Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Poems and Stories By B.Z. Niditch

B.Z. NIDITCH is a poet, playwright, and fiction writer. 
His work is widely published in journals and magazines throughout the world, including: Columbia: A Magazine of Poetry and ArtThe Literary ReviewDenver QuarterlyHawaii ReviewLe Guepard (France); Kadmos (France); Prism InternationalJejune (Czech Republic); Leopold Bloom (Hungary); Antioch Review; and Prairie Schooner, among others. His latest poetry collections are “Lorca at Seville” and “Captive Cities.” 

He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.


  Jay Kidd Jr. hated anything to do with fun, funny pages, even Fun Land, the amusement park where he refused to go on the Ferris Wheel or the Merry Go Round. Even at his brother's wedding when the band played that old Neapolitan song "Funiculi, Funicula" Jay refused to dance and walked home.
His parents sent him to a New York City psychiatrist, Dr. Anna Madori. He is actually sixteen but from the turned on looks of Anna going on twenty one.
''Mr. Kidd or can I call you just Jay?"
" Whatever. I've been called worse than any other Kidd in my family. I really want to be here. We are in a way like family."
" I knew your father from the war. I tried to help him cope. He called me last week to set up your appointment.Your dad and mom are worried about you."
" They need to be here more than me. To be honest,my dad is still in love with you.I've known you are still personally close. I keep tabs on you both and have your tweets, phone messages and correspondences. Not too professional of you, Anna."
 " Maybe I keep in touch because your dad's mind and body were injured and he is very vulnerable, probably still hurting and he needs me."
 " How do I know you don't still love him."
 "You can remove your coat if you would like."
 Jay takes his coat off and faces Anna and smiles.
"Your dad says you never smile but just hang around by yourself after school. Your brothers were athletic and it looks like you could play just about any sport."
"Trying to size me up?"
"You are free to go."
"Ever since dad got home from that jungle rot war and had those flashbacks and my mom could not cope with his disorder I ran away from home,and everything was mute between all of us. I could not concentrate or study but I read and wrote on my own. Here are my stories and poems.They are about you."
 " For me?"
" Why not. Dad told me you write lots of books on your patients."
" Everything we say here is confidential. Look at my books,they are not biographical but clinical about my practice as a doctor in time of war."
"Don't practice on my case. I want to kiss you,Anna."
" That would not be professional for me or wise for you."
" I guess not but why not."
" Now Jay, leave."
 " No one will suspect I'm a man more than any other Kidd."
" Really."


Hearing a mourning dove call
by the gecko who lands
over this sandy coast
on a day of pure air
the bird with its tone's echo
going and then coming away
to take a wash along the beach
by bright tourist ships
in the home harbor
as my dusky eyes rose up early
with flying doves over my head
is now a warm memory
to all who recall her
by the dunes and redwood
reaching for the waters
in the bluest sea
of illumined words
when first light enfolds
my hand of sunflower seeds
from a breathing wind
in the neighborhood
as daughters and sons
of the wellspring wind
wakes up those who are lost
from motioning shadows
whom fate double-crossed
on ocean journeys
those troubled yet survive
double minded in the eventide
searching for the shore
where we long for
more of your love.

B.Z. Niditch


Verse can happen
in unexpected times
from an arrival of summer
by trekking on back roads
watching birds on frenzied wings
or hearing a cardinal sing
over ladders of seasonal silences
when herons climb upon Evergreens
near a poet's buried footsteps
amid secret silences
on a nostalgic hammock
folding over two paper roses
creativity may occur
watching egrets
by the home harbor shore
for an early swim,
words can wash over you
from wayward third parties
who send waves to you
on the seas's dark coolness
covering a white desert sand
with a butterfly net
or at the freshly painted gazebo
by the lighthouse's luminosity
or listening to the tremor
of an oboe or cornet
from the brass or woodwinds
playing a set from a jazz sax
over nuanced quarter notes
in a Newport quintet
by a quilt of sunshine
from your peace arm band.


The smooth jazz plays
above the windowsill
grackles sing furiously
by wellsprings like this
near shadows of geraniums
it seems a curious day
in the season's weather
for the winds, rain, shower
or to hum a childhood tune
when warm words emerge
like a light feather's secret
on a blackbird's wing
yet the urge for creativity
has reason in its metamorphosis
for a temperamental poet
discovering nature's outback
to be hovering
over red flowers, bees, Evergreen
in our neighborhood
playing sax by the river bed
here on Spectacle island
at the perfect morning hour
for her to deliver a day dream
for any emerging refugee
hiding in the woodland
or in exile from parental storms
reaching out for a riff miracle
on the sandy beach.

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for publishing and finding sensitive writers in Outsider Poetry.