THRESHOLD

Born in Seattle, Kaufman has lived in Jerusalem since 1973, and has published, among 13 books, selected editions of her work in English and in Hebrew. Many of these 68 poems, often a page or two long, are set in Jerusalem, and cascade down the page in short hemistichs that shape themselves, via thick margins and alternating right and left justification, into thin columns of sparse text, simultaneously spacious and constrained, like the city itself: "tiny gardens// green on the corners/ in somebody's memory// the name/ incised on a concrete slab// and a bench/ with two immovable doves." Kaufman approaches Jerusalem's bitter memories, contested histories and joyous unfoldings with a wary love; even the seemingly whimsical "Ungaretti's Umbrella" speaks of rain only to "rinse our minds if we could/ from the unthinkable." The longer poem "Immersion" memorializes the WWII destruction of the Greek island of Crete's Jewish community. The final poem, "Sanctum," entreats with willful sadness, "Let's sit here together on the throne/ as if suspended over our own deaths./ Let's lean back—easy—against the supporting stone, and trust it to bear our weight/ a little longer." The threshold on which this collection is poised remains unspoken. (May)