Voices was founded in August, 1971 by Leslie Summers, Reuben Rose, Moshe Ben-Zvi and Jacob Katwan. From this small beginning of four members, the organization has grown to a membership of over 200 poets in Israel and many other countries. Our goals are:
to provide an outlet for for writers of English poetry in Israel
to encourage new poets in their art
to promote international friendships through poetry
Members read their work at monthly meetings held in Tel Aviv, Haifa and Jerusalem and participate in workshops held currently twice a year.
Judge: Esther Cameron, editor of “The Deronda Review”.
PRIZES
1st: US$ 500
2nd: US$200
3rd: US$100
7 honorable mentions
DEADLINE
Entries must be received by Sunday 9th October, 2011. Submissions received after the deadline will be automatically entered into next year’s contest.
Winners will be notified personally by the end of February 2012 and all prize-winning poems will be posted on the Voices website and published in the Voices Anthology.
A prizewinning ceremony will take place in Tel Aviv at the end of March, 2012.
SUBMISSION GUIDELINES
All styles of poetry are welcome. The competition is general and not necessarily on Jewish or Israeli subjects. The competition is judged anonymously.
Poems should be 40 lines or less excluding title and stanza breaks, typed on plain white A4 paper, Times New Roman 12pt font only. Each poem must start on a new page. Send two copies of each poem, one with your name and the second, for the judge, with no identifying information whatsoever. Include a cover letter listing the titles of the poem(s) together with your full name, address, telephone numbers and e-mail details.
Previous Winners
<font size="2">Reuben Rose Winning Poems 2010</font> <!-- ParagraphTitleEnd --><div class="fw-text"><!-- ParagraphBodyStart --><p><font face="Arial"><b><font color="#0e0e0e">Judge: Seymour Mayne, Canada </font></b></font></p><p><font color="#000000"><font size="2" face="Arial">1st Prize: Judy Belsky - 'Breathing Light'<br />2nd Prize: Valerie Carr Zakovitch- 'Heavenly Beings'<br />3rd Prize: Rochelle Mass- 'I learned to be Cunning' </font> <br /> <font face="Arial"><br /><b>Honorable Mentions (in alphabetical order):</b></font><br /><br /></font><font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial">Judy Belsky- 'Grandmother's Song'<br />Tom Berman - 'Anger not the Gods'<br />Tom Berman - 'My Granddaughter Wakes'<br />Courtney Druz - 'Inventing the Alphabet'<br />Miriam Green - 'Princess of Egypt'<br />Wayne Lee - 'The Fortieth Day'<br />Shimshon Leshinsky - 'What big Teeth You Have'<br />Rochelle Mass - 'That Summer'<br />Rochelle Mass - 'When I was Young'<br />Andrea Moriah - 'Yellow-eyed Cat'<br />Andrea Moriah - 'The Heron'<br />Andrea Moriah - 'Birds of War'<br />Johnmichael Simon - 'Instructions to the Waiter at the Poetry Retreat'<br />Sarah Wetzel - 'Myth of the Israeli Man'<br />Dina Yehuda - 'Punctuation'<br />Dina Yehuda - 'Two Figures in the Undergrowth'</font> </p><font color="#000000"><b></b></font><br /><p><font color="#000000" face="Arial"><b>First Prize - Judy Belsky, Israel</b></font> <font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial"></font></p><p><font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial"><b>Breathing Light</b></font></p><p><font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial"><i>Thirty six elms sway in the rhythm of prayer</i><br /><i>Arrows of light pierce the dark flesh of dreams</i></font></p><p><font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial">my father says: breathe, just breathe<br />to not be afraid is the holiest breath<br /> I breathe my father back<br /> to write the text in my right hand<br /> and the color is blue<br /> there is a well and the water is a silver tear falling into itself<br /> the water is a flame rising out of itself<br /> the water is a bird whose wings repeat the rhythm of prayer <br />when my father points upward<br />finch sparrow cardinal light from the ends of his hands<br />the veins in his hands as familiar as back roads to old orchards<br /> he rubs an apple against his shirt<br /> inhales its fragrance<br /> blesses God King of the universe Who brings forth fruit from the trees<br /> juice makes his beard glisten in that light<br /> on days laden with slow nectar<br /> a sun warmed head beneath a father's hand:<br />bless these hands crossroads of grief and love<br />these shoulders square them off for the long journey<br />these breasts fill with knowledge of their own dark liquor<br />these hips rounded with the sign of earth inevitable as gravity<br />this skin that it hold in memory<br />and on my tongue<br />O father on my tongue<br />let seventy tongues invent themselves</font></p><br /><p><font color="#000000" face="Arial"><b>Second Prize - Valerie Carr Zakovitch</b></font></p><p><b><font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial">Heavenly Beings</font></b></p><p><font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial">It sounds like a god-damned circus out there—<br />squeaky, spastic honking,<br />Clowns sounding their horns.<br />1 dry my hands, walk outside<br />and see them. The cranes are back.<br />"Hey, hey! Come outside!" I call<br />"The cranes—they're back! Come here!"<br />We stand, my teen-aged son and daughter and 1, chins tilted, watching<br />the birds that circle high above, stretched out and climbing into<br />the late-afternoon sky, floating and calling out to newcomers as they<br />collect themselves, above these hills, high,<br />high above these still-green hills of Judah,<br />they float, circle, glide in arcs above our books and bicycles,<br />gardens, beds, and picture albums,<br />their long necks and ample wings extended, reaching, a grey cloud taking shape<br />on its interminable journey, Russia-bound.<br />We wait, watching this flock as it drifts northward,<br />their high-pitched spluttering, bubbling screeches<br />slowly fade, now a distant, vague hum, while we<br />remain, a bit, standing among rocks and red poppies<br />before we, too, drift back to the house,<br />to homework and dinner preparations,<br />the holy hush of the hills ushering us<br />inwards.</font></p><br /><p><font color="#000000" face="Arial"><b>Third Prize - Rochelle Mass, Israel</b></font></p><p><font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial"><b>I learned to be cunning</b><br /><br />I used to think a piece of sky was enough to tell me <br />where things stood, what was going to happen. Between <br />mountains, the sky became triangles and I watched <br />how trees shivered when temperatures drop.<br /><br />Predictions came at me the way cold rushes in late November. <br />I learned to trust like laying a fire, paying attention to balance <br />order, weight. Air between the twigs has to be light, not packed <br />nor blocked. In those years<br /><br />I wanted to learn to love from those who could, but none was <br />ever as good as I wanted. I remember the residue of a smile <br />the warm place round a man's eyes. I'd stare as if I were <br />watching ants climb over a leaf between the mountains<br /><br />of West Vancouver. Autumn baffled me then, pumped me <br />with memories I didn't think I had a right to, I learned to be <br />cunning like fabric in a market, twisted from the bolt, <br />edges pegged to overhead wires to catch a shopper's eye.</font></p><br /></div>
