Poem
Agi Mishol
GEESE
GEESEMy math teacher Epstein
liked to call me to the blackboard.
He said that my head was good only for hats,
and that a bird with brains like mine
would fly backwards.
He sent me to tend the geese.
Now, at a distance of years from his sentence,
when I sit under the palm tree
with my three beautiful geese,
I think that math teacher of mine was farsighted.
He was right,
because nothing makes me happier
than to watch them now
falling upon bread crumbs,
joyful tails wagging,
or freezing for a moment
under beads of water
when I spray them
with a hose,
holding their heads erect,
bodies stretched back
as if remembering faraway lakes.
Since then my math teacher has died,
together with the math problems
I could never solve.
I like hats
and always at evening
when the birds return to the tree
I look for the one flying backwards.
© Translation: 2008, Lisa Katz
From: Strange Attractors: Poems of Love and Mathematics
Publisher: AK Peters, Wellesley, Massachusetts, 2008
From: Strange Attractors: Poems of Love and Mathematics
Publisher: AK Peters, Wellesley, Massachusetts, 2008
GEESE
אווזים
אֶפְּשְטֵיין, הַמּוֹרֶה שֶלִּי לְמָתֵימָטִיקָה,
אָהַב לְהוֹצִיא אוֹתִי לַלּוּחַ.
אָמַר שֶהָרֹאש שֶלִּי מַתְאִים רַק לְכּוֹבַע.
אָמַר שֶצִּפּוֹר עִם שֶכֶל כְּמוֹ שֶלִּי
הָיְתָה עָפָה אֲחוֹרָה.
שָלַח אוֹתִי לִרְעוֹת אָוָזִים.
עַכְשָיו, בְּמֶרְחָק שָנִים מִן הַמִּשְפָּט הַזֶּה,
כְּשֶאֲנִי יוֹשֶבֶת תַּחַת הַדֶּקֶל
עִם שְלוֹשֶת הָאֲוָזִים הַיָּפִים שֶלִּי,
אֲנִי חוֹשֶבֶת שֶאוּלָי הִרְחִיק אָז לִרְאוֹת,
הַמּוֹרֶה שֶלִּי לְמָתֵימָטִיקָה,
וְהַצֶּדֶק הָיָה עִמּוֹ,
כִּי אֵין מָה שֶמְשַמֵּחַ אוֹתִי יוֹתֵר
מֵאֲשֶר לִרְאוֹת אוֹתָם כָּעֵת
עָטִים עַל הַלֶּחֶם הַמְּפוֹרָר,
מְכַּשְכְּשִים בִּזְנָבָם הַשָּמֵחַ,
קוֹפְאִים רֶגַע דּוֹם
מִתַּחַת לִרְסִיסֵי הַמַּיִם
שֶאֲנִי מְתִיזָה עֲלֵיהֶם
מִן הַצִּינוֹר,
זוֹקְפִים אֶת רֹאשָם וְגּוּפָם
נִמְתַּח אָז כְּזוֹכֵר
אֲגָמִים רְחוֹקִים.
מֵאָז מֵת כְּבָר הַמּוֹרֶה שֶלִּי לְמָתֵימָטִיקָה
וּמֵתוּ גַם בְּעָיוֹתָיו שֶאַף פַּעַם לֹא עָלָה בְּיָדִי
לִפְתוֹר.
אֲנִי אוֹהֶבֶת כּוֹבָעִים,
וְתָמִיד בָּעֶרֶב
כְּשֶהַצִּפָּרִים חוֹזְרוֹת אֶל תּוךְ הָעֵץ,
אֲנִי מְחַפֶּשֶת אֶת זֹאת שֶעָפָה אֲחוֹרָה.
אֶפְּשְטֵיין, הַמּוֹרֶה שֶלִּי לְמָתֵימָטִיקָה,
אָהַב לְהוֹצִיא אוֹתִי לַלּוּחַ.
אָמַר שֶהָרֹאש שֶלִּי מַתְאִים רַק לְכּוֹבַע.
אָמַר שֶצִּפּוֹר עִם שֶכֶל כְּמוֹ שֶלִּי
הָיְתָה עָפָה אֲחוֹרָה.
שָלַח אוֹתִי לִרְעוֹת אָוָזִים.
עַכְשָיו, בְּמֶרְחָק שָנִים מִן הַמִּשְפָּט הַזֶּה,
כְּשֶאֲנִי יוֹשֶבֶת תַּחַת הַדֶּקֶל
עִם שְלוֹשֶת הָאֲוָזִים הַיָּפִים שֶלִּי,
אֲנִי חוֹשֶבֶת שֶאוּלָי הִרְחִיק אָז לִרְאוֹת,
הַמּוֹרֶה שֶלִּי לְמָתֵימָטִיקָה,
וְהַצֶּדֶק הָיָה עִמּוֹ,
כִּי אֵין מָה שֶמְשַמֵּחַ אוֹתִי יוֹתֵר
מֵאֲשֶר לִרְאוֹת אוֹתָם כָּעֵת
עָטִים עַל הַלֶּחֶם הַמְּפוֹרָר,
מְכַּשְכְּשִים בִּזְנָבָם הַשָּמֵחַ,
קוֹפְאִים רֶגַע דּוֹם
מִתַּחַת לִרְסִיסֵי הַמַּיִם
שֶאֲנִי מְתִיזָה עֲלֵיהֶם
מִן הַצִּינוֹר,
זוֹקְפִים אֶת רֹאשָם וְגּוּפָם
נִמְתַּח אָז כְּזוֹכֵר
אֲגָמִים רְחוֹקִים.
מֵאָז מֵת כְּבָר הַמּוֹרֶה שֶלִּי לְמָתֵימָטִיקָה
וּמֵתוּ גַם בְּעָיוֹתָיו שֶאַף פַּעַם לֹא עָלָה בְּיָדִי
לִפְתוֹר.
אֲנִי אוֹהֶבֶת כּוֹבָעִים,
וְתָמִיד בָּעֶרֶב
כְּשֶהַצִּפָּרִים חוֹזְרוֹת אֶל תּוךְ הָעֵץ,
אֲנִי מְחַפֶּשֶת אֶת זֹאת שֶעָפָה אֲחוֹרָה.
© 2009, Agi Mishol
From: Bikur Bayit (House call)
Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv
From: Bikur Bayit (House call)
Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv
Poems
Poems of Agi Mishol
Close
GEESE
GEESEMy math teacher Epstein
liked to call me to the blackboard.
He said that my head was good only for hats,
and that a bird with brains like mine
would fly backwards.
He sent me to tend the geese.
Now, at a distance of years from his sentence,
when I sit under the palm tree
with my three beautiful geese,
I think that math teacher of mine was farsighted.
He was right,
because nothing makes me happier
than to watch them now
falling upon bread crumbs,
joyful tails wagging,
or freezing for a moment
under beads of water
when I spray them
with a hose,
holding their heads erect,
bodies stretched back
as if remembering faraway lakes.
Since then my math teacher has died,
together with the math problems
I could never solve.
I like hats
and always at evening
when the birds return to the tree
I look for the one flying backwards.
© 2008, Lisa Katz
From: Strange Attractors: Poems of Love and Mathematics
Publisher: 2008, AK Peters, Wellesley, Massachusetts
From: Strange Attractors: Poems of Love and Mathematics
Publisher: 2008, AK Peters, Wellesley, Massachusetts
GEESE
GEESEMy math teacher Epstein
liked to call me to the blackboard.
He said that my head was good only for hats,
and that a bird with brains like mine
would fly backwards.
He sent me to tend the geese.
Now, at a distance of years from his sentence,
when I sit under the palm tree
with my three beautiful geese,
I think that math teacher of mine was farsighted.
He was right,
because nothing makes me happier
than to watch them now
falling upon bread crumbs,
joyful tails wagging,
or freezing for a moment
under beads of water
when I spray them
with a hose,
holding their heads erect,
bodies stretched back
as if remembering faraway lakes.
Since then my math teacher has died,
together with the math problems
I could never solve.
I like hats
and always at evening
when the birds return to the tree
I look for the one flying backwards.
© 2008, Lisa Katz
From: Strange Attractors: Poems of Love and Mathematics
Publisher: 2008, AK Peters, Wellesley, Massachusetts
From: Strange Attractors: Poems of Love and Mathematics
Publisher: 2008, AK Peters, Wellesley, Massachusetts
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