Gedicht
Haviva Pedaya
LIKE THE TEARING OF FIRMAMENTS FROM THEIR FIRMAMENT
like the tearing of firmaments from their firmamentwhen intertwined while sucking their air
like their plucking in time as one
they intended to recite their song
like their descent
to be crying waters
like a moment of creation stirring and
approaching
flee flee a flight without equal
rise to your firmaments and go
ascend to the gleaming light
and take with you the laughing waters
I know you can do anything
the one who dismantles who separates who arranges
the one who creates with his utterances
tear your firmaments cruel one
I still want to be sung
and there is within me no sound of a whisper
with light its gentleness covers
one who stoops to immerse
into my longed-for verdure
even if it falls seven-fold
and the rain’s pure drops circling
with their touch like fine needles striking
walking on waters
you won’t imagine
that I am a falling firmament
that my interior is a light in mourning
how when he commanded and created
how when he willed and fled
how he separated me from him by my very self with him
© Translation: 2005, Harvey Bock
LIKE THE TEARING OF FIRMAMENTS FROM THEIR FIRMAMENT
© 2002, Haviva Pedaya
From: Mi-teva stuma (From a Sealed Ark)
Publisher: Am Oved, Tel Aviv
From: Mi-teva stuma (From a Sealed Ark)
Publisher: Am Oved, Tel Aviv
Gedichten
Gedichten van Haviva Pedaya
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LIKE THE TEARING OF FIRMAMENTS FROM THEIR FIRMAMENT
From: Mi-teva stuma (From a Sealed Ark)
LIKE THE TEARING OF FIRMAMENTS FROM THEIR FIRMAMENT
like the tearing of firmaments from their firmamentwhen intertwined while sucking their air
like their plucking in time as one
they intended to recite their song
like their descent
to be crying waters
like a moment of creation stirring and
approaching
flee flee a flight without equal
rise to your firmaments and go
ascend to the gleaming light
and take with you the laughing waters
I know you can do anything
the one who dismantles who separates who arranges
the one who creates with his utterances
tear your firmaments cruel one
I still want to be sung
and there is within me no sound of a whisper
with light its gentleness covers
one who stoops to immerse
into my longed-for verdure
even if it falls seven-fold
and the rain’s pure drops circling
with their touch like fine needles striking
walking on waters
you won’t imagine
that I am a falling firmament
that my interior is a light in mourning
how when he commanded and created
how when he willed and fled
how he separated me from him by my very self with him
© 2005, Harvey Bock
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