Different Slants

By Robert M. Katzman © September 11, 2010 // Revised May 10, 2022

Originally written a decade ago to comfort a good friend on the loss of her mother who lived in another country. But the meaning is so universal, I decided that others may take comfort from it as well. If you happen to know someone who will appreciate these carefully chosen words, please tell them to come read my poem.  

*******************************************

Mothers

Can be

Far away

and

Deep within you

at

The same time

They are

Like the Sun

Israel Katzman’s 70^th Birthday, the Dead Man Who “Spoke” to Him an the Son Who Could Not

by Robert M. Katzman © May 8, 2020

Now that I’m 70 years old myself, I think it’s time to tell this unusual story, because at this point, 38 years after my father Israel’s 70^thbirthday on September 21, 1982, there is virtually no one else left to tell it. Not every family story is worth remembering, but this one is. First, a brief chronology: 

My Father’s Father, Jacob Katzman, a carpenter born in 1882 in Megilev-on-the-Dnieper River in Byelorussia (who was 70 himself in 1952), was one of only four boys born into my family since that date, until 1978. Israel-1912; his brother Milton 1916; myself-1950 and my son David (now Konee)-1978. It was rare for all four of us to be together in one room, but we were in 1982 at my Father’s 70th birthday party. My Grandfather Jacob, was dead since 1961, Milton was 66, I was 32 and Konee was 4.