Keeper of Memories

KEEPER OF MEMORIES POEMS & PHOTOGRAPHS

ARTHUR ROBERT GOSHIN 1

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Other Poetry by Arthur Robert Goshin: One Hundred and Twenty Four Moons Longing Before Dawn Love’s Cloth Both The Harvest And The Seed Time Changes Nothing The Strange Curiosity of Memory Always Searching for Me

Front Cover Photograph: Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY Back Cover Photograph: McCauley Hot Springs - Jemez Mountains, NM Book Design: Chris Reilley

Copyright © 2015 Arthur Robert Goshin ISBN 978-0-9843461-1-0

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THE BOOK ‘Keeper of Memories’ is really two separate books, one poetry, the other photography. My suggestion is that you may want to ‘read’/’see’ them separately since the photos are not linked to the poems.

THE POEMS A good friend and new poet recently asked me a simple but penetrating question, ‘just who are you primarily writing for?’ My quick, reflexive, and revealing answer was, ‘for myself and my grandchildren’. While it is certainly the case that the rest of my family and close friends are also within this grouping, I do feel an intense need to have those of mine who come after me, who will only have known me a little or not at all, to have a way to better know about my ‘roots’, thoughts, and beliefs, through my own ‘voice’.

THE PHOTOGRAPHS All of these photographs are of water reflections. Most have been slightly modified to allow for inclusion of my own impression of what it is that I see in them.

Please see the poem, ‘Waters’ Colors: Reflections, Impressions’ on page 104, which is my attempt to explain what it is I see and am trying to accomplish with these photographs. To my surprise I’ve been able to capture some interesting images off of the surface of ice and several of those are included.

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For My Sons and Daughter-In-Laws Erik & Lorie Daniel & Mona With Much Love

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TILLMAN ROAD WILDLIFE AREA - CLARENCE, NY

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KEEPER OF MEMORIES My beloved grandmother of most blessed memory.

She would only speak Yiddish.

She understood English, but refused to speak it.

Afraid that if she stopped speaking Yiddish those left behind would be forgotten.

That the bridge to those memories would be gone.

That the words themselves were magical, containing the images, the voices, the faces, the songs and rhythms, the tastes and smells of all that she had loved but had been forced to abandon.

That somehow, even if I didn’t understand their meaning that I would come to know all that she did, that I would remember, never forget, and that I would be the one to take her place as keeper of the memories and their meaning.

To then pass the same along to ours who came next.

And in this way all that was contained in those memories would last forever.

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MAGIC AND WONDER As a child I had always thought that the world was filled with wonder and magic.

And, I guess, that I still do.

A lasting forever imprint, it seems.

I had also believed that the world was a fair and just place.

That, in the end, what was wrong would be fixed.

That adults, the world, could be relied on, that goodness would always prevail.

While some of my life experiences have chipped away at this belief, I still, somehow, see and hope that the world really is, and will always be, that way.

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MILL POND - BELLMORE, NY

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GRAND CENTRAL The grandeur!

The shafts of golden morning light filter in blessing all who pass under the nave of this temple to humanity’s grand constellation.

Technology harnessed for our use, to serve all the people.

We swarm across, purposeful, to build our lives.

All equal in the moment, going where we need to be.

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LEONORA CURTIN WETLANDS PRESERVE - SANTA FE, NM

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TILLMAN ROAD WILDLIFE AREA - CLARENCE, NY

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TILLMAN ROAD WILDLIFE AREA - CLARENCE, NY

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JAPANESE GARDEN, BUFFALO HISTORICAL SOCIETY - BUFFALO, NY

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ASHAMED Sometimes, I confess, that I am ashamed to be a member of the human family, of my species.

The cruelty, indifference, the selfishness that so many exhibit to others is so tragic.

As though evolution is in reverse.

That somehow modern society is creating mutations that diminish the trajectory of our species.

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WORDS Occasionally, he wondered.

Whether they made a difference.

His words.

Whether anyone noticed, anyone cared.

He considered them again.

He looked down.

Moving from letter to letter.

Jumping across the gaps between the words, considering whether the spaces in between were, somehow, important.

He glanced back over his shoulder at each sentence to consider whether it ‘worked’.

Looking for the essential thread that linked each word, each sentence, together into an idea, a thought, that would have some meaning both for himself and for a reader.

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SPAULDING LAKE - CLARENCE, NY

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POND - NEW DELHI, INDIA

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A SHARED LIFE In the sharing of a life it is often enough to just be together in the fullness of days while in the occasional pursuit of joint and individual dreams and hopes even if you never find what it was you had thought at the beginning that you had wanted.

Because a shared journey of caring, intimacy, and love, is itself a life of beauty and wonder.

Truly.

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ELLICOTT CREEK - AMHERST, NY

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ELLICOTT CREEK - AMHERST, NY

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THE LEGACY AND THE PROMISE In honor of the birth of Eli Smith Goshin Zvi ben Ari Born June 7, 2014; 9 Sivan 5774 ‘Baruch HaBa’, ‘Blessed be he who comes’.

I hear your call and rush forward to greet you and the world.

I am Eli, Zvi ben Ari, ben Aharon, ben Tzvi, ben Yakov, ben Meir Aharon, both the legacy and the promise.

The legacy of all of my line, and our people from the before, who struggled so, and endured such difficult hardships, so that I could be here today to enter into the covenant and honor their lives and memory.

I believe that all of my before are also gathered here now, in this room with us, to both share the joy of this moment and to bear witness.

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I am also the promise.

The promise to all who will come after, that I will do my best to honor the aspirations and memory of the before, and always endeavor to advance the possibilities and hopes of ours yet to come.

I am keeper of the word, the next link in the unbroken chain of our people, committed to always remembering and protecting the word, and fulfilling its meaning to make ourselves and the world a far better place.

My blessed parents, whose love has given me the precious breath of life, have honored me with the Hebrew name Zvi, in memory of my great grandfather who was a wise and devoted father, husband, and grandfather.

Please know that the depth of your unconditional love and devotion will always be the twin of mine for you.

And, in everything that I try, I will always do my best.

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IN OTHER PLACES From kerosene lamps, single bulbs, small fires, dim lights barely flicker in million upon millions of other places.

Like hope, like their lives, the fading light slowly escapes out into the darkness.

It slithers away under doorways, retreating between cracks in a wall, slipping by canvas flaps, through glassless windows.

There’s nothing they can do.

Their fate sealed with their first breath.

And, in other nearby, now darkened, places other souls have given up, knowing they are lost, having long ago surrendered, resting their heads against decaying surfaces, eyes vacant, just wondering, even hoping, ‘when?’

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TURTLE POND, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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HOLDING THEM I held them, my sons, so very gently, but tightly to my chest, against my heart, and felt each rapid beat, each breath, my lips resting on the sweet warmth of their cheeks.

I remember.

Each, then and now, a wonder far beyond expectation, precious beyond my capacity to explain, and the depth of my love for them unfathomable.

Before them I really did not understand what it would be like.

I didn’t understand the meaning.

The gift it would be for me.

That beyond the perfect beauty of their creation, of the hope and possibilities for the them in my arms, I would also realize in each that in them I advance my life’s aspiration to assure the treasured link to all of the us who struggled so and came before, and through them have improved so the probabilities of all of the us that would come after.

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THE LAKE - CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

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DENVER BOTANIC GARDENS - DENVER, CO

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DENVER BOTANIC GARDENS - DENVER, CO

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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MOMENTS When I was younger I believed that the word ‘beauty’ was reserved for a thing -- a flower, a sunset, a face.

I now realize that it has, for me, a most special meaning for describing moments.

It is these special moments that I hold onto over time.

As though they are each precious jewels that I keep in a treasure box, just for me, to take out and admire in the bright light when I need to.

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REPAIR, RECTIFICATION, REDEMPTION It fills me with wonder to know that which is impenetrable, nonetheless, does really exist.

That there is an originating force, a spiritual presence and purpose far beyond our comprehension, hidden behind the folds of the folds of awareness, one only concerned with the grand collective, and not the personal.

That The Holy One, HaShem, God, Guarantor of the Covenant, Creator of the Cosmos, blessed be He, provided a gift, albeit an imperfect gift.

A world having insufficient access to the Divine Light, one requiring repair, rectification, for its continued existence.

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Tikkun Olam.

For it is only through an unyielding morality in all of our actions, a constant striving to perfect the human spirit through both individual and communal repeated acts of piety, love, goodness, kindness, beneficence, and justice, that we can repair ourselves, all our generations, the earth, and even The Holy One, blessed be He. For it is we, as the collective, that truly are the intended, long awaited Mosiach, the Messiah.

And we, as individuals, are each vital contributors to this truly grand purpose and the obligation of repair, rectification, and finally redemption.

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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POND - TAHOE NATIONAL FOREST - CA

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I REMEMBER MY BROOKLYN (to age 9 - 1946 to 1955) Skipping, my red scooter, my first two wheeler(red) at age 5, my first friend who died, trolly to Brighton Beach, cherry cheese knish at Mrs. Stahl’s, sneaking in to watch Milton Berle on TV, my Davey Crockett coonskin hat, the old men pushing to get closest to the eastern synagogue wall and Jeruselem, dancing with my sister to Bill Haley and the Comets, chalk fights on Halloween, throwing snowballs from the roof, walking around with a box of animal crackers, flipping baseball cards at the park, seeing High Noon with my Mom and Dad, watching July 4th fireworks at Coney Island from the roof, going to see Stalag 17 by myself, Sunday lunch with my grandpa Jacob at the Famous, stoop ball, helping my grandmother assemble umbrellas, sneaking off to Coney Island and the Steeplechase with Mike and Henry, Mom giving me a bath in the sink at age 2+, Dad trying to toilet train me, grinding chicken livers for Mom, the developmentally challenged giant who gave me a ride on his shoulders every day on my way to school, watching the Army-McCarthy hearings, grandma Minnie taking me and my sister Lois to see South Pacific with lunch at the Russian Tea Room, shopping at the open fish market around the block, my grandma Lena dying, my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Hamburger, playing stickball and punchball in the street on West 9th, the freedom and independence of being on my own, the matrons and bonbons at the movies, my two gun holster at age three, saxophone lessons and practice, playing for hours at Seth Low Park, secretly

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1954

trying to wrap tefillin, helping at my Dad’s store on Nostrand Ave., learning to read the NY Times in Mrs. Tracey’s 3rd grade class, my yellow truck, first to receive polio vaccine, chicken fat in the fridge, my parents speaking Yiddish, the Bronx Zoo, Ebinger’s cakes, cherry cokes and 3 Musketeers at Dot’s, Charlotte Russes, making yellow ‘rainbows’ off the curb on West 9th, my parents sleeping in the living room while my sister and I shared the bedroom, Dewey 2 -0558, wearing dog tags in case of nuclear war, Mom’s blintzes, lunches at Lundy’s in Sheepshead Bay, fries at Nathan’s, my Dad and I eating boiled potatoes with sour cream and black bread, Ebbets Field, Yankee Stadium, playing skee-ball on the Boardwalk, Rocketts at Rockefeller Center, PS 247, Andy’s Gang, Sabu, Hopalong Cassidy, Tonto and the Lone Ranger, going on the train and buses on my own, Saturday morning movies at the Marlboro including Flash Gordon and Ming, My Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Frank’s quonset hut, my 26 inch Raleigh Racer(black) for my 8th birthday, Ike v. Adlai, Korean War, Truman, revelations about the Holocaust, my friend Henry’s drooling boxer, weekend visits to my Aunt Martha and Uncle Aaron’s house and playing with my cousins, helping my grandma Minnie make gefilte fish for Pesach...

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THE POND, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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WHEN My Love, when we are apart and you feel the wind blow across your face think of my lips gliding along your neck, your cheek, your lips, and lingering there.

When you feel the warmth of the sun on your legs imagine the heat of my hands caressing them gently, then higher and still higher.

And, just before you drift off into the night, stretch out your arm and take my hand and I will follow you into a night of our dreams.

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BITTEN OFF Perhaps true deep love includes a tendency to see in that one woman what is seen as being the best in all.

The one who teaches that a special love does exist, and doesn’t readily fade away.

It endures and grips fast to our heart.

But, who among us is not missing a bit of their heart bitten off by such a woman?

A small price, on reflection, for the wonder.

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PUDDLE - AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - NY, NY

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ON LOST MAN TRAIL I recently discovered scribbled notes for this poem, written in 1997, a few months after my Mom died.

It was written on the back of a hiking trail map - the trail being near Independence Pass, Colorado, at an elevation of around 11,000’.

I now recall that it was the first moment that the idea of writing poems occurred to me.

The idea then, subconsciously, incubated for ten years.

Morning, mid-summer.

Cool breeze, deep blue sky.

The lush, deep green, alpine valley stretches on and on.

Jagged, bare, brown-grey, peaks surround.

Wildflowers in bloom - yellow, purple, blue, white.

I’m joined only by the wind and an occasional bird.

Suddenly, a lone marmot rushes by.

The climb continues, the air thins.

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Two lakes, their surfaces looking alive, reflecting snow patches that hang on well past their season.

I feel the joy of existence, the confluence of my human and some infinite spirit.

I wonder how often again I will be witness to such magnificence, such grandeur, such inspiration.

I also feel a vague vulnerability as I reflect on my mother’s recent passing.

A void, the loss of parental unconditional love, transience, the disappearance of the link to all that came before.

A stark counterpoint between the seeming immutability of these mountains and the impermanence of human existence.

As though putting an end to my mourning, I begin to hum the last line of Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead: ‘Oseh shalom….’

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1935

HERRICKS POND - HERRICKS, NY

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MCCAULEY HOT SPRINGS - JEMEZ MOUNTAINS, NM

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STANDING IN THE WAY My life experience has allowed me to consider what is patriotism, bravery, courage, heroism.

I don’t mean the kind that takes place on a military battlefield.

But, a kind that is rarely recognized as such.

For me, it is those who are immovable as they stand in the way of injustice, racism, oppression, by their belief and action, protecting what, I believe, it means to be an American.

Standing in the way of the abuse of power, defending the rights and opportunities for the less powerful, endeavoring to assure optimal equality and political and economic democracy, protecting the earth, advancing the values of love and kindness in a respectful communal society.

Standing in the way without regard to personal gain or consequences, and doing so because it is the right thing to do.

For those who acted, and continue to stand in the way in service to America, there should be respect, recognition, even medals.

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HARLEM MEER, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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THAT NIGHT (for my grandfather Jacob and grandmother Lena) Now that I know, finally, that I am in my very last days, of all my memories it is the one of that particular night that I most revisit and wish to relive once again.

I am lying there on our ragged bed in Manhattan, holding hands with my beloved Lena of most blessed memory.

End of December, 1911, just a few days before the birth of our first child, Heschel(Harry).

We are whispering to each other.

Reminiscing about our good fortune in being in America, and the paths of our journey.

Me, from a small shtetl, Rotmistrovka, in the Ukraine.

In my late teens I was taking my younger brother, Max, across to Libau, Latvia, to board a ship to New York City where we would meet our older brothers already there, leaving our parents behind forever.

On arrival in Libau we managed to find a kosher boardinghouse where, by God’s guidance, I met my wife, Lena.

It was being run by her mother, Helen, 42

1912

along with Lena, her sister Molly and 3 brothers.

It was certainly love at very first sight, as they say.

After about a year Lena and Molly were sent to New York and, shortly after, we were engaged and then married.

Years later, Max also married Lena’s sister, Molly.

It was on that night of reminiscing that we spoke so very tenderly of our hopes and dreams for our coming life.

I now realize that, except for the much too soon passing of my beloved, how much the reality has surpassed those dreams.

I will leave behind a wonderful family including two grandchildren, Lois and Arthur, and a great-grandson, Erik.

Without our wondrous journey and our dreams none of them would exist.

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FENTON LAKE - JEMEZ SPRINGS, NM

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THE LAKE(ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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A LETTER TO BE OPENED THEN In honor of the birth of Maxine Julia Goshin Miriam bat Yakov Born October 30, 2014, 6 Cheshvan 5775 ‘Baruch Habat, Blessed is She Who Comes’.

Maxine, Miriam bat Yakov, ben Aharon, sweet angel of delicate perfection.

Today, 13 Cheshvan 5775, a week after your birth, I first held you in my arms.

A miracle.

The delight of feeling your heart beating so rapidly against mine, knowing that you are the next link in our unbroken chain, from all of ours who ever were, to all of ours who will ever be.

I am writing this letter poem to be given to you on the day of your bat mitzvah.

While I so wish I could be there with you to bear witness and experience the joy as you enter into the covenant, I fear that it is uncertain I will be alive then, so I decided to write this for you now.

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These few thoughts then are what I would offer to you if I were able to be with you then.

Words and the ideas they make are truly the most important gift I have to give, my real legacy to you, a few gathered insights to help you live a life full of meaning and wonder.

You are blessed to have your Hebrew name Miriam, after my beloved mother, your great grandmother, a woman of special kindness, tenderness, thoughtfulness, who was also wonderful mother, grandmother, and worked as a primary school teacher.

May you walk in her path and those of our Matriarchs.

Always remember that your existence is the result of generations upon generations who struggled so under the most adverse circumstances because they had a dream for those who came next.

That for the privileges of your life you also have the obligation to honor, through your

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actions, all those who came before, and then serve as a model and inspiration for all who will come after.

You are now the next keeper of the word, these precious treasures that have guided our generations, as you are the next link in that unbroken chain stretching back across millenia.

It is my fondest hope that you will be a compassionate, righteous person embodying profound goodness while filling your life with repeated acts of kindness and beneficence.

You have been blessed with the finest of parents who love you so, and possess values that you should carefully incorporate as your own.

Fill your life with happiness and joy, living it as a grand adventure, and always love yourself for who you are and still aspire to be.

And in everything that you try always, always, do your very best.

With Much Love

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THE POND, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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CONSERVATORY WATER, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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HARLEM MEER, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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TURTLE POND, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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WORTHY OF MY DREAMS With each morning’s first light I look to the far horizon, and amid the silence of this every day precious moment I begin to hear the gentle hum of the universe, the collective breathing of all humanity, now feeling reconnected to all that ever was and all that will ever be.

Another day is alive, the daily cycle of renewal for me begins.

If I look, pay careful attention, and am prepared to act, it might be a day of promise, one that might offer new meaning, an opportunity to be of use, to still make myself and others better, to find the fulfillment that I constantly seek, to have a life worthy of my dreams.

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A PRIVATE MYSTERY Oh, let them think what they will.

Only so much gets revealed.

We are so much more than what we are willing to share, what others see, what others think they know, even to those closest and dearest to us.

We are each a private mystery.

Concealing secrets, thoughts, desires, hopes, sorrows.

To maintain this need, to be the sole possessor of our own complete identity.

To not share all, to keep somethings back for only ourselves, to remain separate, distinct, unique, special.

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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THE LAKE (ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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THE LAKE (ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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PECOS RIVER - COWLES, NM

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A SHARED VESSEL It is our first breaths of the coming dawn that finally cools the fire of our fevered passions.

In the next moments, with fingers and bodies intertwined, we whisper our delight in being a shared vessel into which we have been able to pour all of our love and dreams.

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DEEPER WITHIN The body deeper within my body needs more strength, more resilience, to be ready.

The thoughts within my thoughts need to be more aware, sharper, prepared.

The burden of advancing age requires a surprising, special, resolute toughness, not a surrendering passivity.

To deal with the remaining choices, the obligations that must be fulfilled, the physical and emotional challenges, the increasing sense of isolation, the inevitable decline, to confront the doubts about what was done and not done, and what soon will need to be done, to smooth the end, especially for the others.

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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THE LAKE(ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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TEARS OF SORROW My tears of inconsolable sorrow flow unabated, through the alleys, lanes, streets of my vacant shtetls.

Mine, and all of ours, are all gone, those generations have been erased, destroyed.

My young, old, even the yet to be born, all the sweet innocents, engulfed, disappeared in the torrent of sadness, despair, at the hands of the constantly regenerating abominations.

Hopes, dreams, memories and love gone, lost, forever.

As though they never existed.

Forgotten.

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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THE LAKE(ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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SERENDIPITY We are inheritors of what has come before.

Executors to its conclusion.

Precursors of what might be next.

We inherit, and then lay the past to rest, as we prepare the way forward.

Obligation, burden, opportunity.

The past, as we look backwards, often appears to have been so defined, linear, sequential, the result of thoughtful intent.

Because pictures, stories, what has been said, written and remembered, makes it seem that way.

But we know from our own lives that seemingly insignificant, serendipitous events, small things at the time, determined so much of our life path.

Our direction so often defined by uninformed judgments, decisions which seemed barely important at the time.

As it has been so for us, it was so for the past, and will be for those up ahead.

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PECOS RIVER - COWLES, NM

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1962

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DAVID Of all the moments of remembered sadness in my life none compares to the death of my beloved cousin, David.

He was a little younger than me, we frequently spent memorable Sundays together with our other cousins, and for several years lived a block away from each other.

Even after over forty years I am unable to achieve closure of this grief.

He died in a car accident traveling between New York City and Florida.

The death of loved elders, while filled with great sadness, passes because we know they’ve had the benefit of time.

My cousin had some of the same special qualities that I so admired in his father, my uncle, Frank.

A so very genuine gentleness, goodness, easy contentment without a speck of artifice or harshness.

I still miss him.

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DAY’S FIRST CHOICE It’s just before another dawn.

Middle of the city.

Night slithering away to have its sleep.

A deep blue sky slowly lightening.

Surprisingly quiet as in the middle of a cornfield on a remote farm.

I stand at the window.

Shades up, watching.

Not sure for what.

Nothing moving, yet.

Daydreaming, drifting.

Wondering.

How will my day unfold?

Should I just take it as it comes, knowing how much wonder lies in serendipity, the unplanned, the unexpected, since I see every day as a new creation?

Or, should I just make a list, a schedule to be followed, be purposeful, intentional?

Day’s first choice.

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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LOVE OR LUST? I can’t decide.

Is it love, lust, or just what?

Is it simply a momentary, transient fantasy, some private entertainment?

You know, a kind of erotic exercise to keep a vital part of my inner being alert, in shape, prepared, in case.

In case for what isn’t exactly clear.

In a coffeehouse, the subway, passing on the street, wherever.

I notice desirable women and wonder.

Surprisingly, the age and appearance variation is wide.

I mean, is it cheating if it’s all in my mind?

What is its function for me at this advancing age?

Perhaps just a constant reminder that I am alive, that the flame of desire will continue to burn.

Or just maybe its purpose is more specific, more hopeful, that one of these women will turn, smile, extend her hand, and……………

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WONDER AT MY VANISHING POINT I awake, so very slowly.

A bit confused, uncertain to where, exactly, I am.

After a few moments things clear.

Sunlight filters in and I can just see some blue sky at the small gap between the wall and shade.

Birds chirping.

I’m at this very advanced age, frail, in acute decline, some months, weeks, days(?), away from my vanishing point.

Forever is coming soon.

I know that I shouldn’t say this, but I’ve begun to look forward to that moment.

I’ve been tired, oh so very tired.

Somehow, however, with a rush of unexplainable energy, I sit up with a sudden, unfathomable, renewed enthusiasm.

For life.

As though I’m younger, much closer to the beginning rather than the end, with a sense of hope and possibilities.

Even now, life surprises.

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MILL POND - BELLMORE, NY

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MILL POND - BELLMORE, NY

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MILL POND - BELLMORE, NY

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MILL POND - BELLMORE, NY

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IT DOESN’T RECYCLE Time.

You can’t save it for later, tucked away in a drawer, in the freezer, deposited in a bank account drawing interest, or in a hope chest.

It doesn’t get recycled or reused like glass, plastic or paper.

And, hopes and dreams are just that --- they are not part of a life lived.

If you were to stand outside of yourself and watch would it look like a frozen, immovable selfie?

If so, then you need to change.

Now. Because it’s the actual experiences that count, not the thoughts of it.

Time does run out.

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DOWN HERE I absolutely love it down here.

No limos, cabs, Ubers.

No pretensions.

Sure, a bit gritty.

Everyone rushing, ‘have to get on’.

But, we’re all the same down here.

Nothing reserved, no special privileges.

Sure, can be physically intimate at times.

All languages, ages, colors, circumstances.

Kids going to school, tourists a bit bewildered, suits checking their watches, seniors getting around, everyone in their own detachments --- iPhones, iPods, books, papers, resting, watching.

The subway.

I love it down here.

Traveling in real style.

This IS the city.

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POND, TANGLEWOOD PRESERVE - ROCKVILLE CENTER, NY

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POND, TANGLEWOOD PRESERVE - ROCKVILLE CENTER, NY

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THE FICKLENESS OF CARING How is it possible to be so fickle?

About caring.

The need to stay rooted, certain about what’s important, to not be adrift, seems so essential to a stable, satisfying life, yet consider the waxing and waning you constantly experience even in the course of a single day about so many things you profess to care about.

Now, be honest.

Just what is this constant fickleness all about?

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POND, TANGLEWOOD PRESERVE - ROCKVILLE CENTER, NY

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THE LAKE(ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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TREASURED INSIGHTS Do you also have these sudden, occasional, unexplained, spikes, flashes, of inventive consciousness?

Moments of treasured insight.

The ones when you secretly admire yourself.

That are seemingly unconnected to your awareness and the fabric of conscious thought.

Just how do they occur?

So strange.

It does make you wonder, want to know, what is going on down there in our subconscious while we’re ‘up here’.

Whatever, I guess.

These are truly wondrous gifts from our ‘other’ unrevealed self.

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ELLICOTT CREEK (ICE) - AMHERST, NY

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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RELEASING THE PAST When is it Ok? To release the held onto past?

About our treasured loved ones.

To let it, them, go, rest.

To be at peace, content, that no more can be done, that their memory will still live on somehow, that it no longer needs to be protected, that these life treasures won’t be forgotten.

When?

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ELLICOTT CREEK(ICE) - AMHERST, NY

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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ETERNITY RESTORED I woke up today, suddenly refreshed.

Having decided that I didn’t need to rush anymore.

Reconciled to the fact that my time cliff is at an unknowable distance.

Now, with eternity restored, well, sort of……..I can take my time.

I no longer have to worry that today is the last.

Gee, that was easy!

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YOLO WILDLIFE AREA - SACRAMENTO, CA

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YOLO WILDLIFE AREA - SACRAMENTO, CA

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AROUSAL She’s asleep.

Nested in bright white silken sheets that cling so perfectly to her now warm, sensual, form.

Arms and shoulders bare, skin luminous.

Hair framing her exquisite, delicate, most tender beauty.

Those sweet, moist, irresistible lips, my desire to kiss them and caress her an imperative.

My book of love poems open beside her.

Which ones did she read tonight?

Is she dreaming of me, us, now?

I carefully slip under the covers and draw close, inhaling her fragrance.

A gentle kiss from my heart as she moves into my arms, smiles, slowly awakes, and draws me to where she wants me to be.

Oh, my!

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RIO GRANDE RIVER - EMBUDO, NM

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RIO GRANDE GORGE - TAOS, NM

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UNFORTUNATE LIMITATIONS On reflection, I now realize that I was born to a purpose.

One that I cannot abandon.

The specifics shaped by my nature, enhanced by nurture, both with a debt to all my generations before.

Then shaped by the particular circumstances and the times as my life unfolded, fueled by unrelenting desire, modified by my unfortunate limitations.

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MILL POND - BELLMORE, NY

99

WHISPERS OF MEMORY I strain to hear their whispers.

I know they are meant for me to hear.

The ashes of their burnt flesh are forever mixed with the earth’s dust.

Auschwitz.

The dust carries their whispers of memory as it blows across nights’ landscape, carried by the winds of time.

Belzec.

They want to be heard, never silenced, to assure that the past is inescapably in our present, a constant reminder, whispering in our ear, offering their stories, what was lost, their pain, sorrow.

Majdanek.

Telling us to always remember, to never forget them.

Treblinka.

To never forget.

To never forget.

To never forget.

Never.

100

IN MEMORY OF SOME OF MY COUSINS MURDERED DURING THE HOLOCAUST MOSHE SCHEINER

GITTEL GEIGER

SHULA GEIGER

JOSEPH ALTER WEISSBLUM

ELIEZER VOLF VALTZ

MEILICH GEIGER

SAMUEL MOSES ZINS

TOBA GEIGER

FEIGE ZINS

FRADL GEIGER

BEIRISCH ZINS

MOSHE YITZCHAK GEIGER

YEHOSHUA MENDEL ZINS

CHAYA ITA STOCKMAN

LAZAR ZINS

SALAMON DAVID GEIGER

DAVID ZINS

SARA GEIGER

CHANNA ZINS

RIVA SILKA GEIGER

CHANA TOBA GEIGER

SCHEWA GINSBERG

SHAUL WOLF ETTINGER

ISIDORE GINSBERG

FRADL ESTHER ETTINGER

BERNARD BERL GEIGER

YITZCHAK ETTINGER

MARKUS GEIGER

SILKE SCHEINET

MINA PERLMUTTER

NEBENTAL SCHEINET

DAVID PERLMUTTER

CHAVA SCHEINET

FRIEDA PRISAND

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

102

POND, NY BOTANICAL GARDENS - BRONX, NY

103

WATERS’ COLORS: REFLECTIONS, IMPRESSIONS They reach out to me from beneath, to reveal their wonders, to share their secrets, calling out to my imagination.

They dance on the waters’ surface, shimmering in magnificent choreography -- the trees, the sky, the grasses, the flowers.

Showing off what they are and what they might be, wanting to be noticed, remembered.

I am compelled to watch, to record, to translate into what it is of them that I see.

The sun, the day, bonds with each leaf, each petal, transforming the seemingly plain and obscured into dazzling multi-colored creations.

The unseen wind, the light, shatter the surface into millions of new pieces, constantly transforming, creating new and spectacular versions every second.

The surface is always, always, in motion with help from a breeze, fish, insects, that create a brilliance of ever changing form and color, a sense of unpredictable movement, a spontaneity, inventiveness.

It is alive, it is hopeful, a never ending wonder.

I feel compelled to try and capture some of what it has to tell me, to observe, to help it speak, to incorporate my impression of what I see.

Like so much of life’s great beauty, it is there coyly hiding in plain sight, waiting to share.

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UC DAVIS BOTANIC GARDENS - DAVIS, CA

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POND - ROSLYN HARBOR, NY

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POND - ROSLYN HARBOR, NY

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ELLICOTT CREEK - AMHERST, NY

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ONLY THE PRESENT It’s about the absence of time.

Only present moments.

No past, no future.

Consequences barely relevant.

Completely and intimately embedded in, and part of, the world, not separate from it.

Also fantasy, imaginings, what ifs.

Seeing and expecting only goodness, kindness.

Loved and loving unconditionally.

Fully embracing the magical wonder and delights of life.

Childhood.

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THAT BENCH I see them now, in that iconic photo, the one always on my shelf, always alive in my imagination.

1930, in their late teens.

Sitting on that bench, dressed up, holding hands as they always did, even at the end.

On that bench outside that Brooklyn subway station.

A Spring day, courting.

The deep love, affection, respect for each other there then as it always was.

Talking about their future, about their dreams, their promises to each other, their hopes, about possibilities.

It is special for me because this is where I began, where the idea of me was really born, where I became their dream.

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1930

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ELLICOTT CREEK - AMHERST, NY

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THE NATURE CONSERVANCY PRESERVE - SANTA FE, NM

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THE NATURE CONSERVANCY PRESERVE - SANTA FE, NM

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YOLO WILDLIFE AREA - SACRAMENTO, CA

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UC DAVIS, BOTANIC GARDENS - DAVIS, CA

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A PRIVATE BURDEN She lived in the shadows.

His, especially.

The days a private burden.

The urgency present in her early life long gone.

Her world was black and grey, murky, shapeless.

She no longer was able to see the colors of happiness, joy.

And, she didn’t know that it was ok to feel love, having given up hope that it would ever be present in her life.

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THE POND - CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

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THE POND - CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

119

OBSOLESCENCE I fear obsolescence.

Failing to be relevant.

To be of any use.

To no longer make a difference.

To forget to care.

To disconnect from who I’ve been and then fail to contribute in a meaningful way.

To be without a purpose.

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTA FE, NM

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MILL POND - BELLMORE, NY

122

SUMMER IS DYING I can’t decide.

Whether it’s an end or a beginning.

Summer is dying.

And with such a sudden ferocity.

Seemingly, in a couple of days the lush green, the warmth, the resplendent brightness, life, has been replaced with unmistakeable signs of decay, an end.

Birds are taking flight to abandon, there is a chill that pierces through.

The perception of a laconic drifting on forever has abruptly ended with a sense that an uncertainty of darkness, devoid of the hope of warmth, lurks ahead.

If this is a beginning, then precisely, a beginning of what?

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTA FE, NM

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTA FE, NM

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTA FE, NM

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‘A HALF OPEN DOOR’ ‘Every person is a half open door leading to a room for everyone’(Tomas Transformer, ‘The Half Finished Heaven’) I just wasn’t ready when I was younger.

If I had tried to write then I would have quickly yielded to my limits, to the requirements of ego, and abandoned the intent, the unarticulated need for self-revelation, for externalizing some of the internal.

Time, experience, reflection has given me more to say.

Now my door is open.

Well, at least a bit more than halfway.

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CONSCIENCE’S DEMAND Strange how I now remember particular events that I believe shaped my inner values, my character, decisions that my conscience would make, the pathways I would later choose --- the ones that have been so determinative to who I became.

Just what was it that I selectively paid special attention to, to what my ear was tuned, to what I chose to see?

The emerging personal stories of the Holocaust, the confrontation between Sen. Joe McCarthy and Joe Welch at the Army - McCarthy Hearings, to what Adlai Stevenson, John Kennedy and Martin Luther King were saying, actions of the Soviets and other dictatorships, the Korean and Vietnam Wars, the civil rights sit-ins and marches, anti-war protests, observing the sadness of lives of poverty.

How these and my family dialogues were the substrate for the growth of my own conscience because they resonated so with my own identity as a Jew, and my emotional connection to our history of struggle against exclusion, repression, genocide.

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UC DAVIS BOTANIC GARDENS - DAVIS, CA

129

CORKSCREW SWAMP SANCTUARY - BLAIR AUDUBON CENTER, FL

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MILL POND, BELLMORE, NY

131

THIS PATH Here I am, standing right in the middle of this path.

Enshrouded by a dense fog and mist.

Absolute silence, no breeze, a slight chill.

The sweet smell of an after rain is companion to two small shafts of golden sunlight that have found their way through.

With one hand open, arm outstretched, I reach up the incline, trying to determine the presence and shape of my future, while at the same time holding, gripping, so tightly to the past back down the decline with my other.

I know that I’ve been on this path before and expect that I will again.

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NEDRA’S POND, SANTA FE, NM

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UPPER TRAMPAS LAKE - PECOS WILDERNESS, NM

134

MEANING, SIGNIFICANCE? Occasionally, I wonder whether seemingly incidental thoughts, occurrences, selected unplanned experiences, might have some hidden, deeper, meaning with some positive, perhaps mystical, significance.

Rather than being random, that they occur for an undiscoverable purpose.

The perfect delight of a momentary internal experience with some, as yet indecipherable, meaning.

That such understanding will provide some enhancement, some personal growth, a completion of sorts.

What do you think?

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THE LAKE (ICE), CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

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THE LAKE (ICE), CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

137

MY MOUNTAINS I seem to have no choice.

It’s an imperative.

To face them, to watch.

Mesmerizing, actually.

The mountains.

They want, must have, my complete attention.

Sometimes I seem to expect them to move, to change, to deliver a message.

Each time I see them a bit differently.

It’s the clouds, the light, the changing coloration.

Perhaps it’s a reminder that although things may appear different, that over the course of time things stay the same.

That beauty in your life is always present.

You just have to keep looking.

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UPPER TRAMPAS LAKE - PECOS WILDERNESS, NM

139

LEONORA CURTIN WETLANDS PRESERVE - SANTA FE, NM

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SEARCHING FOR THE PAST Doesn’t the past, sometimes, seem like it was part of another life you lived, or was even, perhaps, actually, someone else’s life?

That you have accidentally stumbled into it as an observer, as in a dream, searching for lost secrets, hoping to discover meaning, to achieve a wholeness, establish lost connections, links to your before, achieve continuity, identity, understanding, a completion to your existence.

Know what I mean?

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTA FE, NM

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HERRICKS POND - HERRICKS, NY

143

FREE FROM MELANCHOLY It comforts me to know.

Frees me from melancholy.

That as my days, my time, winds down, that not everything that I care about will end when I have disappeared.

That there are things, ideas, hopes, moments, which may have a continuing existence out into the far reaches of time.

Carried along, embedded, in the helices of biology and memory of those who follow and knew, in the stories they will tell, and especially, in the actions they may take.

144

ELLICOTT CREEK - AMHERST, NY

145

LAKE, PROSPECT PARK - BROOKLYN, NY

146

IDEAS Do you ever wonder where they are all buried?

The words, the books no longer read, especially the thoughts, the ideas embedded in them that are no longer considered.

Because everything that we have, everything in our present and future civilization is/will be the result of ideas, ideas created, ideas shared.

Most ideas build, in some way, on those that came before.

But, if we don’t know about and consider the before, how will new ideas be born?

The lives, the times, of those devoted so carefully to the crafting of these, with the belief that they might be read, discussed, considered, used forever, or at least be a lasting memorial that said, ‘I was here, I contributed, made a positive difference’.

If they knew then that oblivion would be the fate of their works would they have still done the same?

Would you?

Will you?

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LAKE, PROSPECT PARK - BROOKLYN, NY

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HERRICKS POND - HERRICKS, NY

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TIME FOR US There, in the photographs.

My Dad. Over the span of time I ‘see’ him, I remember, with great fondness, affection and love in my memories, thoughts, dreams, that occur in the day and in the night.

However, I mourn all the missed moments, all the time that we might of had, while young and after.

Lost, gone, irretrievable, a dark 1935

black hole in my heart.

There were opportunities, real and imagined.

We seem to always believe that up on ahead there will always be time to share.

But, it’s never there.

Is it?

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

151

INLET, OCEANSIDE, NY

152

POND - ROSLYN HARBOR, NY

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THE POND, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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ON A TIME WAVE Daydreaming.

Suddenly I’m riding the crest of a time wave.

Going backward.

Time traveling.

Arriving at my shtetl.

Rotmistrovka, Ukraine.

To take a walk with father’s grandfather Meir Aharon (who I was named after), and my great grandmother Eva. For them to show me around.

For me to tell them what became of their son, my grandfather, Yakov, who they sent to America over 106 years ago, to find a better life.

He was in his late teens and took his brother, Max, 5 years younger, on this daunting journey.

To thank them for the life they helped to give me, for the wonderful son they raised, and for his journey that saved our line and will extend it far forward.

And to show them photographs of their great great and great great great grandchildren.

That would be some visit.

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THE POND, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

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LOSS I do wonder whether the continual loss of family, friends, mentors, colleagues ---- death ---- is an essential, a critical, source for the acquisition of a certain type of judgmental wisdom and personal insight about life.

That each occurrence of loss, and the ensuing adaptation, is followed consciously and subconsciously, by a period of reflection about meaning, purpose, a peculiar moment of enrichment concerning personal identity.

That, in fact, this experience of personal loss is a prerequisite to acquiring meaningful reflective wisdom.

What do you think?

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

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WHAT DO THEY MEAN? Well, how do you know?

Just what they mean by that half smile, that slight nod, the generous greetings, the seeming genuine interest in you, the occasional affection often followed by long periods of a cooling distance.

The messages are so ambiguous, frustrating, that you are incapable of knowing.

It could just as easily be sweet tenderness with hopes of more, much more, or intended dismissiveness.

Just what do you do?

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MCCAULEY HOT SPRINGS - JEMEZ SPRINGS, NM

162

BOTANIC GARDENS - KOLKATA, INDIA

163

DANCING WITH LOVE I was standing there, alone, in the corner, watching, as usual.

Everyone else was paired off, having a grand time, so it seemed.

Then Love tapped me on the shoulder, me, and said, ‘let’s dance’.

I didn’t know that I could, never had.

But, out on that dance floor I seemed to have a knack for it.

And Love seemed happy, ecstatic.

When the tunes were slow Love held me ever so close, like we were one.

Even when the music stopped, we didn’t, and danced on and on and on and on……..

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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LAKE, PROSPECT PARK - BROOKLYN, NY

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IT WAITS Out there, just out of sight, behind closed doors, deep in the forest, especially in the hearts and minds of some people, there is something sinister, dark, foreboding, that lurks just out of sight.

It waits, knowing that its time will come.

As it always has.

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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NEW COMPANIONS You hear their whispers, know it’s you they want.

They are insistent, up to no good.

Gremlins have taken up residence in different parts of your body.

They won’t leave, and you can’t seem to make them.

You prefer to ignore.

They nibble away at your parts, you begin to notice your functional decline, sometimes there is pain, you just know that these symptoms will continue and then worsen.

Your new companions will have their way, no matter what.

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WATERWAY - DUBAI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

171

1900

PARCELED OUT TO THE PAST I seem to be parceled out to the past.

Bits of me scattered about, all along the terrain of my generations.

Residing in both real and imagined memories of my own, all the way back down my line.

Sometimes I imagine that I am in Blazowa, Poland, playing alongside my grandmother Minnie, long before, when in her teens, in 1904, she makes the remarkable long journey, on her own, to America.

I wake from the daydream, suddenly more than a century later, missing the past, especially the parts that I was never in.

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LAKE, NATIONAL PARK - (WESTERN) UGANDA

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THE LAKE, CENTRAL PARK, NY, NY

174

COULD I HAVE DONE MORE? Now that I seem to have time to reflect, the question troubles me.

Could I, or perhaps more importantly, should I have done more?

Done more to make the world, myself, others, better.

And, if so, by what standard?

My ingrained sense of obligation, ultimate purpose, the exchange for having the privilege of life, forces me to make a judgment.

I think then the answer is, ‘yes’.

But, why didn’t I? Others might say ---- ‘he’s done more than most’.

However, I know better.

Self-indulgence, fulfilling personal obligations, aren’t crimes.

Sure, the challenge is finding the right balance, and excuses, rationalizations, are easy to come by.

Well, I still have time, don’t I? After all, you don’t retire from the obligation.

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POND, VILLAGE - WEST BENGAL, INDIA

176

LAKE, NATIONAL PARK - (WESTERN) UGANDA

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THE LAKE (ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

178

WONDERMENT I just can’t help it.

I truly have no choice.

My mind, my life, has always been bound so closely to my heart.

I tend to see possibilities, not the limitations, things as they could be, the goodness, hope not doubt, love and the romantic potential of life.

Perhaps I’m frozen in the wonderment of childhood, always believing that only happiness and ‘good’ serendipity awaits.

Not naive, I think, since my life experience has mostly reinforced these beliefs.

179

THE HIGHER MORAL GROUND It’s been bothering me for quite awhile.

About those who claim a certain fundamentalist religious superiority, believing that they and their same are the occupants of a higher moral ground.

I mean this really, really annoys me.

That they see themselves as being ‘more religious’ somehow, then closer to God, to ‘the’ truth, that their word then counts for more.

But, who is truly more ‘religious’ ---the fundamentalist practitioner whose life is primarily consumed with an unerring compliance with prescribed rituals, oral repetitions, codified by others that excludes ‘non-believers’, or the ‘righteous’ person whose life is primarily consumed with acts of love, beneficial kindness, that relieves

180

the suffering of the least fortunate?

Who is more ‘religious’ --- the one who only studies and repeats the treasured words, or the one whose life is primarily focused on acting upon the well understood values embedded within those words?

Ask yourself, if Moses, Mohammed, Jesus, and Buddha, were all sitting at a table with the Holy One, blessed be He, and asked Him such questions, what do you think His, their, answer to these questions would be?

Yes, with certainty, being an active ’righteous’ person is certainly a higher state of religiousness, up on the higher moral ground.

One is primarily engaged in actively repairing the world, in the service of the less fortunate, while the other is mostly in service of the self.

Above all else be ‘righteous’.

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POND (ICE) - ROSLYN HARBOR, NY

182

THE LAKE (ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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DECAY I mean, just what did you expect?

Continual flowering, an unchanging being, in perpetuity?

Ok, maybe you never thought much about it until you started to notice.

First the little things.

Lines, spots, softening, slowing, imbalance, breathlessness, tiring, forgetting, diminished hearing… … this endless ever lengthening list.

Realizing that seemingly overnight you were the oldest person in the room, the theater, the restaurant.

Perhaps you thought that you’re in some steady state with only a tinge of ripening, maturing.

Well call it that if want or need to.

Sure, some of these decrements in function and form are small but they continue downward, don’t reverse or stabilize.

Decay is just your way.

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THE LAKE (ICE), CENTRAL PARK - NY, NY

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2015

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Dr. Arthur R. Goshin first began writing poetry as he turned sixty. Educated as a physician and in public health, he’s had a forty five year health care career, first developing health centers based in communities of poverty, then developing and managing large not-for-profit health care programs. He currently serves as a board chair, board member or advisor for a range of entities including private companies, organizations, foundations and academic institutions. As he retired from ‘employed work’ (as he puts it) and began writing poetry, he also became the founder/funder/president/ceo of his own foundation (www.healthyworldfoundation.org) engaged in numerous health projects in Uganda and India. A website at www.arthurgoshin.com is under development that will include e-copies of Art’s recent books as well as selections of his photography. He splits his living time between New York City and Santa Fe with his wife Renee.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Keeper of Memories......................................................................1 Magic and Wonder........................................................................2 Grand Central................................................................................4 Ashamed........................................................................................9 Words...........................................................................................10 A Shared Life................................................................................13 The Legacy and the Promise......................................................16 In Other Places.............................................................................18 Holding Them..............................................................................20 Moments......................................................................................25 Repair, Rectification, Redemption..............................................26 I Remember Brooklyn..................................................................30 When............................................................................................33 Bitten Off......................................................................................34 On Lost Man Trail........................................................................36 Standing in the Way....................................................................40 That Night....................................................................................42 A Letter to be Opened Then......................................................46 Worthy of My Dreams.................................................................53 A Private Mystery.........................................................................54 A Shared Vessel...........................................................................59 Deeper Within.............................................................................60 Tears of Sorrow............................................................................63

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Serendipity...................................................................................66 David.............................................................................................69 Love or Lust?................................................................................73 Wonder at My Vanishing Point...................................................74 It Doesn’t Recycle........................................................................79 Down Here...................................................................................80 The Fickleness of Caring.............................................................83 Treasured Insights........................................................................86 Releasing the Past.......................................................................89 Eternity Restored.........................................................................92 Arousal..........................................................................................95 Unfortunate Limitations..............................................................98 Whispers of Memory.................................................................100 Waters’ Colors: Reflections, Impressions.................................104 Only the Present........................................................................109 That Bench.................................................................................110 A Private Burden........................................................................117 Obsolescence............................................................................120 Summer is Dying........................................................................123 ‘Half Open Door’.......................................................................127 Conscience’s Demand...............................................................128 This Path.....................................................................................132 Meaning, Significance?.............................................................135

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TABLE OF CONTENTS My Mountains............................................................................138 Searching for the Past...............................................................141 Free From Melancholy..............................................................144 Ideas...........................................................................................147 Time for Us.................................................................................150 On a Time Wave........................................................................155 Loss.............................................................................................158 What Do They Mean?................................................................161 Dancing With Love....................................................................164 It Waits........................................................................................167 New Companions......................................................................170 Parceled Out to the Past...........................................................172 Could I Have Done More?........................................................175 Wonderment..............................................................................179 The Higher Moral Ground........................................................180 Decay..........................................................................................184

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