Poem
Rafi Weichert
ON TIPTOE
Always on tiptoe beside you,
I’m cautious of speech.
Your dead aren’t a metaphor,
your words are accumulated silence.
Beside you I rise out of my barred self
to new places.
When you have trouble hearing
I hope I’m not missing the mark.
The forty years between us
dissipate at your threshold.
Your lines are a gift
uprooted, against its will, from your hands.
© Translation: 2014, Lisa Katz
על בהונות
על בהונות
לְיָדְךָ תָּמִיד עַל בְּהוֹנוֹת,
נִזְהָר בַּדִּבּוּר.
הַמֵּתִים שֶׁלְּךָ אֵינָם מֶטָפוֹרָה,
הַמִּלִּים שֶׁלְּךָ — שֶׁקֶט אָגוּר.
לְיָדְךָ מִתְגַּבֵּהַּ מִסּוֹרְגֵי עַצְמוּתִי
לִמְקוֹמוֹת חֲדָשִׁים.
כְּשֶׁאַתָּה מִתְקַשֶּׁה לִשְׁמֹעַ
אֲנִי מְקַוֶּה לֹא לְהַחֲטִיא.
אַרְבָּעִים הַשָּׁנִים שֶׁבֵּינֵינוּ
נְמוֹגוֹת עַל סִפְּךָ.
שׁוּרוֹתֶיךָ הֵן מַתָּת
שֶׁנֶּעֶקְרָה, עַל כָּרְחָהּ, מִיָּדְךָ.
© 2006, Rafi Weichert
From: Sha’a lo zafuya
Publisher: Keshev, Tel Aviv
From: Sha’a lo zafuya
Publisher: Keshev, Tel Aviv
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Poems
Poems of Rafi Weichert
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ON TIPTOE
Always on tiptoe beside you,
I’m cautious of speech.
Your dead aren’t a metaphor,
your words are accumulated silence.
Beside you I rise out of my barred self
to new places.
When you have trouble hearing
I hope I’m not missing the mark.
The forty years between us
dissipate at your threshold.
Your lines are a gift
uprooted, against its will, from your hands.
© 2014, Lisa Katz
From: Sha’a lo zafuya
From: Sha’a lo zafuya
ON TIPTOE
Always on tiptoe beside you,
I’m cautious of speech.
Your dead aren’t a metaphor,
your words are accumulated silence.
Beside you I rise out of my barred self
to new places.
When you have trouble hearing
I hope I’m not missing the mark.
The forty years between us
dissipate at your threshold.
Your lines are a gift
uprooted, against its will, from your hands.
© 2014, Lisa Katz
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