Last night, I had the pleasure of hosting a prize-winning American author, Joan Leegant, at my end-of-semester meeting for faculty. We are grateful to the US Embassy in Tel Aviv for bringing Joan to the country and funding her work with our lecturers and students. What an exciting way to conclude one of our most challenging semesters.
We met on Zoom to be inspired by Joan and to process our thoughts, emotions and memories in writing. Joan provided spectacular creative visuals and literary pieces as prompts. As a group, we observed unique, thought-provoking images and listened to beautiful poetry and song lyrics. In response, we took the time to reflect and write short pieces. Some group members chose to share their memories, connections, and writing, while others chose to keep their pieces to themselves. The atmosphere was encouraging, permissive, and open-ended. It was a quiet, reflective, and collaborative way to end the semester – individually and as a group. Joan, well aware of the heart-wrenching period we are living through, was sensitive, gentle, and understanding. Each of us wandered down a number of paths, producing fragments of text which surprised us. What a gift we received – a gift of time, of creativity, of quietness and serenity, a gift of togetherness and bonding. Thank you, Joan, for this significant workshop.
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Go and open the door.
Step out, out of the fear,
out of the nightmares,
the endless stream of bad news.
Go and open the door.
Step out into boring, routine life.
Step out, into a busy street of people,
breathing winter air,
saying hello,
talking about nothingness.
Go and open the door.
Step out into a wave of optimism,
a wintery sunshine of hope,
Step out into a breeze of promise and serenity.
Go and open the door.
Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash
Juggling tasks on the run –
Pick one up, take two steps,
Pick up another, two steps more.
Where is the first? Where has it gone?
Forgotten, neglected, almost lost.
Pick up a third, it’s urgent,
Do it now!
Time is running out, don’t be late!
Hang on, just a second.
A phone call, an email, someone needing a reply.
Stop, answer, turn to resume.
Where was I? What was I doing?
Open my notebook –
Nothing coherent there.
Lost again, searching for a thread.
Hopeless!
Photo by Mike: https://www.pexels.com/photo/hourglass-on-brown-wooden-frame-1178683/
The classroom is still dreary,
paint peeling, mould creeping,
desks askew and messy.
You, too, look similar,
tired faces carrying due dates,
notebooks, and coffee cups.
Although I am not the same teacher,
I open the lesson with naive optimism,
the quiet rows fooling me into a false sense of continuity.
Between the cracks in our familiarity,
the change in you creeps out.
Unspoken fear, tension, grief, and sorrow,
emerge, heavy in the room.
Photo by Feliphe Schiarolli on Unsplash
