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About this poet

Hadara Bar-Nadav’s most recent book of poetry is The New Nudity (Saturnalia Books, 2017). Her previous books include Lullaby (with Exit Sign) (Saturnalia Books, 2013), winner of the Saturnalia Books Poetry Prize; The Frame Called Ruin (New Issues Poetry & Prose, 2012); and A Glass of Milk to Kiss Goodnight (Margie/Intuit House, 2007), winner of the Margie Book Prize. Her awards include a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship in Poetry and the Lucille Medwick Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America. She teaches in the MFA program at the University of Missouri-Kansas City.

Sun

Blistered apple,
gold that molts

the eye & boils
animals in their caves.

I touch & touch

          & touch,

branding the hands
of each child.

A circle
of unmoored fury.

I see death all
around you—

          your phantomed self
          charred blue,

          cast against
          asphalt.

The body’s ash already
visible,

          unglittering
          in its cheap velvet.

Bow down
in the brilliance

          of your borrowed light.

Let me ignite
your end.

Copyright © 2017 by Hadara Bar-Nadav. “Sun” was published in The New Nudity (Saturnalia Books, 2017). Used with permission of the author.

 

Copyright © 2017 by Hadara Bar-Nadav. “Sun” was published in The New Nudity (Saturnalia Books, 2017). Used with permission of the author.

 

Hadara Bar-Nadav

Hadara Bar-Nadav

Hadara Bar-Nadav’s most recent book of poetry is The New Nudity (Saturnalia Books, 2017).

by this poet

poem

Who means what it is to be human
and is scarred by childhood.

Thick and neckless. Your head shaped
like a gravestone.

A smile opens across the knuckle and disappears
every time you lift a tumbler of scotch.

Who holds a pen and lies.

Who holds a chopstick
in the language

poem

To kneel by the cochineal
head of the dead.

Fragments—grammar
broken along the way.

I tell you the birds
dropped at my feet,

            eleven of them, sucked
            out of the sky, whole.

I return home.
I report the details.

The men who attempt
to

poem

A zombie is a head
with a hole in it.

Layers of plastic,
putty, and crust.

The mindless
must be sated.

Mottled men who will
always return

          mouthing wet                          
          promises.                                  

You rise already