Showing Results 21 - 30 of 36
Trees cry for rain
And mountains for air.
So cry my eyes
For you, dear Mother;
So cry my eyes
For you, dear Mother.
I turn and I ask what will become of me.
In Polish lands
I am destined to die.
…
O mother
what have I left out
O mother
what have I forgotten
O mother
farewell
with a long black shoe
farewell
with Communist Party and a broken stocking
farewell
with six dark hairs on the wen of…
This evening I met the daughter of the poet Haim Guri
I think, somewhat important in this country,
And she’s a twenty-year-old welfare officer.
At first we just spoke of average stuff,
But then when…
I too wish to marry a desperate housewife
Blur my way into her house with the evening light
The aromas of salad and an omelet cooking
To live in the shade of her becoming
To have her raise me like…
Traveling and returning. In the
Dirt paths of her forehead
Railroad trains anchor, yellow
Carriages locomotive flowers
In the fields of liberated Europe
Traveling and returning. In the shadows
Betw…
Crags in the mountains facing us
are like bereaved mothers
who long ago altered their image:
dew does not slake them,
the sun does not gild them.
—How terrible their silence
and where can we flee?—
A…
Now in the suburbs and the falling light
I followed him, and now down sandy road
Whiter than bone-dust, through the sweet
Curdle of fields, where the plums
Dropped with their load of ripeness, one by…
When I came back, he was gone.
My mother was in the bathroom
crying, my sister in her crib
restless but asleep. The sun
was shining in the bay window,
the grass had just been cut.
No one mentioned…
Immediately I grabbed the man, gripped him, pressed him to me with all my stomach muscles, the way a carpenter, after applying the metal vise to the cupboard that suddenly collapsed, twists and…
I won’t be around forever, Mother said.
One day I’m going to die, so I might
as well nag you a little bit more,
while I have the chance. And when
I’m dead you’ll have to rely on someone else
to tell…