Freude
Children, go where I send thee…
The first time I sang
about Jesus
was in middle school.
The 50-voice choir was half Jewish,
but by the opening night of the Holiday Concert,
we were down to twenty-eight.
Some kids dropped out
because their furious parents didn’t want them singing Christmas carols in public school;
some dropped of their own volition.
As much an activist as any seventh grader,
I was eager-beaver ready
to make a statement
about the separation between church and state.
but my family knows less about picket lines
than the works of people with names like
Giovanni Palestrina, and said
No. Music is holy. Learn make your peace with it.
It was never about the lyrics. I know more
of the Latin Mass than half the Catholics
I grew up with.
I've stood in grand cathedrals
built on the ashes of Jewish towns.
But when I hear those arched ceilings
cradle the offerings of our voices
I feel forgiveness spring
from beneath my shoulders
like wings.
In the house of my grandparents,
where the sound of German spoken
still makes my grandmother shake,
my grandfather, a Holocaust survivor,
fills the house with Bach, Beethoven, Schubert and Brahms
Freude, schöner Götterfunken Tochter aus Elysium
He doesn’t call this forgiveness.
He calls it human; a recognition
of something that exists above us.
"Some things, darling, you just can't live without.”
I’ve sung in churches
and Christmas concerts.
I’ve sung praise hymns
and Vespers. I know more
songs about Jesus than I do
about any other Jew.
I was four
when Grandpa began to teach me music –
twelve, before he mentioned G-d.
By then, I’d built peace like an altar of basslines.
Some things, you just can’t live without.
Freude, schöner Götterfunken Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
It was never about the words.
The first time I sang
about Jesus
was in middle school.
The 50-voice choir was half Jewish,
but by the opening night of the Holiday Concert,
we were down to twenty-eight.
Some kids dropped out
because their furious parents didn’t want them singing Christmas carols in public school;
some dropped of their own volition.
As much an activist as any seventh grader,
I was eager-beaver ready
to make a statement
about the separation between church and state.
but my family knows less about picket lines
than the works of people with names like
Giovanni Palestrina, and said
No. Music is holy. Learn make your peace with it.
It was never about the lyrics. I know more
of the Latin Mass than half the Catholics
I grew up with.
I've stood in grand cathedrals
built on the ashes of Jewish towns.
But when I hear those arched ceilings
cradle the offerings of our voices
I feel forgiveness spring
from beneath my shoulders
like wings.
In the house of my grandparents,
where the sound of German spoken
still makes my grandmother shake,
my grandfather, a Holocaust survivor,
fills the house with Bach, Beethoven, Schubert and Brahms
Freude, schöner Götterfunken Tochter aus Elysium
He doesn’t call this forgiveness.
He calls it human; a recognition
of something that exists above us.
"Some things, darling, you just can't live without.”
I’ve sung in churches
and Christmas concerts.
I’ve sung praise hymns
and Vespers. I know more
songs about Jesus than I do
about any other Jew.
I was four
when Grandpa began to teach me music –
twelve, before he mentioned G-d.
By then, I’d built peace like an altar of basslines.
Some things, you just can’t live without.
Freude, schöner Götterfunken Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
It was never about the words.
Names after Roger Bonair Agard
My name is Dana Lauren Kuttler.
It comes from two great grandmothers and an Ellis Island customs worker.
My name is braided like challah; it is woven through my vertebrae.
It is chinked with the marrow of ghosts.
My name is Dana. It is Hebrew; it means judge.
My name was my parents’ goodbye to two beloved women
and an effort to make the newborn me less of a stranger.
My name is a forked root.
It is Dana, for Dorothea.
My name means oddball; it means puppet theatres
and international phone calls.
My name is Zahava; it hides its Spanish origins, a woman named Oro.
Oro is gold in Spanish. Zahava means gold in Hebrew.
It means overturned couches
and a love as sharp as clamshells.
My name means: legacy like a candle in a closet.
My name means: protection from those who might think me foreign.
My name is Dana Lauren. It is Old English, Latin.
It means “easy to pronounce on the kindergarten roster.”
It is Dana, for Dorothea.
It means “my mother kind of hates the name Dorothy.”
It is Lauren; it is English for Oro.
My name is Kuttler; it means nobody ever guesses I am a Jew
just from my name.
My name means: Thank G-d for small mercies.
The name I was not named is Bauer.
It is German; it means peasant;
it was discarded for these and other reasons.
My name means, “may she never have trouble with her passport.”
My name is Dane. It sounds like it means I am from a foreign country.
It means: I walk through the world in my own tongue.
My name is Dane Zahava Bauer Kuttler. My name is
a fairytale of my own creation; it is alien, it lives
on the underside of my tongue. It is secret.
My name contains the power to extinguish memory.
I hold it like a sheathed knife,
trembling.
It comes from two great grandmothers and an Ellis Island customs worker.
My name is braided like challah; it is woven through my vertebrae.
It is chinked with the marrow of ghosts.
My name is Dana. It is Hebrew; it means judge.
My name was my parents’ goodbye to two beloved women
and an effort to make the newborn me less of a stranger.
My name is a forked root.
It is Dana, for Dorothea.
My name means oddball; it means puppet theatres
and international phone calls.
My name is Zahava; it hides its Spanish origins, a woman named Oro.
Oro is gold in Spanish. Zahava means gold in Hebrew.
It means overturned couches
and a love as sharp as clamshells.
My name means: legacy like a candle in a closet.
My name means: protection from those who might think me foreign.
My name is Dana Lauren. It is Old English, Latin.
It means “easy to pronounce on the kindergarten roster.”
It is Dana, for Dorothea.
It means “my mother kind of hates the name Dorothy.”
It is Lauren; it is English for Oro.
My name is Kuttler; it means nobody ever guesses I am a Jew
just from my name.
My name means: Thank G-d for small mercies.
The name I was not named is Bauer.
It is German; it means peasant;
it was discarded for these and other reasons.
My name means, “may she never have trouble with her passport.”
My name is Dane. It sounds like it means I am from a foreign country.
It means: I walk through the world in my own tongue.
My name is Dane Zahava Bauer Kuttler. My name is
a fairytale of my own creation; it is alien, it lives
on the underside of my tongue. It is secret.
My name contains the power to extinguish memory.
I hold it like a sheathed knife,
trembling.
3 Seattle Bus Tunnel Guards Watch Brutal Beating
in Westlake Station
a found pantoum
She thought the men would protect her.
The group followed her from a nearby department store,
and she deliberately stood next to the three guards.
The guards have standing orders to "observe and report."
The group followed her from a nearby department store.
They said she had "nice things" and that she acts "white."
The guards have standing orders to "observe and report."
The victim lost consciousness during the attack.
They said she had "nice things" and that she acts "white."
The police refused to escort her to the bus tunnel.
The victim lost consciousness during the attack.
The police didn't know. The tunnel is just below the department store.
The police refused to escort her to the bus tunnel.
They provided the victim with an opportunity to leave the area via bus.
The police didn't know. The tunnel is just below the department store.
The victim was not hospitalized. She has a potentially fatal heart condition.
They provided the victim with an opportunity to leave the area via bus.
She deliberately stood next to the three guards.
The victim was not hospitalized. she has a potentially fatal heart condition.
She thought the men would protect her.