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    Anna Herman

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    RED RIDING HOOD

    RED RIDING HOOD
     
    Like a wounded twig held by a tendril 
    – Dahlia Ravikovitch 

    At the end of the blocked path, at the edge of a thick forest,
    There’s a house caught between two flickering flames.
    Like Red Riding Hood I walk through the dim forest,
    to my grandmother’s house, and the snow falls again.
    I walk up to the edge of a dead end, to the edge of pain,
    and under each and every step fear lurks like a wolf.
    In the gap between the closed window and the shifting drape
    churns the story that lives in this house and was sketched
    on a metal box I once bought – a colorful, peeling case –
    telling the tale of the girl with the red cape.
    Like Red Riding Hood, who carried an egg in a small basket
    and a wolf hatched from the egg and went
    from the forest’s edge to the house and to the sickbed
    of the grandmother, and swallowed her, and the house tipped and toppled over.
    For two years now I’ve been like a fractured twig bound to a tendril
    and the red wound pales like a fading red riding hood.
    Snow bursts through the skylight the house beckons.
    And Red Riding Hood and her grandmother are two quivering flames.
    © Translation: 2015, Adriana X. Jacobs

    RED RIDING HOOD

     כיפה אדומה
     
                   "כְּמוֹ זְמוֹרָה חֲבוּלָה שֶׁהִיא עוֹד אֲחוּזָה בִּקְנוֹקֶנֶת"
                                                  דליה רביקוביץ
     
    בִּקְצֵה הַמָּבוֹי הַסָּתוּם, בְּקָצֵהוּ שֶׁל יַעַר עָבֹת
    יֵשׁ בַּיִת אָחוּז בִּצְמַרְמֹרֶת נוֹטֶפֶת שֶׁל שְׁתֵּי לֶהָבוֹת.
    אֲנִי כְּמוֹ כִּפָּה אֲדֻמָּה מְהַלֶּכֶת בְּיַעַר אָפֵל,
    מְהַלֶּכֶת אֶל בֵּית סָבָתִי, וְהַשֶּׁלֶג חוֹזֵר וְנוֹפֵל.
    מְהַלֶּכֶת עַד קְצֵה הַמָּבוֹי הַסָּתוּם וְעַד סוֹף הַכְּאֵב,
    וְתַחַת כָּל צַעַד וְצַעַד הַפַּחַד אוֹרֵב כִּזְאֵב.
    וּבַתָּוֶךְ שֶׁבֵּין הַחַלּוֹן הַסָּגוּר לַוִּילוֹן הַמּוּסָט
    מִתְעַרְבֵּב הַסִּפּוּר שֶׁבַּבַּיִת בָּזֶה שֶׁצֻּיַּר עַל קֻפְסַת
    הַמַּתֶּכֶת שֶׁפַּעַם קָנִיתִי – תֵּבָה צִבְעוֹנִית מִתְקַלֶּפֶת –
    שֶׁעָלֶיהָ צֻיְּרָה אַגָּדַת הַיַּלְדָּה אֲדֻמַּת-הַמִּצְנֶפֶת.
    כְּמוֹ כִּפָּה אֲדֻמָּה שֶׁהָיְתָה לָהּ בַּיָּד סַלְסִלָּה עִם בֵּיצָה
    וּמִתּוֹךְ הַבֵּיצָה הַנִּבְקַעַת הֵגִיחַ זְאֵב וְיָצָא
    וְהָלַךְ מִסּוֹפוֹ שֶׁל הַיַּעַר עַד לַבַּיִת וְעַד לְמִטַּת
    סָבָתָהּ הַחוֹלָה, וּבְלָעָהּ, וְהַבַּיִת נָטָה וּמוֹטַט.
    כְּבָר שְׁנָתַיִם אֲנִי כְּמוֹ זְמוֹרָה חֲבוּלָה אֲחוּזָה בִּקְנוֹקֶנֶת
    וְהָאֹדֶם הוֹלֵךְ וּמַחְוִיר כְּכִפָּה אֲדֻמָּה מִתְרוֹקֶנֶת.
    וְהַשֶּׁלֶג פּוֹקֵעַ בְּצֹהַר הַבַּיִת הָלוֹךְ וּפָתוֹת
    וְכִפָּה אֲדֻמָּה וְהַסַּבְתָּא הֵן שְׁתֵּי לֶהָבוֹת רוֹטְטוֹת.
     
    © 2006, Anna Herman
    From: Hasefer shel refuote pashutot (The book of simple remedies)
    Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv
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    RED RIDING HOOD

    RED RIDING HOOD
     
    Like a wounded twig held by a tendril 
    – Dahlia Ravikovitch 

    At the end of the blocked path, at the edge of a thick forest,
    There’s a house caught between two flickering flames.
    Like Red Riding Hood I walk through the dim forest,
    to my grandmother’s house, and the snow falls again.
    I walk up to the edge of a dead end, to the edge of pain,
    and under each and every step fear lurks like a wolf.
    In the gap between the closed window and the shifting drape
    churns the story that lives in this house and was sketched
    on a metal box I once bought – a colorful, peeling case –
    telling the tale of the girl with the red cape.
    Like Red Riding Hood, who carried an egg in a small basket
    and a wolf hatched from the egg and went
    from the forest’s edge to the house and to the sickbed
    of the grandmother, and swallowed her, and the house tipped and toppled over.
    For two years now I’ve been like a fractured twig bound to a tendril
    and the red wound pales like a fading red riding hood.
    Snow bursts through the skylight the house beckons.
    And Red Riding Hood and her grandmother are two quivering flames.
    © 2015, Adriana X. Jacobs
    From: Hasefer shel refuote pashutot (The book of simple remedies)

    RED RIDING HOOD

    RED RIDING HOOD
     
    Like a wounded twig held by a tendril 
    – Dahlia Ravikovitch 

    At the end of the blocked path, at the edge of a thick forest,
    There’s a house caught between two flickering flames.
    Like Red Riding Hood I walk through the dim forest,
    to my grandmother’s house, and the snow falls again.
    I walk up to the edge of a dead end, to the edge of pain,
    and under each and every step fear lurks like a wolf.
    In the gap between the closed window and the shifting drape
    churns the story that lives in this house and was sketched
    on a metal box I once bought – a colorful, peeling case –
    telling the tale of the girl with the red cape.
    Like Red Riding Hood, who carried an egg in a small basket
    and a wolf hatched from the egg and went
    from the forest’s edge to the house and to the sickbed
    of the grandmother, and swallowed her, and the house tipped and toppled over.
    For two years now I’ve been like a fractured twig bound to a tendril
    and the red wound pales like a fading red riding hood.
    Snow bursts through the skylight the house beckons.
    And Red Riding Hood and her grandmother are two quivering flames.
    © 2015, Adriana X. Jacobs
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