‘And Aaron was Silent’
from Leviticus
What to do if God’s lets us learn the wrong lesson,
imagining Aaron of old and an old man, standing
on the sandy floor of his makeshift temple, blood
of his blood pooling on the ground, his brother
glorifying the greatness that struck him silent.
Moses seems senseless as I embrace Aaron, my
ancestor from across the ages, Aaron standing,
an old tree in Autumn, his vestments hanging as
dying leaves, their sap long gone, and the sun
giving way to a moonless night. He has no words;
his silence is what lives on pages, coursing blood
in a paper body, we read his silence years hence,
half-eaten bagels by the sides of our books, and
the crook of an old man at the far table, scoffing
at it all, branding his ancestors mafia, and God
is a Nazi, he says (if only in this case). We too are
silent at this death, learning not to burn but to
bend, but I yearn for the Welsh poet’s warning
not to go gently but to erupt into flames of rage
and light up the dying day, to close the books, to
rise, to leave and to learn on the streets if need be.
12 thoughts on "‘And Aaron was Silent’ "
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Lee, the way you used the spacing in this to shape it, allows air into it so it can catch fire.
What Coleman said!
And, a sobering assessment of the lessons that we may have to learn, though we yearn they wouldn’t have needed to be necessary again.
Brilliant!
Love:
the shape and white space allowing the breath of the words written to resonate.
Sound and rhythm in “blood/of his blood pooling on the ground”
Well crafted image, just gorgeous: “Aaron standing,/an old tree in Autumn, his vestments hanging as/dying leaves, their sap long gone, and the sun/giving way to a moonless night.”
And those last four lines…wow!
This poem is well conceived and crafted. It’s weighty without being overbearing. I like so many of these lines and phrases.
his vestments hanging as
dying leaves, their sap long gone
half-eaten bagels by the sides of our books
to learn on the streets if need be.
Fantastic, Lee!
.
Came here to say this!
👏🙏
Love how this builds and builds into a cry for action. Masterfully done.
The constraint and emotional is palpable in thie piece. Love “his vestments hanging as/dying leaves…”
Like Shaun, that image just sticks with me…long after reading, too. Another fantastic poem, Lee.
*Like Shaun mentions
What is going on with my typing? Words are literally disappearing shortly after I type them!! Ugh!
Sobering, thoughtful, beautifully executed poem, Lee.
his vestments hanging as
dying leaves, their sap long gone
What an image!
hence,
half-eaten bagels by the sides of our books
I love this image and what it says, how your concentration is so intense it suspends appetite.
This is so well done. Thank you so much for sharing this profound poem.
What to do if God lets us learn the wrong lesson,
imagining Aaron of old and an old man, standing
on the sandy floor of his makeshift temple, blood
of his blood pooling on the ground, his brother
glorifying the greatness that struck him silent.
Moses seems senseless as I embrace Aaron, my
ancestor from across the ages, Aaron standing,
an old tree in Autumn, his vestments hanging as
dying leaves, their sap long gone, and the sun
giving way to a moonless night. He has no words;
his silence is what lives on pages, coursing blood
in a paper body, we read his silence years hence,
half-eaten bagels by the sides of our books, and
the crook of an old man at the far table, scoffing
at it all, branding his ancestors mafia, and God
is a Nazi, he says (if only in this case). We too are
silent at this death, learning not to burn but to
bend, but I yearn for the Welsh poet’s warning
not to go gently but to erupt into flames of rage
and light up the dying day, to close the books, to
rise, to leave and to learn on the streets if need be.