Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Yair Hurwitz

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MOMENT

Now my father must come to terms,
moment by moment, with his other language
to which time is no barrier;
when he was forced to give up
the simple words, I heard many sounds.
I could not accept
that I was crying, so I set out for a place
where I thought I would encounter my father,
a place where I could not believe I’d never
meet him again. At that noon hour
there were benches and bodies that belonged to them
by right of poverty, but what I lacked
was different – the trees did not seem
like trees – perhaps more like heavy sculptures then,
when I spoke to him in words he could not
add to, words he continues to say
without lips until
this very day.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MOMENT

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AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MOMENT

Now my father must come to terms,
moment by moment, with his other language
to which time is no barrier;
when he was forced to give up
the simple words, I heard many sounds.
I could not accept
that I was crying, so I set out for a place
where I thought I would encounter my father,
a place where I could not believe I’d never
meet him again. At that noon hour
there were benches and bodies that belonged to them
by right of poverty, but what I lacked
was different – the trees did not seem
like trees – perhaps more like heavy sculptures then,
when I spoke to him in words he could not
add to, words he continues to say
without lips until
this very day.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MOMENT

Now my father must come to terms,
moment by moment, with his other language
to which time is no barrier;
when he was forced to give up
the simple words, I heard many sounds.
I could not accept
that I was crying, so I set out for a place
where I thought I would encounter my father,
a place where I could not believe I’d never
meet him again. At that noon hour
there were benches and bodies that belonged to them
by right of poverty, but what I lacked
was different – the trees did not seem
like trees – perhaps more like heavy sculptures then,
when I spoke to him in words he could not
add to, words he continues to say
without lips until
this very day.
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