Cover of Borrowed Light (Guernica Editions, 2003)
Year: 2003
Buy/Read Online: Buy/Read Online
Synopsis: Recalling the enduring family bonds that held fast through war and peacetime, this collection gives poetic expression to the past century's traumas, both large and small.

Testimonial(s)

“In poems that move us from Europe in the 1930s to Canada in the twenty-first century, Merle Nudelman strings lyric pearls against a panorama of the Holocaust and a Jewish family's emigration to Canada. She filigrees a web of delicate family interconnections that holds fast despite the rending winds of war and the felt traumas that can only be recollected in peacetime. Here is a poet who knows in her bones what a lyric moment can mean, and who works in her poetry toward those gemlike instances of Borrowed Light when we fully understand what it means to thrive.”−Molly Peacock.


“With Merle Nudelman's debut collection, we have poetry at its finest. Whether she is writing about food, love or the loss of her parents, she does so with a compassionate and intelligent eye. These poems sparkle with striking images, sharply drawn lines and a sense of humanity that speak to the complexity of the human condition. A great collection.” − Laura Lush.


“Merle Nudelman displays an uncanny ability to link her personal history with the rich and tumultuous history of her people. These deftly crafted poems preserve moments from the past with the uncompromising precision of a camera's shutter, making Borrowed Light a particularly strong debut collection.” − Kenneth Sherman.


Reviews

World Literature Today, Volume 79, No. 3/4, September – December, 2005, Page 90.

“Facing Painful Moments through Poetry”,  Phoenix Jewish News, April 13, 2016.


Awards

2004 Canadian Jewish Book Award for Poetry.

Honourable Mention in the Arizona Authors Association 2004 Literary Contest.


 

Wedding Day

Gentle in sepia tones
the solemn couple, heads touching,
rest heavy eyes on the camera's heart.
They look beyond the tiny bridal circle
to shadow faces, phantom witnesses to this hasty day,
short months after the war.
She in a suit of navy, notched collar of white,
unadorned waves loosening at her neck.
He in white shirt, cravat and grey tweed.
Borrowed clothes, borrowed light.
Two lost children grasping.
In the brown cave of their eyes burns
the blackness of knowing.

Traces

He looks over his shoulder.
I suck in girlish breath, grab my chance −
        bend close to his left forearm,
        peek at the tender pale flesh.
Broken blue spiders creep up his arm towards the
crook of his elbow. He catches me staring.
“What's that, Daddy?”
He arranges his mouth in a tiny smile, says,
“It's my old telephone number. I put it there,
never to forget.”
Mama wears her numbers under cover of sleeves,
hastily hidden
when my eyes cloud with query.
I want to run my fingers over the secret
sealed on my parents' skin,
take away the sting that marks them.