Spare the Details by Nathaniel Gutman

April 19, 2025 ~ ONE ART ~ 3 Comments

Spare the Details

Their faces.
Twelve blank faces caught in the flashbulb.

I ask you:
Did they feel the walls closing in,
hear the drums beating?
The last one, number thirteen,
left Berlin three weeks before.
Her face,
locked inside a photo-within-a-photo,
placed on the lavish dinner table, the lace cloth,
her radiant shine.

She had the power—the power to shine.

Happy birthday,
champagne glasses raised.
I recognize some faces–
my own family.

Around the corner,
at Humboldt University,
students rejoice in Book Burning Day,
Einstein, Freud, Brecht, Helen Keller,
“cleansed” by massive fires.
Did they see the flames,
on their way to the elegant party,
did they smell the smoke?

There she is—my mother.
Her face,
the thirteenth,
against twelve grim faces.
Her radiant shine.

She knew.
Forced them to flee too,
her parents, my grandparents.
Here they are:
Your father is looking at you, Mother.
Your mother, at him.

Behind your parents, in the back,
is a man—uncle Ivan.
It is his house.
Didn’t much like him, Mother says,
don’t care, who the woman hugging him was,
who some of the other guests were.
Uncle Ivan.
What happened to him? I ask.
We know enough, she says.
We can spare the details.

My letter to Berlin
receives an immediate reply,
formal, polite—
attached, his Third Reich ID card:

Born: October 22, 1878
Berlin, Charlottenburg
Profession: Attorney
Religion: Moses
Address: Budapester Strasse 17
Deported: January 20, 1944, Auschwitz.
We know enough, she says.
We can spare the details.

Nathaniel Gutman, a filmmaker, produced, directed and/or written over 30 theatrical/TV movies and documentaries internationally, including award-winning Children’s Island (BBC, Nickelodeon, Disney Channel), Deadline (with Christopher Walken), Linda (from the novella by John D. MacDonald; with Virginia Madsen).

Born in Israel, Nathaniel’s creative work often tries to come to grips with his bitter-sweet, overly sheltered German-speaking early childhood, of books, art and good (too good) manners, before being thrown, first in school, then, in the army, into the explosive reality outside.

Two Poems by Nathaniel Gutman

May 29, 2024 ~ ONE ART ~ Leave a comment

I Hear the Sirens Wailing

When an approaching firetruck’s siren fills the air,
my German Shepherd stands erect, head tilted,
a plaintive howl resounding from her gut,
alerting the neighborhood wolves,
claiming her ancestry.

When I see the first pictures of carnage,
hear air-raid sirens wailing,
the echo of her primal cry crawls up my spine,
but all I have in my throat,
on October 7,
is a broken whimper.

SETZUAN

She’s a prostitute. She’s a man. She’s pregnant.
She’s fourteen.

Tuesday, I fly 8000 miles to see her,
prostitute, man, pregnant,
in Tel Aviv.
She transforms doing Brecht on stage,
downtrodden women, evil men who rule them,
his feminist-Marxist vision:
The Good Person of Setzuan.

On our way back, parents of young women hostages,
peacefully march along the road, demanding:
Netanyahu, go! Now!

We roll down windows, they come close,
we honk our horn in support,
and to shove away the contagious pain
in their raw eyes.

Nathaniel Gutman is a filmmaker who has directed and/or written over 30 theatrical/TV movies and documentaries internationally, including award-winning Children’s Island (BBC, Nickelodeon, Disney Channel), Witness in the Warzone (with Christopher Walken), Linda (from the novella by John D. MacDonald; with Virginia Madsen). His poetry has appeared in The New York Quarterly, Tiferet Journal, Pangyrus, LitMag, Constellations, The American Journal of Poetry.

Normal by Nathaniel Gutman

October 24, 2023October 24, 2023 ~ ONE ART ~ Leave a comment

Normal

Hungry, Dad, she asked when she picked me up at the airport.
They spoiled me with an upgrade on Lufthansa,
polite, reserved flight attendants,
a chef with a Toque Blanche, inspecting a tiny guinea fowl breast,
carefully turning it skin-side down.
Hungry, I said.

She took me for pizza at a beachfront Tel Aviv restaurant.
Embraced by steamy air mixed with Mediterranean breeze,
I was instantly home.

Growing up here everything was crazy,
good-crazy but crazy,
and I always dreamt it would one day be normal.
I looked around, noisy, laughing, young people,
cool hair, designer t-shirts, loud music.
Is it finally a bit normal? I asked.

The war broke out the next morning,
a siren sent us to her saferoom.
We’re good here, she said,
even if there’s a chemical weapon attack,
except if it’s a direct hit.
Then, on TV, we saw the first images,
kids in the desert music festival
slaughtered by Hamas terrorists.

For a moment it looked almost normal, I said.
Looked, she responded.

Khaki-Blue by Nathaniel Gutman

October 15, 2023October 15, 2023 ~ ONE ART ~ Leave a comment

Khaki-Blue

Where did I park?
I’m looking for my grey Subaru,
or is it green, don’t they call it khaki-blue?
In my dream I wander the streets but can’t find it.
I stop to ask a mother, standing with her daughter,
by her house,
I tell her about the wild pig in the back of the car,
yes, needed it for filming a scene in my movie.
The girl laughs and nods, makes total sense, right,
then, with the deep wrinkle forming on
her mother’s forehead, I wake up,
open my eyes, my love is lying by my side, sound asleep.
Sometimes we call each other “pig.” Fondly.

Seventh & Idaho by Nathaniel Gutman

April 20, 2022April 20, 2022 ~ ONE ART ~ 1 Comment

Seventh & Idaho

Nothing spectacular, what grabbed my attention,
just unusual, because it was genuine,
the thank you smile and nod of the cyclist
who crossed when I stopped at the four-way
Santa Monica intersection.

Seventy, I’d say, white hair, slender, big blue eyes,
a Van Dyck portrait, take off the fur gown, millstone collar,
not the arrogant type, a humble, generous man,
a face to remember.

Wonder what he does for a living, where he lives,
his wife, what is she like, his children, grandchildren.

He looks at the oncoming truck when
he’s thrown off his bike,
falling, limber, down the asphalt,
a pool of dark, thick blood
spreads from under his
still, peaceful face.

Chiaroscuro by Nathaniel Gutman

November 14, 2021November 14, 2021 ~ ONE ART ~ 1 Comment

Chiaroscuro

Mother. Weimar-style hat, face veil.
Grandfather, moustache, cigarette, papillon tie.

They pose like silent movie stars,
radiant in noir, golden-age lighting,
sepia portraits on large cotton rag sheets,
frosted silk flaps on top.
Life will never end, right?

Mother derides nostalgia: Want the photos?
Cousin David, the cardiologist, took them.

She digs out a snapshot on smaller, matte paper:
Mother, laughing, in a Tel Aviv café,
white shirt, khakis, sunglasses.
David. On a visit, 1936.

Flat, he complained, no contrast, no chiaroscuro.
Middle Eastern sun. Unforgiving blaze.

She puts them back in the worn leather folder: Here, take them.

Cousin David is gone, she says: Gone back home, to Berlin.

Gone back home, to Berlin, he couldn’t find himself here.
Gone back home, to Berlin, he loved so much.
Gone back home to Berlin and hanged himself.

Tag: Nathaniel Gutman

Spare the Details by Nathaniel Gutman

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