Rabbinical School Grad Up for Poetry Award

The 2010 Los Angeles Times Book Prizes will be awarded on April 29 in a ceremony at the Los Angeles Times building. Yehoshua November, a graduate of the Rabbinical College in Morris Township and a resident of Morristown, will be waiting to hear if he's an award-winner. November is one of five finalists and the only one from New Jersey. Recently, we had a chance to ask the poet a few questions.

1. When and for how long did you attend the Rabbinical College?
I attended the Rabbinical College of America from 2003-2005.

2. Does this mean you are a rabbi? If not, what is your full time profession?
No, I'm not a rabbi. I teach writing at Rutgers University and Touro College. While many students go on to become rabbis, this isn't necessarily the goal of the Rabbinical College. Before I studied at the RCA, I had earned an M.F.A. in creative writing from the University of Pittsburgh. When I completed my studies at the Rabbinical College, I was encouraged to pursue a career in writing and teaching in university. I was told that, if I had a talent in a particular area, it was for a reason, and it would be wasteful if I didn't utilize that talent.

3. When did you begin writing? What inspired you to start?
I started writing poetry in high school. I found that, in poetry, I could express things that were impossible to convey in everyday speech. I liked the way that important memories or ideas could be expressed within such a condensed space, how things unfolded so quickly. For me, poetry seemed like a way of stripping away the layers and getting right down to the truth.  

4. How did you learn of your nomination? What was your reaction?
I learned that I was a finalist from my publisher. I was shocked, especially since the four other finalists are very highly regarded poets, including Makine Kumin, who is a Pulitzer Prize winner and a former poet laureate. 
 
6. Are you married? Do you have children?
Yes, I am married and we have four children. We live in Morristown. 

5. Can you share a poem with us?

Upstairs the Eulogy, Downstairs the Rummage Sale

The beloved Yiddish professor

passed away on the same day

as the synagogue’s rummage sale,

and because they could not bear

the coffin up the many steps

that led to the sanctuary,

they left it in the hallway downstairs,

and because I was not one of his students,

and it didn’t matter if I heard the eulogy,

they told me to stay downstairs,

to watch over the body and recite Psalms.

And I thought,

this is how it is in the life and death of a righteous man:

upstairs, in the sanctuary, they speak of you in glowing terms,

while down below your body rests beside

old kitchen appliances. 

And I recited the Psalms as intently

as I could over a man I had only met once,

and because I knew where he was headed,

and you and I were to wed  in a few months,

I asked that he bring with him a prayer for a good marriage.

And this is how it is in the life and death of a righteous man:

strangers pray over the sum of your days,

and strangers ask you to haul their heavy requests

where you cannot even take your body.

How a Place Becomes Holy

 Sometimes a man

will start crying in the middle of the street,

without knowing why or for whom.

It is as though someone else is standing there,

holding his briefcase, wearing his coat.

And from beneath the rust of years,

come to his tongue the words of his childhood:

“I’m sorry,” and “G-d,” and “Do not be far from me.”

And just as suddenly the tears are gone,

and the man walks back into his life,

and the place where he cried becomes holy.