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Rebecca Ruth Gould

Updated: Sat, 2 Jan 2021 09:13 am

https://rrgould.medium.com/

@rrgould

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Biography

Rebecca Ruth Gould is the author of the poetry collection is Cityscapes (Alien Buddha Press, 2019). She translates from Persian, Russian, and Georgian, and has translated books such as After Tomorrow the Days Disappear: Ghazals and Other Poems of Hasan Sijzi of Delhi (Northwestern University Press, 2016) and The Death of Bagrat Zakharych and other Stories by Vazha-Pshavela (Paper & Ink, 2019). She was finalist for the Luminaire Award for Best Poetry and (together with Kayvan Tahmasebian), Lunch Ticket's Gabo Prize (both in 2017), and is a Pushcart Prize nominee.

Yerevan in Winter

As we hewed words from the stone tower, the planets completed their orbit. Ice cracked & froze. Our glass walls gazed on the circus below. Cars sailed through smog. Buses creaked their way to work. As we sat secluded in our icy fortress, the firmaments lit the horizons that translated our union into words. I watched you stare into the abyss. I watched the passage of the lives we could have lived. I watched our fates diverge, & our shadows merge. I watched the images from our quarry twist & turn, then melt like snowflakes in the crisp morning snow.

Damascus

There is no straight man in the world said starry eyed Rima, as we returned from the Damascus book fair where, for the hundredth time, I fell in love. No straight man in the world— only cheaters, pimps, addicts, & bores. Rima passed her days on the rooftop watching the world unfurl, watching her rivals fall in love. She once had a man more beautiful than herself, she said. She didn’t want children. She wanted just a touch, a hand, to grant release from her celestial observatory, to aim arrows at her stars. Damascus in the month of Ramadan is an affliction that multiplies hourly the hunger inside, the longing to be touched, until prayer brings roof banging at dawn. I thought I had bested Rima’s forecasts. Until the plane landed. I tried to remember the name of the book fair man whose smile had stolen my heart. His syllables merged with others’ words. His nomadic soul hitched onto Rima’s stars.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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Comments

Wanda Burks

Sat 13th Jun 2020 05:04

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