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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…
Seven continents, seven seas,
and two and forty years—
and torrid equatorial nights
filled with nightmare fears.
Open eyes, naked heart.
And draining blood from me,
mosquitoes buzzing, buzzing…
It’s one in the morning. I’m writing this poem
in a train station.
What does poetry have to do with trains?
I came here unexpectedly
traveling the wrong way.
Telling the story is risky:
I was…
Work, tradesmen, shops, the town is there
with old maids polished down by emptiness
on haberdashers’ threshold where the antique sun
brushes off jewels dusty with being looked at.
Dressed up for…
Night. In the darkest places sparkle traces
Of words. Loaded ships with ideo-glyphs
Sail away. And you, armored in silence and wisdom,
Unwrap word from sense.
Mementos—rain-veiled horizon,
Flickeri…
For two minutes we gazed at each other
In curious silence.
When politeness nudged me in the shoulder,
I introduced myself:
A man, the crown of creation.
The grasshopper
Was not overwhelmed.
He kept…
In the Bronx, in Brooklyn and in New York City,
My cousins all have stores.
Seven cousins with seven stores, like commandments.
Business people with long lists of going bankrupt.
And my family-name…
Three donkeys from Beersheba, so they say,
Plodded slowly down the road to Dan one day.
One brown, one black, one white, they went their way.
The three passed by a minaret, and there
The black one…
A new world being made—one hears
In childhood that it has begun;
Then comes the passage of the years—
Is it not yet fully done?
The new world being made—always,
From childhood on—and on the day
The…
Like the golden bangles on the arms of a Bedouin woman, the hills of Gilboa bind their bracelets about the valley of Jezreel in the golden hours of late Adar evenings. Then do the women go down to…