Poem
Rivka Miriam
THAT VERY NIGHT
THAT VERY NIGHT1
That very night it became clear to him that I’m a man
a heavy man with strict countenance
whose talk is mixed with strange dialects
and until now when he was touching me otherwise
he was wrong.
I’m a man.
So he saw.
“She’s a man,” he said,
for he was used to calling me “she”all those years.
Together we’ll go to the store
and buy matching hats
and speak to each other
in thick voices.
2
Now that it is clear that I’m a man
it turns out that I’m the father of my children
and their growth was in a father’s womb
warm and hairy and tearless.
Children, call me mother
and when I speak to you I’ll try my thinnest voice
bonnets and aprons I’ll continue to embroider
with my large fingers.
Children, call me mother
even if the milk froze at the tip of my nipples.
3
All the words I’ve written till now –
a man wrote.
Once I thought they were like a woman
swelling and shrinking with the seasons like her.
It’s not so.
They were straight and set, void of curves.
When a girl approaches them
with a confident arm, they’ll embrace her
and she’ll open wide.
© Translation: 2009, Linda Zisquit
From: These Mountains
Publisher: Toby Press, London, 2009
From: These Mountains
Publisher: Toby Press, London, 2009
THAT VERY NIGHT
באותו לילה
א
בְּאוֹתוֹ לַיְלָה הֻבְרַר לוֹ שֶׁאִישׁ אֲנִי
אִישׁ כָּבֵד וּזְעוּם אֲרֶשֶׁת
שֶׁשִּׂיחָתוֹ מְהוּלָה בְּנִיבִים זָרִים
וְעַד כֹּה כְּשֶׁנָּגַע בִּי אַחֶרֶת
טָעָה.
אֲנִי אִישׁ.
כָּךְ רָאָה.
"אַתְּ אִישׁ", כָּךְ אָמַר
שֶׁהֲרֵי מֻרְגָּל הָיָה לִקְרֹא לִי "אַתְּ"
כָּל אוֹתָן הַשָּׁנִים.
לַחֲנוּת נִגַּשׁ יַחְדָּו
וְנִקְנֶה מִגְבָּעוֹת תּוֹאֲמוֹת
וּנְדַבֵּר אִישׁ אֶל רֵעֵהוּ
בְּקוֹלוֹת עָבִים.
ב
עַתָּה, מִשֶּׁהֻבְרַר שֶׁאִישׁ אֲנִי
נִמְצָא שֶׁאֲנִי אֲבִיהֶם שֶׁל יְלָדַי
וְגִדּוּלָם הָיָה בְּרֶחֶם שֶׁל אָב
שֶׁהוּא חַם וְשָׂעִיר. לְלֹא דֶּמַע.
יְלָדַי, קִרְאוּ לִי אִמָּא
וּבְדַבְּרִי אֲלֵיכֶם אָפִיק הַדַּק בְּקוֹלוֹתַי
וְכוֹבָעִים וְסִנָּרִים אוֹסִיף לְרַקֵּם
בְּאֶצְבְּעוֹתַי הַגְּדוֹלוֹת.
יְלָדַי, קִרְאוּ לִי אִמָּא
גַּם אִם הֶחָלָב קָפָא בִּקְצֵה פִּטְמוֹתַי.
ג
כָּל דְּבָרַי שֶׁכָּתַבְתִּי עַד כֹּה –
אִישׁ כְּתָבָם.
וַאֲנִי חָשַׁבְתִּי שֶׁהָיוּ כְּאִשָּׁה
תּוֹפְחִים וְצוֹמְקִים עִם הָעוֹנוֹת, כָּמוֹהָ.
וְלֹא הִיא.
יְשָׁרִים וּקְבוּעִים הֵמָּה, חַסְרֵי חַמּוּקִים
נַעֲרָה כִּי תִּגַּשׁ אֲלֵיהֶם
בִּזְרוֹעַ בּוֹטַחַת אוֹתָהּ יַקִּיפוּ –
וְתִפָּעֵר.
א
בְּאוֹתוֹ לַיְלָה הֻבְרַר לוֹ שֶׁאִישׁ אֲנִי
אִישׁ כָּבֵד וּזְעוּם אֲרֶשֶׁת
שֶׁשִּׂיחָתוֹ מְהוּלָה בְּנִיבִים זָרִים
וְעַד כֹּה כְּשֶׁנָּגַע בִּי אַחֶרֶת
טָעָה.
אֲנִי אִישׁ.
כָּךְ רָאָה.
"אַתְּ אִישׁ", כָּךְ אָמַר
שֶׁהֲרֵי מֻרְגָּל הָיָה לִקְרֹא לִי "אַתְּ"
כָּל אוֹתָן הַשָּׁנִים.
לַחֲנוּת נִגַּשׁ יַחְדָּו
וְנִקְנֶה מִגְבָּעוֹת תּוֹאֲמוֹת
וּנְדַבֵּר אִישׁ אֶל רֵעֵהוּ
בְּקוֹלוֹת עָבִים.
ב
עַתָּה, מִשֶּׁהֻבְרַר שֶׁאִישׁ אֲנִי
נִמְצָא שֶׁאֲנִי אֲבִיהֶם שֶׁל יְלָדַי
וְגִדּוּלָם הָיָה בְּרֶחֶם שֶׁל אָב
שֶׁהוּא חַם וְשָׂעִיר. לְלֹא דֶּמַע.
יְלָדַי, קִרְאוּ לִי אִמָּא
וּבְדַבְּרִי אֲלֵיכֶם אָפִיק הַדַּק בְּקוֹלוֹתַי
וְכוֹבָעִים וְסִנָּרִים אוֹסִיף לְרַקֵּם
בְּאֶצְבְּעוֹתַי הַגְּדוֹלוֹת.
יְלָדַי, קִרְאוּ לִי אִמָּא
גַּם אִם הֶחָלָב קָפָא בִּקְצֵה פִּטְמוֹתַי.
ג
כָּל דְּבָרַי שֶׁכָּתַבְתִּי עַד כֹּה –
אִישׁ כְּתָבָם.
וַאֲנִי חָשַׁבְתִּי שֶׁהָיוּ כְּאִשָּׁה
תּוֹפְחִים וְצוֹמְקִים עִם הָעוֹנוֹת, כָּמוֹהָ.
וְלֹא הִיא.
יְשָׁרִים וּקְבוּעִים הֵמָּה, חַסְרֵי חַמּוּקִים
נַעֲרָה כִּי תִּגַּשׁ אֲלֵיהֶם
בִּזְרוֹעַ בּוֹטַחַת אוֹתָהּ יַקִּיפוּ –
וְתִפָּעֵר.
© 1987, Rivka Miriam
From: Me-shiray imahot ha-even (Poems of stone mothers)
Publisher: Sifriat Poalim, Tel Aviv
From: Me-shiray imahot ha-even (Poems of stone mothers)
Publisher: Sifriat Poalim, Tel Aviv
Poems
Poems of Rivka Miriam
Close
THAT VERY NIGHT
THAT VERY NIGHT1
That very night it became clear to him that I’m a man
a heavy man with strict countenance
whose talk is mixed with strange dialects
and until now when he was touching me otherwise
he was wrong.
I’m a man.
So he saw.
“She’s a man,” he said,
for he was used to calling me “she”all those years.
Together we’ll go to the store
and buy matching hats
and speak to each other
in thick voices.
2
Now that it is clear that I’m a man
it turns out that I’m the father of my children
and their growth was in a father’s womb
warm and hairy and tearless.
Children, call me mother
and when I speak to you I’ll try my thinnest voice
bonnets and aprons I’ll continue to embroider
with my large fingers.
Children, call me mother
even if the milk froze at the tip of my nipples.
3
All the words I’ve written till now –
a man wrote.
Once I thought they were like a woman
swelling and shrinking with the seasons like her.
It’s not so.
They were straight and set, void of curves.
When a girl approaches them
with a confident arm, they’ll embrace her
and she’ll open wide.
© 2009, Linda Zisquit
From: These Mountains
Publisher: 2009, Toby Press, London
From: These Mountains
Publisher: 2009, Toby Press, London
THAT VERY NIGHT
THAT VERY NIGHT1
That very night it became clear to him that I’m a man
a heavy man with strict countenance
whose talk is mixed with strange dialects
and until now when he was touching me otherwise
he was wrong.
I’m a man.
So he saw.
“She’s a man,” he said,
for he was used to calling me “she”all those years.
Together we’ll go to the store
and buy matching hats
and speak to each other
in thick voices.
2
Now that it is clear that I’m a man
it turns out that I’m the father of my children
and their growth was in a father’s womb
warm and hairy and tearless.
Children, call me mother
and when I speak to you I’ll try my thinnest voice
bonnets and aprons I’ll continue to embroider
with my large fingers.
Children, call me mother
even if the milk froze at the tip of my nipples.
3
All the words I’ve written till now –
a man wrote.
Once I thought they were like a woman
swelling and shrinking with the seasons like her.
It’s not so.
They were straight and set, void of curves.
When a girl approaches them
with a confident arm, they’ll embrace her
and she’ll open wide.
© 2009, Linda Zisquit
From: These Mountains
Publisher: 2009, Toby Press, London
From: These Mountains
Publisher: 2009, Toby Press, London
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