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Articles by Hal Sirowitz
Hal Sirowitz, Poet Who Mined His Mother’s Worry With Wit, Dies at 76
You have a preview view of this article while we are checking your access. When we have confirmed access, the full article content will load. Hal Sirowitz, a onetime poet laureate of Queens who mined his suffocating relationship with his overprotective mother to create mordant reminiscences that were both highly personal and universal, and that made him a standout at New York City poetry slams, died on Oct. 17 in Philadelphia. He was 76.
Sonbob’s
The other day I went to Sonbob’s—the long name is Sonnie’s Bits & Bobs—a little neighborhood café on 28th Avenue between 33rd and 34 Streets in Astoria, Queens. It’s my older brother’s favorite spot. I brought him in a wheelchair, because he was tired and it was hot. Sonnie, the owner, pronounced saw-nee, is a Korean woman of 60. She’s an actor. When not acting, she makes most of the food, including fresh baked muffins and cupcakes.
Normal Distance ‹ Soft Skull Press
by Elisa Gabbert List Price: $16.95 Paperback | | ISBN 9781593767334 On Sale 09/13/2022 Find a local bookstore A collection of funny and thought-provoking poems inspired by surprising facts that will appeal to poetry lovers and poetry haters alike, from the author of the essay collection The Unreality of Memory, “a work of sheer brilliance, beauty, and bravery” (Andrew Sean Greer) Known to be both “casually brilliant” (Sandra Newman) and a “ruthless self-examiner” (Sarah Manguso), acclaimed...
Haunted House
Like 0 Google +1 0 Retweet 0 In the beginning, it was an ordinary house on an ordinary street in Flushing, Queens, just around the corner from ours. There was an older girl, Mary Ann, who was our sometime babysitter, and a younger boy, Johnny, who was several years older than I.
Horn Blowing - Jewish Journal
We’re Jewish, Father said, so we don’t go to church. We go to temple. Christians like to ring bells. We like to blow horns — the shofar — particularly on the Jewish New Year. I don’t see why musical differences should make it hard to get along.
Hell Is Here - Jewish Journal
The difference between the Jews and the Christians, Father said, is that the Christians believe Hell exists in the next world. Whereas, every Jew knows that Hell is a real place. Hell existed in Nazi Germany. It’s always on the move. We’re not afraid of landing in it in the next world, because six million Jews already died there. Hell could be one dictator away. That’s why you should vote. Dogmatists hate voting booths, unless they can come up with a devious way of changing our votes.
Poem: Holy Objects
Be careful how you carry those prayer books, Mother said. If you rip a page in those books you can’t just scotch tape them or throw them in the garbage can. You have to bury them, because they’re holy objects. The same applies to you. If you die at an early age we can’t send you to a taxidermist and ask him to stuff and preserve you. You have to be buried sooner than later, unless you die the day before Sabbath. No one can be buried while God is resting.
The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
It seems like the commercials are getting longer, Father said, & the shows are getting shorter. This is the fourth one in a row. Don’t they realize there’s a limit to our patience, & we’re ready to pull the plug on the TV if they continue to take advantage of us? I’d pull it out now if you weren’t watching it. The only reason I’m watching it is so we can talk. The TV gives us an excuse to be together. Otherwise, we a be in separate rooms.
The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
Your mother complains about my snoring, Father said, but she forgets to mention the times I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound celery makes when you bite into it. At first I thought it was a tree falling on the house. I almost jumped out of bed, but when I saw her munching on celery I knew I was safe. Crackers are just as loud. They sound like a chainsaw cutting wood. My snoring is a form of self-defense— it drowns out the other noises.
The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
God would perform miracles in the old days, Father said, but nowadays if he set a bush on fire, like he did for Moses, the fire department would rush to put it out. The newspapers would send our photographers. There’d be an investigation. A reward would be given to help find the arsonist. Some innocent person would get blamed. God has enough people believing in him. Why does He need all that commotion for the sake of a few more? “Why There Are No More Miracles” by Hal Sirowitz from Father Said.
You’re in the Quiet Car
You’re in the Quiet Car “Whether you know it or not, you’re in the Quiet Car,” the conductor announced. “That means you have made a commitment to silence. The first obligation is to shut off your cell phones. And just because the train stops at a station doesn’t give you the right to turn it back on to listen to your messages. The phone is off for the duration. If by some mistake you didn’t turn it off completely and it rings, you’re not allowed to answer it.
The Jewish Holly-Go-Lightly
I try to call my Great Aunt Doris every day. She’s ninety-years old and lives alone. I love her desperately and as she gets older, especially of late as she becomes more feeble, my love seems to be picking up velocity, overwhelming me almost, tinged as it is with panic — I’m so afraid of losing her.
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