Poem
Israel Pincas
CLOUDY OR CLEAR
1I asked for something cold, honed down,
Burnished like nickel,
A bed-rail, on which a patient
Cools his forehead;
Perhaps a cube. A plank
Square and hardened,
Uncompromised,
Brother to madness, to silence.
A silence accrues to a buzz.
A buzzing which is speech:
A kind of largo for cellos
Or high voltage,
Like that of the generator relegated
To the edge of the lot,
Between the bushes, the barrels
And beside the stains of mazut and of oil.
2
One morning I’ll wake up and learn
That I was: a rifle butt, a chisel’s handle,
A square piece of wood, rigid,
a cube.
It’ll be very hot. Maybe cold. Cloudy
Or clear. A disinterested glance will reveal:
A scorched wall, or scaffolding; a frame,
Or something which can only bring to mind a frame
Of a house, a large storeroom for spare parts, or a garage,
Perhaps a dismantled hotel; a gas station
And a sign, part of a sign,
A traffic light for the young who lap distances.
© Translation: 2013, Linda Zisquit
מעונן או בהיר
מעונן או בהיר
1
בִּקַּשְׁתִּי מַשֶּׁהוּ קַר, מְהֻקְצָע,
מַבְהִיק כְּמוֹ נִיקֶל,
דֹּפֶן מִטָּה, שֶׁהַחוֹלֶה
מְצַנֵּן בָּהּ אֶת מִצְחוֹ.
אֶפְשָׁר קֻבִּיָּה. כְּפִיס-עֵץ
רָבוּעַ, מֻקְשֶׁה,
חֲסַר פֵּשֶׁר,
אָח לְטֵרוּף, לִשְׁתִיקָה.
שְׁתִיקָה מִצְטַבֶּרֶת לְזִמְזוּם:
זִמְזוּם שֶׁהוּא דִּבּוּר.
מֵעֵין לַרְגוֹ לְצֶ'לִי
אוֹ מֶתַח גָּבוֹהַּ,
כְּמוֹ זֶה שֶׁל הַגֶּנֶרָטוֹר הַמְנֻדֶּה
בִּקְצֵה הַמִּגְרָשׁ,
בֵּין הַשִּׂיחִים, הֶחָבִיוֹת
וְעַל-יַד כִּתְמֵי הַמָּזוּט וְהַשֶּׁמֶן.
2
בֹּקֶר אֶחָד אֶתְעוֹרֵר וְאֶלְמַד
שֶׁהָיִיתִי: קַת שֶׁל רוֹבֶה, יָדִית שֶׁל מַפְסֶלֶת,
כְּפִיס-עֵץ רָבוּעַ, מֻקְשֶׁה,
קֻבִּיָּה.
יִהְיֶה חַם מְאֹד. וְאוּלַי קַר. מְעֻנָּן
אוֹ בָּהִיר. מַבָּט לֹא מְעֻנְיָן יְגַלֶּה
קִיר שָׂרוּף, אוֹ פִּגּוּם; שֶׁלֶד,
אוֹ מַשֶּׁהוּ הַיָּכוֹל רַק לְהַזְכִּיר שֶׁלֶד
שֶׁל בַּיִת, מַחְסַן-חֲלָפִים גָּדוֹל אוֹ מוּסָךְ,
אוּלַי מָלוֹן מְפֹרָק; תַּחֲנַת דֶּלֶק
וְשֶׁלֶט, חֵלֶק שֶׁל שֶׁלֶט,
תַּמְרוּר לְגוֹמְאֵי מֶרְחַקִּים צְעִירִים.
© 1999, Even Hoshen
From: Mare Nostrum
Publisher: Even Hoshen, Rananna
From: Mare Nostrum
Publisher: Even Hoshen, Rananna
Poems
Poems of Israel Pincas
Close
CLOUDY OR CLEAR
1I asked for something cold, honed down,
Burnished like nickel,
A bed-rail, on which a patient
Cools his forehead;
Perhaps a cube. A plank
Square and hardened,
Uncompromised,
Brother to madness, to silence.
A silence accrues to a buzz.
A buzzing which is speech:
A kind of largo for cellos
Or high voltage,
Like that of the generator relegated
To the edge of the lot,
Between the bushes, the barrels
And beside the stains of mazut and of oil.
2
One morning I’ll wake up and learn
That I was: a rifle butt, a chisel’s handle,
A square piece of wood, rigid,
a cube.
It’ll be very hot. Maybe cold. Cloudy
Or clear. A disinterested glance will reveal:
A scorched wall, or scaffolding; a frame,
Or something which can only bring to mind a frame
Of a house, a large storeroom for spare parts, or a garage,
Perhaps a dismantled hotel; a gas station
And a sign, part of a sign,
A traffic light for the young who lap distances.
© 2013, Linda Zisquit
From: Mare Nostrum
From: Mare Nostrum
CLOUDY OR CLEAR
1I asked for something cold, honed down,
Burnished like nickel,
A bed-rail, on which a patient
Cools his forehead;
Perhaps a cube. A plank
Square and hardened,
Uncompromised,
Brother to madness, to silence.
A silence accrues to a buzz.
A buzzing which is speech:
A kind of largo for cellos
Or high voltage,
Like that of the generator relegated
To the edge of the lot,
Between the bushes, the barrels
And beside the stains of mazut and of oil.
2
One morning I’ll wake up and learn
That I was: a rifle butt, a chisel’s handle,
A square piece of wood, rigid,
a cube.
It’ll be very hot. Maybe cold. Cloudy
Or clear. A disinterested glance will reveal:
A scorched wall, or scaffolding; a frame,
Or something which can only bring to mind a frame
Of a house, a large storeroom for spare parts, or a garage,
Perhaps a dismantled hotel; a gas station
And a sign, part of a sign,
A traffic light for the young who lap distances.
© 2013, Linda Zisquit
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