of itself and all creation . . .

This is a paragraph that I read the other day from "Kenneth Koch's Seasons on Earth," an article following Koch's death in 2002. I thought it was beautiful and I wanted to share it.

That is one of the things that Koch — who died on July 6, succumbing to the leukemia he had fought for a year — had figured out for himself and his students long ago: Anger is useless, but you can transmute it into something beautiful or charming or funny or true. Not that therapy is the primary goal; it is just a beneficial byproduct of the process. The primary goal is poetry, which can be written anywhere, by anyone, and is properly understood as a celebration of itself and all creation. Poetry was what happened when you liberated the imagination. Poetry was joy, and what’s more — and contrary to some highly publicized cases of suicidal, despondent or deranged poets — you didn’t need to be in agony in order to write it, and you didn’t need to show a solemn face to the world.

The gift(s) of the Talmud

Not being able to sleep last night, I thought much about my interests and direction. Recently, I have been reading much from the Benedictine tradition, in particular commentaries on the Rule of Benedict -- a still vibrant document from around 600 CEcontaining rules about living in a monastery and elsewhere. It is a beautiful work that holds many messages for today.

I have also been exploring the poetry of Kenneth Koch, who I mentioned earlier -- his optimistic, creative and playful texts are also quite inspiring and freeing.

But in thinking about this blog and a viewpoint that that I can provide that perhaps others cannot, I returned to the Talmud as a source of meaning and understanding for me to continue to explore. While the Rule of Benedict has been and is being interpreted by a wide range of folks within and outside the monastery, even inside and outside Christianity, and the poetry of Kenneth Koch certainly can inspire, it is meant to be enjoyed and not analysed, the Talmud seems to thrive on analysis, to grow and grow and become richer from every question asked of it, every angle explored.

Therefore, since I do believe I provide a rather unusual perspective on this ancient and current text, I decided that I needed to renew my reading of, listening to and writing about this text that is certainly a gift from Hashem given us through Chazal and all following commentators. But it itself offers us the gift of providing infinite meaning to each action of our lives that often times can seem to lack much significance, much importance.

The Talmud breathes life into each moment by giving us the task of study and learning "day and night" and by focusing on every aspect of our lives it challenges us to see the importance, the beauty, the depth in each of those moments as well.

People die every day / for lack / of what is found there

In one of William Carlos Williams poems he wrote:

It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die every day
for lack
of what is found
there

When I think about how I feel when I am at my best and listening to Rav Michael Rosensweig's shiurim, this poem rings true.

In many, many ways it is difficult for me to get clear information or specific "spiritual" ideas or concepts from Rav Rosensweig's shiurim (i.e. "news"). What I can get from them is something far more important. Something that I would argue "people are dying for every day" -- dying, metaphorically from a loss of meaning, from a loss of creativity and passion.

At their best, poems help us focus on the particulars of our lives and find meaning within them, but we are not supposed to find answers in those poems. Only appreciation and perhaps more questions, but most importantly love -- love of the life we are given.

A few lines from another poem come to mind here. They are from Rilke's Ninth Duino Elegy:

. . . Perhaps we are only here in order to say: house,
bridge, fountain, gate, pitcher, fruit-tree, window—
at most: column, tower … But to say them,
you must understand, oh to say them more intensely than the Things
themselves ever dreamed of existing. (translated by Stephen Mitchell)

Perhaps it is this type of intensity that Rav Rosensweig means when he writes about:

• the "maximalist man of destiny" from his essay "The Spiritual Legacy of Noah and Avraham" or
• a "maximalist halachic lifestyle" from his essay "Chanukah as a Holiday of Idealism and Maximalism"

For Rav Rosensweig it is never a desire to find ways around the halakhah, but only a constant search to understand the "maximalist halachic lifestyle" ever more deeply and broadly. This, I believe, is why his shiurim range throughout the entire range of the Talmud. He is not simply focused on a daf or a mishnah or a gemara, but instead the entire Talmud and all commentaries on in conversation and Rav Rosensweig is always trying to find something new, to discover, a new chiddush, a new creation . . . it is this creativity and intensity that I believe on can connect to the art of poetry.

Rav Rosensweig's writings can be found at http://www.torahweb.org/rosensweig.html

More on saying "Yes" to life, even an "unexciting" one

In the last entry I wrote about how rabbis Singer and Rosensweig and their intense love of the Talmud, Hashem and the Halakhah represent for me individuals and a tradition that profoundly says "Yes" to all that life brings.

This fundamental position is the one that inspires me the most and one that I look for in any tradition or practice that I explore.

Just recently I discovered a new poet, Kenneth Koch. He was a friend and colleague of John Ashbery and part of the so-called New York School of Poetry of which he once said “Maybe you can almost characterize the poetry of the New York School as having as one of its main subjects the fullness and richness of life and the richness of possibility and excitement and happiness.”

To this line I want to say, "Amen."

Yes life is so full and so rich, even if is An Unexciting Life, as the title of one of my favorite books describes it. The book is on Benedictine spirituality and its Introduction begins:

Some years ago I read a quotation from a letter of Gustave Flaubert, creator of Madame Bovary, which could easily serve as a summary of one aspect of the spirituality that stems from the Rule of St. Benedict. As I remember it, the text ran: "Be regular and ordinary in your life, like a bourgeois, so that you may violent and original in your work." What he seems to be be saying is that the price paid for the release of the inner spark of creativity is low impact living: the renunciation of superficial excitement, passive entertainment and mindless celebrity. In other words, exterior dullness is a condition of inner excitement. To describe this happy state I coined the phrase "creative monotony."

For us who live in a sensate society dominated by an appetite for excitement, no matter how vacuous its source, the preferential option for a quiet life may seem a little peculiar. No doubt in the midst of the helter skelter of a busy life, the idea of an oasis of silence has a certain appeal, but relatively few of us seriously consider building into our lives the values by which Benedict lived.

This reluctance derives, in part, from a misunderstanding of the nature of the unexciting life. The serenity envisaged by the Benedictine motto pax (peace) is not the deathly stillness of a stagnant swamp where nothing ever happens, nor is it the lassitude resulting from the abandonment of all ideals and the dodging of every challenge. The outward call, the nurtures inward growth is the fruit of a well disciplined life pursued through many years, and of battle-scarred victory in many struggles."

While everything I know and read about and listen to in regard to a Yeshiva is that they are not places of quiet or serenity, but they are places that offer something very different from the "sensate society dominated by an appetite for excitement, no matter how vacuous its source."

In future posts I will explore what Michael Casey says in An Unexciting Life, as well as other views that say a powerful Yes!

A New Halakha .. a poem

finding a home, a place to rest, a place to act
but there is no home for me here
no place to simply rest

the loneliness is intense,
the depressed feelings of why I don’t do more,
why don’t I contribute more

the world cries in pain
and I sit and read the Talmud
and Rav Soloveitchik

deeply felt traditions, but
isolated, limited,
not expansive enough for me

perhaps that is what I desire
is something to hold me in,
to reign in my wild ride of exploration

yet with the understanding
that love of God, love of the infinite IS everything.
but the word “love” does nothing
to change things

what can change
all levels, all lines, all
scales of magnitude?

they are all changing all the time anyway
must we do anything,
or must we do nothing?

I sometimes feel that everything
rests on me, everything waits for me
to create something new,

don’t we need something new,
but not simplistic, not utilitarian,
but prayerful, hopeful, wonder-full

yet demanding,

demanding faith, devotion, conviction,
passion

passion of love and acceptance and dedication
not the passion of exclusion, isolation, righteousness

perhaps it is this passion, this devotion, this dedication
that I find within the pages of the Talmud and in
words of the Rav and in the restrictions of halakha

but can we create new halakha
that are not simply our own desires,
our own pleasures

but in some way honor
and demand a total commitment
of love and dedication?

a halakha that

“believes that there is only one world –
not divisible into secular and hallowed sectors –
which can either plunge into ugliness and hatefulness,
or be roused to meaningful, redeeming activity,
gathering up all latent powers into a state of holiness."

Copyright (c) Jeff Wild, 2006

Yes and No -- a poem

As simple as “Yes” and “No.”
Each moment asks a question:
Love or hate?
Hope or despair?
Possibility or stagnation?
Life or death?

Our choices create the world.
At times it is easier to side
with “No,” with despair, with hate.

But this easy path only leads
to more of the same,
more darkness, more death,
more night.

The path of saying “Yes” to life
may be hard, but it is the only way out –

out to the Light, to Life, to Hope, to Love,
to a future for us all.

With Mary we can say, “Yes” to Love,
to Love that is God,
to a God who is Love,
to the resurrection of Love within us and
a “No” to the crucifixion of Love.

Love will rise only if it rises with us.
We are responsible.
We have the choice
with each interaction,
with each breath,
with each “Yes.”

We are one.
We are held in God’s Love,
we are all expressions of that Love,
needing love, living love.

Humility calls us to love all God’s creation –
God help us, guide us, become us?

God becomes us . . .
Each moment held in God’s hand we have life.

God becomes us at each moment.

Copyright (c) Jeff Wild, 2006

The Talmud, modern epic poetry and me.

I have long marvelled at modern epic poems like Charles Olson’s Maximus Poems, William Carlos Williams’ Paterson, Ezra Pound’s Cantos and Louis Zukofsky’s A. These works seem to strive to embrace the entire universe and history in their pages. In fact, they each struggle to create a world into which the reader can step into, if they are willing to and learn about themselves as they interact with this “epic” world. All subjects were possible, nothing was off limits for these writers.

While I enjoyed strolling through the pages of the Maximus Poems, and at times found wisdom and expansive ideas there, I also found much that I could not follow or thought was perhaps meaningless. Even though George Butterick had created a companion volume to Maximus that highlighted the references and connections, I usually thought, “Why am I doing this? Is it really worth the effort? Are there just a few gems in a mountain of dust? Has this work truly affected many lives? Does anyone still care about this work, other than a professor or two?”

My answer was usually that the general effect of Maximus was small and short lived, as I believe is true of the other poems mentioned above. But I really loved the breadth and depth of the work. Recently, I was wondering if other works were currently being written like these and even though I came upon a work, ARK by Ronald Johnson, I had an epiphany, a revelation . . . the Talmud.

For months now I have been regularly reading small snippets of the Talmud, Judaism’s great, seemingly infinite source of wisdom and law. This is truly a work that contains everything it. While I have just begun entering into it, it is clear nothing is off limits: food, birth, death, love, etc. And while the poetic epics where attempts to bring history into the poem, the Talmud is truly a work of history that took hundreds of years to create. In fact, when it is studied today, over a thousand years of commentaries are available for discussion. This work is “alive” and still living and breathing.

When one studies it, one is studying with all the commentators, one spans the centuries. One sits with Rava, Abaye, Akiva, Hillell, Rashi and Rambam and we all struggle together to understand God’s will, to understand the “four amos of the halachah,” to understand the whole world that is contained within. As the Rambam says, “The lone soul in the study hall poring over a Gemara, delving into the halachah, charting his own observance, he is the culmination of Creation.” What I love in this line is that observance isn’t left merely to the experts, the priests, the gurus, the lamas, the rabbis to explain or teach or define. Each person is commanded to study and to chart “his [or her] own observance.”

And so the Talmud is now for me the truly epic poem that is immensely alive and breathing and creating every day. It is studied, discussed and debated constantly by observant Jews, and so, why can I not walk through its pages discovering what I can find out about myself, God’s will and halakhic observance and in doing so begin or continue charting my own observance, which can only take place in the day-to-day world I live within.

A Poem -- New Halakha

finding a home, a place to rest, a place to act

but there is no home for me here

no place to simply rest

the loneliness is intense,

the depressed feelings of why I don’t do more,

why don’t I contribute more

the world cries in pain

and I sit and read the Talmud

and Rav Soloveitchik

deeply felt traditions, but

isolated, limited,

not expansive enough for me

perhaps that is what I desire

is something to hold me in,

to reign in my wild ride of exploration

yet with the understanding

that love of God, love of the infinite IS everything.

but the word “love” does nothing

to change things

what can change

all levels, all lines, all

scales of magnitude?

they are all changing all the time anyway

must we do anything,

or must we do nothing?

I sometimes feel that everything

rests on me, everything waits for me

to create something,

a new religion even . . .

don’t we need something new,

but not simplistic, not utilitarian,

but prayerful, hopeful, wonder-full

yet demanding,

demanding faith, devotion, conviction,

passion

passion of love and acceptance and dedication

not the passion of exclusion, isolation, righteousness

perhaps it is this passion, this devotion, this dedication

that I find within the pages of the Talmud and in

words of the Rav and in the restrictions of halakha

but can we create new halakha

that are not simply our own desires,

our own pleasures

but in some way honor

and demand a total commitment

of love and dedication?

a halakha that

“believes that there is only one world –

not divisible into secular and hallowed sectors –

which can either plunge into ugliness and hatefulness,

or be roused to meaningful, redeeming activity,

gathering up all latent powers into a state of holiness."

A Poem -- Wrestling with God

"Wresting with God"

is one possible definition of the word “Israel”

Jacob’s new name after his match with

a man, a stranger, an angel . . . himself?

what an image

what an obligation . . . wrestling with God!

yet, if we listen carefully enough,

if we live deeply enough,

aren’t we all called to wrestle,

to wrestle to understand, to love,

to eventually surrender,

but not without a struggle

a struggle to grasp, to love,

to embrace . . . God?

* * *

in explaining a particular law of kashrut

the Rabbis tell of how the angel

“embraced” Jacob as they struggled

and so, dislocated his right hip

or

was it the right hip because

the stranger was a Torah scholar

to whose right Jacob first walked to show respect?

or

was he an idol worshipper . . .

we may never know,

but that won’t keep the Rabbis

and their students

from continuing to discuss and debate

* * *

in any case . . .

in our embrace of God

in God’s constant embrace of us

we are often wounded

and a part of us is

dislocated

as we explore ourselves and our limits

* * *

there’s nothing like struggling

with the infinite

to reveal

the revelation that is each of us

as we learn to wrestle with God from Jacob

perhaps we should also learn to ask for a blessing

as he did

a blessing for the life,

the passion,

the possibilities

of the struggle . . .