Gedicht
Israel Eliraz
35
at the edge there is nothing butmusic (we don't
know whether it’s a local
fly or an infinite
fly).
In order to reveal itself to us
the music must talk
with itself alone.
It hovers and crosses over
the continent of the table over
the mounds of bread, orchards of parsley, furrows of celery
wine valley and cascades of honey.
And if the measure is filled with joy, we know
there is nothing greater than this
© Translation: 2006, Gabriel Levin
35
© 2006, Israel Eliraz
From: Aruxat ‛erev ‛im Spinoza va-xaverim
Publisher: Even Hoshen,
From: Aruxat ‛erev ‛im Spinoza va-xaverim
Publisher: Even Hoshen,
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Gedichten van Israel Eliraz
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35
From: Aruxat ‛erev ‛im Spinoza va-xaverim
35
at the edge there is nothing butmusic (we don't
know whether it’s a local
fly or an infinite
fly).
In order to reveal itself to us
the music must talk
with itself alone.
It hovers and crosses over
the continent of the table over
the mounds of bread, orchards of parsley, furrows of celery
wine valley and cascades of honey.
And if the measure is filled with joy, we know
there is nothing greater than this
© 2006, Gabriel Levin
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