Biography of Eli Spivakovsky
Eli Spivakovsky Poems
The panacea of our love delineated at the hour of its rising the sparks in our eyes turned to waterdrops and we swam to each other.
Dry Ice Sublimation
Have you ever seen dry ice sublimation in close-up? The little crystals seem to prick their ears up, they stand on end. It's as if they can hear someone calling to them from very far away.
Lushenko The World's Greatest Ice-Skater
Dudaim, they're Biblical: ‘Violets’ or ‘Mandrakes’.
Corps Of Wet Doves
In the sun, the down on birds is luminous, In the daisyfields, parachutes capture the glow of summer like papillion nets breathing oxygen and light. Falling to earth, resuscitated by a strong breeze, they flutter in their whitest silk like
Child prodigy, performed for royalty at the beginning of the century
Shifting Boats Crumble
Shifting Boats Crumble Ocean beds Part of my mind goes blank like the new day.
Proof Of God, Baby
I told you it in fragments and it collapsed like smashed glass does on the ground without ever entering you. I was going to tell a small child, but she didn't need it yet so I waited. I waited until you told me that you'd make inquiries for me if you didn't hear from me, but you didn't say 'after 48 hours' so I kept my finding from you. That I found some 'gold thread in the snow' and that it led me to something pretty grand. Just like an incandescent candy is... quite something. It doesn't have to be big in size, you can still get lost inside a small fractal. I said, 'I just blew a kiss into the void.' But I know you didn't know what I meant. I said, '323 Reindeer just got struck by lighting.' You said, 'Can you imagine the sparks around their Antlers? ' and I said, 'That's it.' You said, 'I don't understand.' I said, 'Because I'm not ready yet.' You said, 'To do what? What are you talking about? ' 'Nothing, I don't know you well enough.' 'Oh, is that because of the butterfly you saved once that got caught behind the Hospital Window, the same Hospital where you saw the Angel? That terrible dark Hospital where she could have died, is it that? Tell me, is it that? ' I said, 'For all I know, he's melted into a subsidiary shaft. Their name changes when they return so their missions are like what weddings are to brides. But you're close, very close, just not yet. If I tell you too soon then you'll never believe it even happened.' 'What are you 'reason dazzled'? ' 'Even closer: I got proof, baby, I got proof! The best kind of proof that makes it all worth it. I don't need to wonder and wander around like before. It's true! '
You Can't Drown In Snow
You can't really drown in the snow, but you can asphyxiate in it. That's what happened to me. It's called Snow Immersion Asphyxiation (SIA) . But if you are standing on the outskirts, you'd only see the snow on top of me, and so it looks instead like a peaceful meadow or a 'Winter Wonderland' which was how the place was marketed to tourists. The snow looks like icing sugar and the birds in the trees are quite unusual and sing a pretty, melodious song. Right now, their song covers up the sound of my muffled screams. Indeed, I'm not the only one trying to catch my breath here. It's very easy to asphyxiate in the snow on account of there being so much of it. Every place has its perils and there are warnings about how easily you can lose your footing in life. Although, there are many people who would say it's not really dangerous because you just can't expect to be 100 % safe in life. They would also say there's really no point focusing on the bad things that can happen in life. But then, when your lungs are filling up with snow, it can be a bit difficult to focus on anything else. I thought I heard someone approaching me and I called out for help. It was the Park Ranger and he called back to me in a deep, gruff voice: 'I can't help you. If I help you it would only encourage you. You'd come here again and again and get yourself stuck here over and over. It would drain all my resources. And pretty soon, it wouldn't be known as a beautiful meadow anymore. It would become known as a place of suffocation. Pretty soon I'd be out of a job because we'd have to pay instead for a troop of rescue workers. And if I'm out of a job, I wont be able to tend the environment and the birds will leave. They'll just fly away somewhere and we're renowned for our wildlife here. It's one of our main tourist-attractions. Anyway you look at it, it would be a disaster if I rescued now.'
The Colour Mafia
'How you doing? What's that star you're wearing? Is it golden? ' 'Nope. That colour's been patented.'
Jeremie - A Jerusalem Love Story
I thought it would rescue us forever so I sent you the names of my 2 favourite French films. You were my tribute to them and they were my tribute to you. Of course, being a French-Israeli you didn't have to rely on English sub-titles - the films may have opened themselves up to you in a much more direct way than pausing for the translation does. Sharing them with you made me feel very patriotic towards your country. It was as if there were 3 films. The last one was a film of us: It began when I met you in Israel for the first time in my Hotel Lobby. You were talking to someone on your cell phone as I sauntered over to you. Someone had been playing the upright-piano for the guests, but had finished early. The guests were still sitting around the instrument as if its melodies would resume soon enough. I'd been in the Hotel just long enough to get used to it. During the day, a middle-aged guest had been walking around it with a gun in its holster strapped around his waist. It was unnerving and yet I imagine the rationale would have been quite straight-forward.
Your Pacific urges, crack through old technology marine-drenched cables and the international telephonic corridors
Circling the mink coats below Orbiting the snow meadows Hammer, sickle, wet-nosed
And if we dropped into the sea A pearl would float to that point where all swimmers fail There were danger and bravery lurk
Corps Of Wet Doves
In the sun, the down on birds is luminous,
In the daisyfields, parachutes capture the glow of summer like papillion nets breathing oxygen and light.
Falling to earth, resuscitated by a strong breeze,
they flutter in their whitest silk like
an over-bloomed lily and call for more breeze
later still like
a late-blooming frangipani.
They are bridal canopies becoming sacronsanct