David Koenig was born on March 25, 1944, to parents who escaped Austria and the Nazis in 1939. He was raised in Catlin, Illinois, and now lives in Chicago and Buenos Aires.
Koenig received his BA in English from Northwestern University, MA from the University of Chicago, and Ph.D.
from New York University. He spent 1974-75 in Germany as a Fulbright Lecturer in American Literature, and is
professor emeritus of English at Oakton Community College in Des Plaines, Illinois.
When the temple in Jerusalem
Is finally rebuilt, I will have
My red, wooden hobbyhorse back,
My brother will have his,
And we will rock
Until the robins fly in
Through the leaded glass windows again
On mysterious red-breasted light,
Spinning faster and faster
Over our heads
Until amidst our father’s laughter
The door frames fly up
And reassemble
Around the holy of holies,
The secret place
Where Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac,
A punishment
We will be sure no one deserves,
And Mother will come from the kitchen
With something to keep us til dinner,
And after we eat we will fall asleep,
Dreaming the new day to come–
As we ride our rocking horses
Into Jerusalem.
The Ladder of Memory
Feeling again today
As though something
Tall and German,
Like a great pine tree,
Were towering
Father-like
Above me,
Ready to command,
Or to judge
Or condemn me,
A work of music
Or poetry,
Ready to fall
From a sharp gash,
Slashing its way down,
Slithering
Through the forest
Like a felling
Of pine needles,
Hissing split wood,
Sinking its
Pointed summit fang
Into my low heart-
A work waiting to start.
The Ladder Of Memory