(c) FreeFoto.com
  Richard Fein was a finalist in The 2004 Center for Book Arts Chapbook Competition He has been published in many web and print journals, such as Oregon East Southern Humanities Review, Touchstone, Windsor Review, Maverick, Parnassus Literary Review, Small Pond, Kansas Quarterly, Blue Unicorn, Exquisite Corpse, Terrain and many others.  He also have an interest in digital photography and has published many of his photos. Samples of his photography can be found on  photo album.  


Fall 2007

Table of Contents - Vol. III, No. 3

Poetry    Translations    Interview    Essays    Fiction    Book Notes & Reviews

 

Richard Fein

 

An a.m. Parting

I recall exactly when and where I parted company with a superstar.
We were inseparable twins up to then.
Together we laid out a path to the stars.
Groupies, paparazzi, red carpets, all awaited us.
But every audition ended with thank-you-next-please.
I was growing impatient with my superstar partner
for he spoke only in an exuberant future tense
while more and more I spoke in a kind of present imperfect.
Then on a Monday morning on May twelfth at 8 a.m.,
we both flopped on a bus stop bench after yet another week
of gladly signing autographs to long lines of nobody.
It was then, it was there
my superstar buddy slowly turned translucent,
and I could see through him ever more clearly
until all I saw were ordinary people taking the bus to work.

 

Rocking Between Subway Stations

In a dark subway tunnel parallel trains rush forward
while I stare out the window.
And in the sooty glass I see
my reflection and a Chassid traveling on the parallel train.
His bearded face stares down at his leather-bound book.
He never lifts his eyes.
I assume he’s reading a holy tome,
while my reflection hangs over his shoulder
and seems to be reading it also.
I’d prefer to raise my head towards the actual heaven,
but above me
is just the subway car’s steel ceiling
and its flickering lights.
Both of us sway as the trains move,
but he is davening to his own rhythm
and I am rocking just to the jarring of the train.
Work-a-day motormen, and not divine angels,
speed us on our way.
Then the tunnels diverge.
We no longer are traveling in the same direction.
But then we never were.

 

Richard Fein

Poetry    Translations    Interview    Essays    Fiction    Book Notes & Reviews

   
     

Webpage Copyright 2005-6 by Loch Raven Review.