REVIEW: Two Worlds Exist

Poetry is not boring, and neither is it dead. I do not care if its eulogy has been published in the New York Times, or if you no longer need to take a course dedicated to poetry in order to receive an English degree from Harvard. Until we no longer require language to articulate the human experience, poetry will have a place in the literary canon. 

As religious individuals, poetry and literature occupy a space of particular importance in the shaping of our religious consciousness. R. Aharon Lichtenstein zt”l, was perhaps our community’s greatest proponent of high culture as a means “to understand, appreciate, and confront our personal, communal and cosmic context,” and to create a “sensitivity to the human condition and some assistance in coping with it.” Through this process of interacting with great works of art and literature, he argues, we orient ourselves to see the divinity in the world and the complexity of life. Poetry often serves as the greatest teacher of these truths. 

Much of R. Lichtenstein’s writing is focused on Orthodox Jews as the consumers of great works of culture, rather than as the creators of it. While Jews as a whole have been creators of such works, Orthodox Jews have done so to a lesser degree. One individual who offers a model of creativity emanating from his religious personality is contemporary poet Yehoshua November. With his long beard and Chassidic garb, he does not seem like one who would be engaged in the production of poetry, and, indeed, this perceived dissonance caused him to step away from the craft for a little while. After receiving his MFA from the University of Pittsburgh, he abandoned poetry for yeshiva, until his rebbeim urged him to continue. He now teaches at Touro College and Rutgers University. 

The titular poem of his second collection, Two Worlds Exist, is particularly noteworthy. It exemplifies what November does so well: orient his audience towards divinity while acknowledging the pains of life. To encounter a Yehoshua November poem is to be overwhelmed by the complexity of religious life; it is to face the tension between the longings of the soul and the longings of the body, and the pull between seeking purpose and the mundanity of life. 

The title poem “Two Worlds Exist” is structured in three parts. The first two detail both mundane and larger sufferings, while the third contends with the existence of suffering. Below I have quoted the last part of the poem: 

III.
Two worlds exist:
The higher hidden one
and our earthly realm.
Everything that occurs in this life
flows down from the hidden world.
That which appears good
descends through an infinite series
of contradictions until it fits
within the finite vessels of this world.
That which appears tragic
slides down, unmitigated,
from the hidden realm—
a higher, unlimited good
this world cannot hold.
So the mystics explain suffering
if all comes from above,
from which no evils descends.
Is this something one tells another
who is suffering? 

This is something one does not speak
but tries to believe
when life no longer seems possible.

When I was younger,
I believed that the mystical teachings
could erase sorrow. The mystical teachings
do not erase sorrow.
They say, here is your life.
What will you do with it?

This poem articulates the thesis of the entire collection: life is filled with pains both great and small, yet we are forced to live with purpose. November employs simple language and few metaphors, which allow for a wider audience to access his works. You do not have to be a poet to understand him, rather an individual who asks, “What role do these moments of minor embarrassment play / in a life of greater miseries?” 

The uncomplicated sentence structure and usage of first-person pronouns indicate that the poet himself is the speaker. In response to his sufferings, both big and small, he has written this poem. This gives the poem an incredibly honest and raw tone. One line that I find to be especially moving is found in the second section: “I would like to rise up / and lodge a complaint before God, / but each morning I wake late for prayers / and rush to catch up with the other worshippers.” As a religious individual, this scene is a familiar one. To be an active participant in religious ritual despite a desire to “rise up and lodge a complaint before God.” It is both emotionally and spiritually reassuring to see this experience articulated on a page. 

The ultimate power of all poetry is to propel us towards the innermost divinity and to color the language of our existence. “Two Worlds Exist” accomplishes this goal by detailing an honest and empathetic struggle with the existence of pain. It is clear from this poem that November’s purpose is to offer his readers a spiritual encounter and help them understand their “communal and cosmic context.” Through his acknowledgment that there are things that we as religious individuals say to ourselves “when life no longer seems possible,” he articulates how we often turn to cosmic truths for comfort. However, he realizes that these are not things that we say in communal contexts, especially when confronted with the suffering of another person.

Mr. November ends his opening poem with a poignant line: “When I was younger, I believed the mystical teachings / could erase sorrow. The mystical teachings / do not erase sorrow. / They say, here is your life. What will you do with it?” So too, I believe that poetry has the power to say, “here is your life. What will you do with it?” If you have yet to utilize poetry as a tool to sharpen your spiritual experience, I urge you to do so. As R. Lichtenstein put it, poetry can function as a “spiritual complement”—but you first must be open to such an experience. 

Rivka Krause is studying Political Science at Stern College and is a member of the first cohort of Leadership Scholars at Yeshiva University’s Sacks-Herenstein Center for Values and Leadership.