'The Dove That Didn’t Return': A soldier’s experiences - review

I’m going go confess right up front that modern poetry is not my preferred genre. Nevertheless, I have found myself in a profound state of prose fatigue – if there is such a thing – during this prolonged war. 

The proliferation of op-ed essays, human-interest features, military analyses, and news reports on the current situation attests to the large volume of material waiting to be shared and the people’s need to express themselves in writing because it’s informative or cathartic or both. 

But all those pieces of prose can get overwhelming. So the idea of a slim book of poetry by a female IDF veteran held a surprising appeal. 

The Dove That Didn’t Return is a compilation from Yael Hacohen, a lecturer in Tel Aviv University’s English Department. The 46 poems were born out of personal experiences as a soldier, daughter, and mother against the backdrop of “the conflict.”

Though the collection isn’t overtly political, some of the poems reveal a Left-leaning outlook. This is not surprising, given Hacohen’s background: law and literature degrees from Tel Aviv University in 2012; an MFA in poetry from New York University in 2017; and a PhD in rhetoric from the University of California – Berkeley in 2023. Hacohen has also been a New York University Veterans Workshop fellow, international editor at the Washington Square Review, and editor-in-chief at Nine Lines Literary Review. 

Yet, for the most part, her poems have a universal quality. Written from the gut, they can resonate with anyone, regardless of political viewpoints.

Here’s one that takes us back poignantly, almost jarringly, to the 2005 expulsion from Gush Katif:

Settlement

I am ordered to evacuate this family by force.

It’s then, I remember a line

of olive trees in a field when I lift

the shield over my brow.

The shield is like the nation, heavy

& unlike the nation, I watch

as the husband holds onto the frame

of the door with his fingertips.

I have never even seen

a man cry, let alone.

I am told this is for peace

& when the son crashes

into my shield, I do not

back down. I advance

sideways, or with a different shade

of Judaism. I push

my right leg forward & the line

of my men & women

quickly closes ranks. Not even

a piece of parchment

could fit between us. These men

& women are my brothers.

I would die for them, if ordered.

I am told this land

has always belonged to Palestine.

These are their fields,

their olive trees. No Israeli can live here.

I recall the wife

attempting to approach our line.

She says, we speak the same

flag, she & I. She ties a ribbon

to my shield & I do not

remove it. No Israeli can

live here, they tell me.

I raise the shield as if to protect her

before ramming it into

the side of her face. My line

of men & women

has my back always,

& they tell me so.

The husband sees this

& releases the wooden frame.

He bends into a question

on the ground.

Another poem in the collection, “Amos 3:5,” won the Barbara Mandigo Kelly Peace Poetry Award. The biblical verse it is based on reads: “Will a bird fall in a snare upon the earth, where there is no lure for it? Will a snare spring up from the ground, and have taken nothing at all?”

And here is Hacohen’s poem:

Amos 3:5

Of course, it wasn’t the landmine’s fault. The young couple parked

their car on the hem of the road. It was a wheat field. No, it was

barley. Wild and green stems swayed like birds in summer.

The oak promised some shade. She grabbed the picnic basket

from the car’s trunk. There was an afternoon breeze, and the air

smelled of gravel. His handgun rested in the glove compartment.

It was quiet. They ducked under and through the wire-braided fence.

The yellow signs hung like lanterns. They spread the blanket, and

brought out the avocadoes, olive oil, black bread, pieces of cheese.

He was humming to himself an army chant from his nights

in the paratroopers, and she tucked a loose strand of her curls behind

her ear. When he stood, she caught a glint of something but didn’t

know if it was sunlight. The cicadas didn’t stop their clicking.

Not even the moment the white blast filled the sky.

The sound was metal itself fulfilling its position.

A plume of earth flowered open like a chute. It’s possible

that he was so close to its break, he became the sound,

and she watched him become it. It’s possible some migrant birds

ruptured the sky, briefly, before returning back to their perch.

Many poems in the book rest loosely on a biblical foundation. Below are excerpts from the title poem, obviously inspired by Genesis 8:12.

The Dove That Didn’t Return

The dove that didn’t return to the ark

thought she’d have the world to herself.

She couldn’t wait to fly off that floating

pile of wood planks, to escape the stench and the roaring.

She thought she’d have the world

to herself, but she immediately didn’t.

There were dolphins and bottle-nosed whales

with strange calls, fish that never counted

water from water, microbes and organisms

writhing, multiplying in dark watery caves,

becoming in green and blue. …

The dove didn’t have the world to herself,

she knew, but she never returned

to report it. Maybe she thought

the ark couldn’t store that kind of silence.

The shortest poem conveys a seemingly simple yet enigmatic message.

Peace

Listen, even the olive tree

Needs to be beaten with a stick.

Notwithstanding some unfortunate misspellings (such as “pours” instead of “pores” in a poem about her daughter reviewing the letters of the aleph-bet), The Dove That Didn’t Return did not disappoint me in my yearning to explore a different genre. 

I wouldn’t call them uplifting, but these poems – even those that unsettled, rankled, or saddened – spoke to a place in my soul receptive to a refreshing form of expression in these difficult times. 

THE DOVE THAT DIDN’T RETURN:

POEMS 

By Yael Hacohen

Holy Cow! Press

76 pages; $17