Gedicht
Dorit Weisman
SCHNITZEL
I am separating the breast into pieces, sharpening a knife,
Removing sinew fats cartilage
Turning the slice over cutting spreading straightening
I sense the incision of the lymph nodes, underneath the armpit,
And a bit of the incision in the “breast tail” and at “twelve o’clock”
Imagining how they sliced my own breast
On the operating table. First they cut open the nodes, I think,
To take out a sample for examination, a swift sharp incision in the skin
And underneath red muscles and blood and a quivering lump.
I am removing a long white sinew
I’m naked, covered by a sheet up to my bosom,
And then a long incision upwards, bursts out red wide open.
I’m removing one more sinew from the flesh of the breast
With a scalpel they scrabble inside me with fingers in gloves
I’m flattening the meat on a cutting board flattening it further with a hammer
I tend and clean, slice by slice.
Slowly and calmly, very concentrated, and all there is
Is to decide: bread crumbs or matza meal.
© Translation: 2006, Rachel Yakobovitch
SCHNITZEL
© 2006, Dorit Weisman
From: Where Did You Meet the Cancer?
Publisher: Carmel, Jerusalem
From: Where Did You Meet the Cancer?
Publisher: Carmel, Jerusalem
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Gedichten van Dorit Weisman
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SCHNITZEL
From: Where Did You Meet the Cancer?
SCHNITZEL
I am separating the breast into pieces, sharpening a knife,
Removing sinew fats cartilage
Turning the slice over cutting spreading straightening
I sense the incision of the lymph nodes, underneath the armpit,
And a bit of the incision in the “breast tail” and at “twelve o’clock”
Imagining how they sliced my own breast
On the operating table. First they cut open the nodes, I think,
To take out a sample for examination, a swift sharp incision in the skin
And underneath red muscles and blood and a quivering lump.
I am removing a long white sinew
I’m naked, covered by a sheet up to my bosom,
And then a long incision upwards, bursts out red wide open.
I’m removing one more sinew from the flesh of the breast
With a scalpel they scrabble inside me with fingers in gloves
I’m flattening the meat on a cutting board flattening it further with a hammer
I tend and clean, slice by slice.
Slowly and calmly, very concentrated, and all there is
Is to decide: bread crumbs or matza meal.
© 2006, Rachel Yakobovitch
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