Pick-a-Poem: Hadara Bar-Nadav

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This week’s pick-a-poem selection comes to us from Poetry Daily yet again. They’re a great resource if you’re looking for some rhyme and verse in your life each day. This week there are two featured poems, both by Hadara Bar-Nadav. I’m very excited to feature Hadara’s work here because I have heard her read her poetry and I studied her book, A Glass of Milk to Kiss Goodnight in one of my creative writing courses. I absolutely loved Hadara’s work, and she has even been featured here at the Jet Fuel Review. Two of her poems appeared in our first issue, and an interview with her appears in our latest issue. Be sure to check out Hadara at the Jet Fuel Review!

According to her page at Poetry Daily, Hadara Bar-Nadav is the author of A Glass of Milk to Kiss Goodnight, winner of the Margie First Book Prize 2005, and This Frame Called Ruin (New Issues, 2012). She is Associate Professor of English at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. (Author photo by Sharon Gottula). Her most recent book, Lullaby (with Exit Sign) was awarded the 2012 Saturnalia Books Poetry Prize.

Click past the cut to read the two featured poems from Hadara Bar-Nadav.

Run Round and Round a Room, by Hadara Bar-Nadav

The head like an oubliette. Forget. Forget. How to escape your medieval form? Shave the scalp, chisel and drill. Excise a square of skull. Pain awaits when you wake. Obscure with Fog and pills. Nervous and nervouser. We have loved too long.  Believed in words and spheres.  Scalpels make a paper cut-out of your former self, silhouette stitched to wind. Let them scour the edge, search the unguent inch while you radiate, glow from within. Let them ogle the permutation: a doorway where a man once lived.

Darkness Intersects Her Face, by Hadara Bar-Nadav

To look at her was to see a fire, skin pulling away from skin, cancer blistering its meat. The surgeon had been thorough, neat. She wore her thigh on her cheek, her neck on her forehead, her eyelid cut from her inner arm. And so it seemed she was all crust and seam, more marionette than mother. More wire than whole. Behind this mortal Bone, a shadow is growing inside her. No, love is growing inside her, touching every part.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s featured poems by Hadara Bar-Nadav. For more of these, check our archives.

— Jet Fuel Blog Editor, Mary Egan

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