Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Yair Hurwitz

KINGDOM AND DREAM: THE TERRIBLE ONE

My father, so they said, 
went up to heaven.
Heaven is so pure
and transparent
that a dark hidden line
forever divides
those who dwell in the sky
from those who dwell in the body.
And the terrible,
it need not be repeated,
is eternal.

At the end of the thirty-day mourning period
or on the day when a year has passed
matter meets matter
the tombstone which covers the skeleton
is unveiled
out of a belief in the eternity of the stone.
Let them be satisfied with the lie.

And in those days
the world of non-speech
was eternal.
Later we studied Bialik:
     “I did not have my father for many years, his days with me were brief,
       while I was only a tender child, before I had had my fill of his presence,
       while I was still in need of his compassion, the protection of his hands,
       death took him from me, separated us forever, but I hid his image in
       my heart, I could call it up before me.”
Knowing so much, lacking so much
I did not say a word.
Today I say:
Poetry is speech
in a place
where there will never be touch.

KINGDOM AND DREAM: THE TERRIBLE ONE

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KINGDOM AND DREAM: THE TERRIBLE ONE

My father, so they said, 
went up to heaven.
Heaven is so pure
and transparent
that a dark hidden line
forever divides
those who dwell in the sky
from those who dwell in the body.
And the terrible,
it need not be repeated,
is eternal.

At the end of the thirty-day mourning period
or on the day when a year has passed
matter meets matter
the tombstone which covers the skeleton
is unveiled
out of a belief in the eternity of the stone.
Let them be satisfied with the lie.

And in those days
the world of non-speech
was eternal.
Later we studied Bialik:
     “I did not have my father for many years, his days with me were brief,
       while I was only a tender child, before I had had my fill of his presence,
       while I was still in need of his compassion, the protection of his hands,
       death took him from me, separated us forever, but I hid his image in
       my heart, I could call it up before me.”
Knowing so much, lacking so much
I did not say a word.
Today I say:
Poetry is speech
in a place
where there will never be touch.

KINGDOM AND DREAM: THE TERRIBLE ONE

My father, so they said, 
went up to heaven.
Heaven is so pure
and transparent
that a dark hidden line
forever divides
those who dwell in the sky
from those who dwell in the body.
And the terrible,
it need not be repeated,
is eternal.

At the end of the thirty-day mourning period
or on the day when a year has passed
matter meets matter
the tombstone which covers the skeleton
is unveiled
out of a belief in the eternity of the stone.
Let them be satisfied with the lie.

And in those days
the world of non-speech
was eternal.
Later we studied Bialik:
     “I did not have my father for many years, his days with me were brief,
       while I was only a tender child, before I had had my fill of his presence,
       while I was still in need of his compassion, the protection of his hands,
       death took him from me, separated us forever, but I hid his image in
       my heart, I could call it up before me.”
Knowing so much, lacking so much
I did not say a word.
Today I say:
Poetry is speech
in a place
where there will never be touch.

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère