Poem
Sharron Hass
THE FLUTIST
I’m embarrassed to say it –if you don’t call I’ll die. I am
embarrassed to say what is both
true and untrue. That which doesn’t move mountains.
I don’t move myself anywhere. Some
fool sits down to play the flute
at the edge of the roof – I fall asleep.
You don’t call. No one dies. Except for
Mr. Present.
© Translation: 2001, Tzipi Keller
THE FLUTIST
© 2001, Sharron Hass
From: Ha-zar ve-’eshet ha-xol
Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad,
From: Ha-zar ve-’eshet ha-xol
Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad,
Poems
Poems of Sharron Hass
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THE FLUTIST
I’m embarrassed to say it –if you don’t call I’ll die. I am
embarrassed to say what is both
true and untrue. That which doesn’t move mountains.
I don’t move myself anywhere. Some
fool sits down to play the flute
at the edge of the roof – I fall asleep.
You don’t call. No one dies. Except for
Mr. Present.
© 2001, Tzipi Keller
From: Ha-zar ve-’eshet ha-xol
From: Ha-zar ve-’eshet ha-xol
THE FLUTIST
I’m embarrassed to say it –if you don’t call I’ll die. I am
embarrassed to say what is both
true and untrue. That which doesn’t move mountains.
I don’t move myself anywhere. Some
fool sits down to play the flute
at the edge of the roof – I fall asleep.
You don’t call. No one dies. Except for
Mr. Present.
© 2001, Tzipi Keller
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