Poem
Aryeh Sivan
I’m in my cart, riding down
I’m in my cart, riding downJewish National Fund Avenue. My eyes
absorb and recognize places and landscapes:
the women’s farm is already behind us
and here is the Meir Quarter, the eastern boundary of the city of my birth.
But there’s something I don’t understand in the picture of the street.
It is too wide, and there are too many traffic lanes
and no carts, carts from which domestic animals stare,
making their rolling sounds.
Do I see this or am I imagining it? The entire area has grown
asphalt and buildings
instead of open space from here to Sarona.
Even worse, I think,
is that the woman behind me is not my mother
but a caregiver, Filipino or Thai,
assigned to me by the National Insurance Institute.
© Translation: 2011, Lisa Katz
I’m in my cart, riding down
© 2009, Aryeh Sivan
From: Al hol veh-al-yam
Publisher: Keshev, Tel Aviv
From: Al hol veh-al-yam
Publisher: Keshev, Tel Aviv
Poems
Poems of Aryeh Sivan
Close
I’m in my cart, riding down
I’m in my cart, riding downJewish National Fund Avenue. My eyes
absorb and recognize places and landscapes:
the women’s farm is already behind us
and here is the Meir Quarter, the eastern boundary of the city of my birth.
But there’s something I don’t understand in the picture of the street.
It is too wide, and there are too many traffic lanes
and no carts, carts from which domestic animals stare,
making their rolling sounds.
Do I see this or am I imagining it? The entire area has grown
asphalt and buildings
instead of open space from here to Sarona.
Even worse, I think,
is that the woman behind me is not my mother
but a caregiver, Filipino or Thai,
assigned to me by the National Insurance Institute.
© 2011, Lisa Katz
From: Al hol veh-al-yam
From: Al hol veh-al-yam
I’m in my cart, riding down
I’m in my cart, riding downJewish National Fund Avenue. My eyes
absorb and recognize places and landscapes:
the women’s farm is already behind us
and here is the Meir Quarter, the eastern boundary of the city of my birth.
But there’s something I don’t understand in the picture of the street.
It is too wide, and there are too many traffic lanes
and no carts, carts from which domestic animals stare,
making their rolling sounds.
Do I see this or am I imagining it? The entire area has grown
asphalt and buildings
instead of open space from here to Sarona.
Even worse, I think,
is that the woman behind me is not my mother
but a caregiver, Filipino or Thai,
assigned to me by the National Insurance Institute.
© 2011, Lisa Katz
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère