A Review of Arts
and Letters in Israel Cultural and Scientific Relations Division / Ministry
for Foreign Affairs
.Publisher: Jerusalem Post Publications, Ltd
Poems by Shulamit Sapir-Nevo
Translated by Mel Rosenberg Air-Brush by Morley Hollenberg
Ayala
Ayala
or whatever
her voice is a woodland. Her eyes
does it matter what color
will be the site of his temple.
She will wipe away stains
Of my love from his body
with soft lips of honey and salt.
Ayala
or whatever
will suddenly take him away.
Wanting to Touch Again
Wanting to touch again
for all those days
for the years I shall want.
I must preserve the light
within the cold glass lamp
to see it as a star without
touching
to see it, and knowing
how once it would pass as a wick
and I the tallow
round.
Tranquil Now
Tranquil now
this boat which has landed
on the sands
and shrugged off all the water.
No longer touching the raging gales
nor gathering waves
into its body
ravaged by those wet hands pained
yet forgiving. Now
tranquil
sinking roots into
the sands.
"The Water Man"
Gulls Made Love
Gulls made love
on the water
I heard the sea
pass gently
between them
even the surrounding sands held off the while.
The Water Man
My water man
passes among the sleeping
corals
and rubs them with his palms
until he shows their true color
he knows no rest
until he uncovers
even the most modest among them
I send him
a school of curious fish
searching out his slippery organs
with tiny bites of
amazement.
Make Love
Make love to me for all the days
the days gone by the days with you
make love until I am revealed
in daylight, and in darkness too.
Make lent to me
for the abandoned, homeless
forlorn and trembling,
behold and bless
Make love to me
for the fertile and bare
do not divide
Leave nothing behind.
Even Though
Tonight
the sea has closed its eyes
and hungry seagulls lick its face
you promised when I awake this morning
I will find you here even though you are sated.
The Milky Way
The wine I gave up long ago
The music too
And the only light on in my room
Is the blue one
Every evening
Out of habit
Almost like the moon outside
And seeing it has about the same effect
I forgive
Provided that you are the night
Climbing the milky way.
He Did Not Know
He did not know
That a woman loved him all night long
The next day a careful hand
Fluttered across his cheek
Her eyes full
Her voice rain
He did not know
That a woman loved him so
Each night
Tearing him from sleep
Gathering darkness from darkenss
And coming with a shout into his body.
How
How will you manage alone
He asked at the door
I will be like the frozen sea
No streams coming or going
within.
Foxes
I don't know a thing about foxes
I see the nails through their sweaty eyes
That's why I left
But he persists
Bringing me a ripe moon
Under its light breaking into a dervish dance
Until he falls as dead
I don't draw near
To hear his wakened heart
As I've already said
What do I know about foxes?
Raincolors
When I fall asleep
in raincolors
and your hand passes raindrops
in my sleep
the sounds will bloom.
End of July
What is this temor grasping
the end of July
bowing the oak
even the moonlight has lost its way
What is this tremor passing by
and the wine trees swaying before me.
Gesture
My voice does not do justice
to this soft gesture
which the moonlight makes on my face
as the smell of wheat lusts within me.
See
Blind man,
eyes cast as stones
over an open field,
holds his small daughter
to the window pane
and tells her
"See".
Walk-In Clinic
The window pane froze long ago
with great obstinacy it stands guard
nothing shall evaporate from here
the screams of children running from needles
to the hearts of candies
the groans of the elderly running
from sanity to pills
and potted plants that barely grow.
You are
You are fleeing swallows
in your hand a stalk
I opened a green field
For you to rest, and your fear
turning wing to root.
Landmarks
A man sleeping in the room and beside him
the slumber of a soft child
her hair the smell of this week's games
her toys landmarks through the house
on the table a crushed cellophane wrapper
and a candy melted half-way
that could promise no more
than colored sugar.
Fairy Tale
What momma doesn't know
is how much little red riding hood
likes wolves
meek forest creatures bore her to death
her basket brimming with sandwiches and wine
here comes the wolf
to ravish her
slowly.
Even Though
Tonight
the sea has closed its eyes
and hungry seagulls lick its face
you promised when I awake this morning
I will find you here even though you are sated.
READING IN THE COFFEE
Poems by Shulamit Sapir-Nevo
Translated by Mel Rosenberg
I became I became a palace of music, A field of nectar, A lake A storm The spring.
If you leave I will melt like magic Among the grains of sand.
You You are the melody I am the words You are the birds I am the tree You are the sea I am the storm You are the night flooding A thousand stars Into the depths of my body. I am the moon in wonder at your window.
If you don't ask me If you don't ask me to dance I won't show my colors I won't sprinkle gold
I will plunge, In a shell - A white pearl Who has lost her voice At sea.
But If you trap me In your net of light And ask me to dance for you I will rise And dance Till there is no water Above.
Stations I took the train. We passed the rain station The sand station The sea station But at the station Of the heart I got derailed.
Doves of Latrun
Doves
On the tank tower standing high on the hill
One hundred old grey doves
Sing with metallic voices.
There on the hill
They watched the war
And turned pitch black.
And when the tank’s heart ceased pounding,
Perching on its heavy shoulders,
They waited for the spell to pass.
Prayer
Create the world again, Lord,
This time carefully keeping the dark from light
And do not let us simple people
Set the boundaries.
Divide once more the land and sea,
And keep us apart for good,
So that we do not see and do not lust
To kill one another.
Take a little milk and honey,
And give us some rest,
Do not raise your hand to strike down the children,
Just leave them in peace.
Tower of Tears
A salty rain falls in the Tower of Tears,
Winter, summer, fall.
And even when spring appears and the earth blossoms –
The Tower of Tears still cries.
Its pained body riddled with wars,
With no hands to dry the
Tears of Mother, Father, sister,
Wandering restlessly,
Stinging its wounds.
Wall of Names
The bright metal draws
Out of its long body
The names of all those who have fallen
And in the woods nearby –
Each one has a cyclamen
That grows and cries for him.
Sea of Cyclamens
The sea of cyclamens at Latrun
Weaves modestly around the metal beasts
Peering down with their black eyes,
Softly adding color to their stone-hard faces,
Between rocks and treads,
Gently bending pink heads.
The Latrun March
Soft vines
Send their little green fingers,
Bursting through the fence to touch
The winding mountain road.
Up the path march cypress and pine trees,
Thistles and stones extend their sharp bodies
And a wildflower flaunts its color.
Migrant birds nestle in song
And a tortoise carefully crosses the field.
The laughter of children rises through the forest trees,
Songs of soldiers embrace the mountain
And the love for this land
Reflected in the faces of the backpackers
Flying with the wind over
A trail tasting of lemon and pineapple.
Below, the glistening valley
Spreads radiant splendor
And facing us, on the next crest,
The mighty commanding fortress,
Latrun,
Black-green flag waving
In the wind
Crowned by hills of tanks
Turrets turn a blind eye to the children
Who will soon appear to conquer them.
Latrun
How can the wind caress
This metal face
This leaf,
This stone,
Whipping the first,
Weaving dreams in the second,
And in the third,
Weeping, comforting,
Drying the tears.
***
The priests and the prayers pass silently
Between the rocks and fence
Searching for angels.
The watchful skies, changing hue,
Take it all in
And the earth gives blessing.
Vines, not yet having cheered the hearts of men,
Olive trees, not having yet unfurled the dove of peace.
