Poem
Yael Globerman
SECOND GENERATION
The man who almost wasn't sits down at the table.The woman who barely made it serves him plum cake.
This is my home: It is good here. Safe.
Mother leans on Father. Father leans on a shadow.
At night they tiptoe into my room in beekeepers' suits,
rub my temples with wax.
We are a very warm family.
The floor burns under our feet.
We believe in walls. Believe less in a roof.
It has to be built every morning anew. We build.
There is ammunition in the medicine cabinet
and a bribe in the bank for the guard
who lets us steal across the border every night.
Silence is the pitch that stops up gaps, seals the floors.
I hear something deep roaring and surging:
There's a sea underneath the foundations of home.
***
This house is filled with love. Father is strong
And mother good-looking.
Gershwin could have written our lullaby.
What good will this sorrow do
Where will I lead this sorrow
Where will I sit it down when it gets here
What will I give it to eat.
© Translation: 2008, Vivian Eden
דור שני
דור שני
הָאִישׁ שֶׁכִּמְעַט לֹא הָיָה יוֹשֵׁב לַשֻּׁלְחָן.
הָאִשָׁה שֶׁבְּקֹשִי הִגִּיעָה מַגִּישָׁה לוֹ עוּגַת שְׁזִיפִים.
זֶה הַבַּיִת שֶׁלִי: טוֹב פֹּה. בָּטוּחַ.
אִמָּא נִשְׁעֶנֶת עַל אַבָּא. אַבָּא נִשְׁעָן עַל צֵל.
בַּלַּיְלָה הֵם פּוֹסְעִים לְחַדְרִי עַל קְצוֹת אֶצְבָּעוֹת
בְּתִּלְבֹּשֶׁת כַּוְרָנִים, מוֹשְׁחִים אֶת רַקוֹתַי בְּשַׁעֲוָה.
אֲנַחְנוּ מִשְׁפָּחָה מְאֹד חַמָּה.
הָרִצְפָּה בּוֹעֶרֶת מִתַּחַת לַרַגְלַיִם.
אֲנַחְנוּ מַאֲמִינִים בְּקִירוֹת. פּחוֹת מַאֲמִינִים בְּגַג.
צָרִיךְ לִבְנוֹת אוֹתוֹ כָּל בֹּקֶר מֵחָדָשׁ. אֲנַחְנוּ בּוֹנִים.
בָּאֲרוֹן הַתְּרוּפוֹת יֵשׁ תַּחְמֹשֶׁת וּבַבַּנְק שֹׁחַד לַשּׁוֹמֵר
שֶׁמַּעֲבִיר אוֹתָנוּ, לַיְלָה לַיְלָה, אֶת הַגְּבוּל.
שְׁתִּיקָה הִיא הַגֹּפֶר שֶׁסּוֹתֵם אֶת הַפְּרָצוֹת, אוֹטֵם אֶת הָרִצְפָּה.
אֲנִי שׁוֹמַעַת מַשֶׁהוּ עָמֹק נוֹהֵם:
יָם קַיָּם מִתַּחַת לִיְסוֹדוֹת הַבַּיִת.
***
הַבַּיִת הַזֶּה מָלֵא אַהֲבָה. אַבָּא חָזָק וְאִמָּא יָפָה.
גֶּרְשְׁוִּין הָיָה יָכוֹל לִכְתֹּב עָלֵינוּ שִׁיר עֶרֶשׂ.
מַה יַעֲזֹר הַצַּעַר הַזֶּה
לְאָן לְהוֹלִיךְ אֶת הַצַּעַר הַזֶּה
אֵיפֹה אוֹשִׁיב אוֹתוֹ כְּשֶׁיַּגִּיעַ
מָה אֶתֵּן לוֹ לֶאֱכֹל.
הָאִשָׁה שֶׁבְּקֹשִי הִגִּיעָה מַגִּישָׁה לוֹ עוּגַת שְׁזִיפִים.
זֶה הַבַּיִת שֶׁלִי: טוֹב פֹּה. בָּטוּחַ.
אִמָּא נִשְׁעֶנֶת עַל אַבָּא. אַבָּא נִשְׁעָן עַל צֵל.
בַּלַּיְלָה הֵם פּוֹסְעִים לְחַדְרִי עַל קְצוֹת אֶצְבָּעוֹת
בְּתִּלְבֹּשֶׁת כַּוְרָנִים, מוֹשְׁחִים אֶת רַקוֹתַי בְּשַׁעֲוָה.
אֲנַחְנוּ מִשְׁפָּחָה מְאֹד חַמָּה.
הָרִצְפָּה בּוֹעֶרֶת מִתַּחַת לַרַגְלַיִם.
אֲנַחְנוּ מַאֲמִינִים בְּקִירוֹת. פּחוֹת מַאֲמִינִים בְּגַג.
צָרִיךְ לִבְנוֹת אוֹתוֹ כָּל בֹּקֶר מֵחָדָשׁ. אֲנַחְנוּ בּוֹנִים.
בָּאֲרוֹן הַתְּרוּפוֹת יֵשׁ תַּחְמֹשֶׁת וּבַבַּנְק שֹׁחַד לַשּׁוֹמֵר
שֶׁמַּעֲבִיר אוֹתָנוּ, לַיְלָה לַיְלָה, אֶת הַגְּבוּל.
שְׁתִּיקָה הִיא הַגֹּפֶר שֶׁסּוֹתֵם אֶת הַפְּרָצוֹת, אוֹטֵם אֶת הָרִצְפָּה.
אֲנִי שׁוֹמַעַת מַשֶׁהוּ עָמֹק נוֹהֵם:
יָם קַיָּם מִתַּחַת לִיְסוֹדוֹת הַבַּיִת.
***
הַבַּיִת הַזֶּה מָלֵא אַהֲבָה. אַבָּא חָזָק וְאִמָּא יָפָה.
גֶּרְשְׁוִּין הָיָה יָכוֹל לִכְתֹּב עָלֵינוּ שִׁיר עֶרֶשׂ.
מַה יַעֲזֹר הַצַּעַר הַזֶּה
לְאָן לְהוֹלִיךְ אֶת הַצַּעַר הַזֶּה
אֵיפֹה אוֹשִׁיב אוֹתוֹ כְּשֶׁיַּגִּיעַ
מָה אֶתֵּן לוֹ לֶאֱכֹל.
© 2007, Yael Globerman
From: The Same River Twice
Publisher: Helicon, Tel Aviv
From: The Same River Twice
Publisher: Helicon, Tel Aviv
Poems
Poems of Yael Globerman
Close
SECOND GENERATION
The man who almost wasn't sits down at the table.The woman who barely made it serves him plum cake.
This is my home: It is good here. Safe.
Mother leans on Father. Father leans on a shadow.
At night they tiptoe into my room in beekeepers' suits,
rub my temples with wax.
We are a very warm family.
The floor burns under our feet.
We believe in walls. Believe less in a roof.
It has to be built every morning anew. We build.
There is ammunition in the medicine cabinet
and a bribe in the bank for the guard
who lets us steal across the border every night.
Silence is the pitch that stops up gaps, seals the floors.
I hear something deep roaring and surging:
There's a sea underneath the foundations of home.
***
This house is filled with love. Father is strong
And mother good-looking.
Gershwin could have written our lullaby.
What good will this sorrow do
Where will I lead this sorrow
Where will I sit it down when it gets here
What will I give it to eat.
© 2008, Vivian Eden
From: The Same River Twice
From: The Same River Twice
SECOND GENERATION
The man who almost wasn't sits down at the table.The woman who barely made it serves him plum cake.
This is my home: It is good here. Safe.
Mother leans on Father. Father leans on a shadow.
At night they tiptoe into my room in beekeepers' suits,
rub my temples with wax.
We are a very warm family.
The floor burns under our feet.
We believe in walls. Believe less in a roof.
It has to be built every morning anew. We build.
There is ammunition in the medicine cabinet
and a bribe in the bank for the guard
who lets us steal across the border every night.
Silence is the pitch that stops up gaps, seals the floors.
I hear something deep roaring and surging:
There's a sea underneath the foundations of home.
***
This house is filled with love. Father is strong
And mother good-looking.
Gershwin could have written our lullaby.
What good will this sorrow do
Where will I lead this sorrow
Where will I sit it down when it gets here
What will I give it to eat.
© 2008, Vivian Eden
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère