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He sings in the courtyard, clad in rags
A small, poor chap, a crazed Jew.
People drive him away, God has muddled his wits
Ages and exile have confused his tongue
He wails and he dances, weeps and…
Household of eight.
Beds are two.
When it gets late,
What do they do?
Three with father,
Three with mother:
Limbs
Over each other.
When it’s night
And they go to bed,
Mother begins
To wish she…
My day—
Is punctured like a sieve,
And ridiculed like a whim.
May winter whiteness blossom,
May autumns turn gray,
May summers whistle—
Become nightingales.
When a rye-wind
Would have twisted my…
Aged woolen women, like old siddurim—moldy, mossy
Bound in coarse canvas;
Pointless bellies dangling after them like empty sacks,
Dried-out breasts, like horseradish roots, swaying back and forth.…