Poem
Agi Mishol
BETRAYAL
BETRAYALAll the sorrel stalks I sucked on
revealed nothing.
Words piled up behind my back
until they turned into a green hill.
Phloem coursed through the trunks;
lupine seeds plotted blue
in the dark soil.
Even if there is no singular form for grass
and only the plural makes it green,
I could not have known.
Birnam Wood began to move,
afterwards thought darkened
with all that lay behind the trees.
© Translation: 2015, Joanna Chen
BETRAYAL
בגידה
כָֹּל גִּבְעוֹלֵי הַחַמְצִיץ שֶמָּצַצְתִּי
לֹא גִּלּוּ דָּבָר.
מִלִּים נֶעֱרְמוּ מֵאֲחוֹרֵי גַּבִּי
לְגִבְעָה יְרֻקָּה,
שִיפוֹת זָרְמוּ בְּמַעֲלֶה הַגְּזָעִים
וְזִרְעֵי הַתּוּרְמוּס בְּחֶשְכַּת הָאֲדָמָה
זָמְמוּ אֶת הַכָּחֹל.
גַּם אִם אֵין צוּרַת יָחִיד לְדֶשֶא
וְרַק הָרַבִּים עוֹשֶֹה יָרֹק
לֹא יָכוֹלְתִי לָדַעַת.
יַעַר בִּירְנֶם הֵחֵל לָזוּז,
אַחַר כָּךְ הַמַּחֲשָבוֹת הֶחֱשִיכוּ
עִם כֹּל מָה שֶמֵאֲחוֹרֵי הָעֵצִים.
כָֹּל גִּבְעוֹלֵי הַחַמְצִיץ שֶמָּצַצְתִּי
לֹא גִּלּוּ דָּבָר.
מִלִּים נֶעֱרְמוּ מֵאֲחוֹרֵי גַּבִּי
לְגִבְעָה יְרֻקָּה,
שִיפוֹת זָרְמוּ בְּמַעֲלֶה הַגְּזָעִים
וְזִרְעֵי הַתּוּרְמוּס בְּחֶשְכַּת הָאֲדָמָה
זָמְמוּ אֶת הַכָּחֹל.
גַּם אִם אֵין צוּרַת יָחִיד לְדֶשֶא
וְרַק הָרַבִּים עוֹשֶֹה יָרֹק
לֹא יָכוֹלְתִי לָדַעַת.
יַעַר בִּירְנֶם הֵחֵל לָזוּז,
אַחַר כָּךְ הַמַּחֲשָבוֹת הֶחֱשִיכוּ
עִם כֹּל מָה שֶמֵאֲחוֹרֵי הָעֵצִים.
© 2015, Agi Mishol
From: Malakh ha-heder (Domestic angel)
Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv
From: Malakh ha-heder (Domestic angel)
Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv
Poems
Poems of Agi Mishol
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BETRAYAL
BETRAYALAll the sorrel stalks I sucked on
revealed nothing.
Words piled up behind my back
until they turned into a green hill.
Phloem coursed through the trunks;
lupine seeds plotted blue
in the dark soil.
Even if there is no singular form for grass
and only the plural makes it green,
I could not have known.
Birnam Wood began to move,
afterwards thought darkened
with all that lay behind the trees.
© 2015, Joanna Chen
From: Malakh ha-heder (Domestic angel)
From: Malakh ha-heder (Domestic angel)
BETRAYAL
BETRAYALAll the sorrel stalks I sucked on
revealed nothing.
Words piled up behind my back
until they turned into a green hill.
Phloem coursed through the trunks;
lupine seeds plotted blue
in the dark soil.
Even if there is no singular form for grass
and only the plural makes it green,
I could not have known.
Birnam Wood began to move,
afterwards thought darkened
with all that lay behind the trees.
© 2015, Joanna Chen
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