Thursday, January 31, 2013

What Was That Kiss

"I hear the slight rustle of her skirt, and her soft voice saying, “Wait, Isaac—” just before it becomes muffled. So sharply, so unexpectedly does it happen, that it makes me giddy with curiosity; and so, I do what I have to do: I lift the flap of the tent, allowing light in, to peek in on them; and what I see leaves me dumbfounded. 
There she is, kneeling down before him amidst ripples of silk. She wraps her arms around his frail shoulders, draws closely and kisses him, long and full, on his mouth. And then, when she rises up, you can see that his face is confused, and his hand is trembling a little."

In this excerpt Yankle describes his mother Becky, modeled after the biblical figure of Rebecca. Her husband Isaac is lying on his deathbed. He is blind, and waiting for his firstborn son Esav to come back from the hunt, so he can give him the blessing.  Becky plots to deceive the old man. In my story, A Favorite Sonshe goes into his tent to say her last farewell, and just before sending Jacob in to execute her criminal plan, she kisses her husband. Watching this from a distance, Yankle says:

"I have to wonder: What was that kiss? Her way to say farewell? Was it inspired by some old memory, some image of their younger days—or else, was it designed to make him vulnerable, make him ready for me, just in time for my entrance? I agonize, I puzzle over that kiss. Was it act of love—or of deceit?"

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Wednesday, January 30, 2013

A Wedding Dress

"I gaze across the ceiling and along the walls, trying to pick out every shade, every hint. And there, opposite the bed I spot my wedding dress which—now I recall—I’ve hung on the coat rack, right there in the corner. 
The corner of the bedroom is the only place here which I reckon  is truly mine. Strange, no? I still feel that way, despite having slept here with him, on and off, for like, the past ten years. I keep telling myself that I must claim this space, claim it as mine, right away. And maybe I will one day, when the baby’s born. 
Staring at that corner I know one thing, and I know it real clear, at once: this lovely dress, made of heavy satin and trimmed with lace and beading and what not, which I’ve dyed, the morning after the wedding, orange at the top and purple at the bottom, so it can still be used in the future—like, at dances and parties and stuff—this dress isn’t gonna to fit me no more. 
Up to now I’ve pictured it in my head, shining awful brilliant, just like a rainbow, and swirling all around me; and with every step, billowing between my legs, and like, making me adorable, so adorable in Lenny’s eyes—but now that I touch my belly and feel the beginning, the very beginning of change, right here around my waist, what’s the point of all that."

This is my charcoal drawing titled The Wedding Dress, inspired by a wedding dress that a friend of mine inherited from her mother. In it I contrast the loveliness of the dress, and all the dreams it invokes, with the nakedness of the figure, who at this point is left without illusions. 

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Monday, January 28, 2013

Radio Interview: A Good Story is a Good Story

Marsha Casper Cook is the author of six published books and eleven feature-length screenplays, a literary agent with fifteen years experience, and the host of the blog talk radio show A Good Story is a Good  Story. So I am thrilled that Marsha invited me to be appear on her show. 

Come take a listen:

Listen to internet radio with WorldOfInkNetwork on Blog Talk Radio

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Now I Will Try on a Little Red Dress

Now I will try on a little red dress
Lick chocolate-dipped strawberries, and let you caress
All of me... Oh let me kiss you, my sweet valentine
With lips that are glistening with rosy red wine

Let me fill your glass full, up to the rim
And clink it with mine, for such is my whim
When this evening is over, when dawn rises in glory 
Let the magic transform. Then tell me a story

Whisper it, play out the music of words
Let them rise from this leaf, flocking like birds
Going back Home, turning one by one
Across the pages of A Favorite Son

My sweet Valentine, if you enchant me 
Apart From Love we will never be.

A family Saga 

Literary Fiction:

Friday, January 25, 2013

A Love Poem: She and I

Written by my father

Translated by me

I'm dying to sleep, but oh

She's eager to get going

All because of a little window
And tempers that are blowing

I close it gingerly
So she demands it open
I want to sleep, but woefully
She'll shake it till it's broken

She longs for flowers
And I—for chocolate
She wants adventure at all hours
While I dream only ‘bout my ballad

I want the window closed
And she prefers it open
She hates that I have snored
In concerts, and never woken

She deserves dresses galore
And a burning passion
Yet I have only two loves, no more:
My homeland and my nation

Two loves that I adore
Are me, and you with a bouquet 
And one more
The Sabbath day.

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Wednesday, January 23, 2013

What Is There to Say, Come Valentine's Day?

Oh what is there to say
Come Valentine's day?

You bring a dozen blood-red roses
She thinks, Is this how he proposes?

With a bottle of wine
You whisper, Be mine

You offer a big chocolate heart
She thinks, Well, that's a start

She loosens your tie
And gives a deep sigh

The fire is burning, the music is on
But all you can see on her face is a yawn

Then from your pocket you pull out the ring
She shakes her head, No, I want one more thing

What does she want, come Valentine's day?
In cupid's name, what should I say?

She smiles, Bring me Home, Apart From Love
Then I'll be yours, like a hand and a glove 

And you say, Give me A Favorite Son
Now let's blow off the candles, one by one

What more is there to say
Come Valentine's day?