Nathan Alterman

1910–1970

The Hebrew poet Nathan Alterman was born in Warsaw and moved to Tel Aviv with his parents when he was fifteen, continuing his education at the Herzliya Hebrew Gymnasium. At the age of nineteen, he began studying at the Sorbonne in Paris but the following year decided to switch to agronomy and moved to Nancy, France. In 1932, he returned to Tel Aviv and began working at the Mikveh Yisrael agricultural school. He soon decided to earn a living in journalism while also devoting himself to poetry. He wrote both lyrical and political poetry. During the last years of the Mandate, the nationalist political verse that he published in his newspaper column, at first in Haaretz and then in Davar, attracted a wide readership and was at times censored by the British. He also wrote children’s books and plays and translated Shakespeare, Racine, and Molière into Hebrew.

Entries in the Posen Library by This Creator

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The Killers of the Fields

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In ascetic silence, in stony skirts,God’s handmaid falls on her face—Flash of an empty night, a forlorn desert waste,Shards of sunset upon the rocks.This land. Trodden, just like this, by a wandering…

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Beyond Melody

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With a violin in the alley grandfather and son disappeared. Again the night was closed. Oh, speak, please speak! I who grew up with all your stones, I knew—like confession, they too would break. St…

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Moon

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An old sight too has its moment of birth. A birdless sky Strange and set apart. Facing your widow on the moonlit night stands A city plunged in crickets’ tears. And when you see a road still…

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Red Riding-Hood

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When our wild day is wiped like a tear From cities and forest, from month and year, Red Ridinghood walks on the road, To pick a wild flower in the wood. And following her is a duck and a cow, Hobbl…

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The Mole

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Not in vain did I vow to be faithful, not in vain did I tag at your heels. With the mole I struggled from darkness, stubborn and under a spell. You, grief of the nails on my fingers, you, woe of my…

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The Silver Platter

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A State is not handed to a people on a silver platter.[Chaim Weizmann, first president of Israel]. . . and the land was silent. The incarnate sunFlickered languidlyAbove the smoldering borders.And a…

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The Cobbler’s Song

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Shlomo reclines within his shrine Woe to my days, woe to my nights Everyone knows how he is Nobody knows about me Woe to my days, woe to my nights As if it means something to anybody. If I have a…

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The Householder Departs from the City

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Going to his room one night, he locked his door and by lamp-light counted his money, counted his foes. Then from the table of his heart he struck off every name but one, which would be there till…