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Many years later, in London, Father was once again revealed to me in that long-ago evening in Ramat Poriya, sitting on the fence with the Kinnereth lying like a carcass behind him, but this time the…
It is not enough to see a statue. A statue has to be sensed with the fingertips. In our imagination we touch the statue, caress it, examine its rounded and hollow surfaces, and by doing so our sense…
I am exceedingly green: chill green.
What have I to do
with all the greenishness of chance?
I am the green-source, the green-self,
one and incomparable.
This year I traveled a long way
to view the silence of my city.
A baby calms down when you rock it, a city calms down
from the distance. I dwelled in longing. I played the hopscotch
of the four…
Last Saturday night, the “Amateurs of the Hebrew Stage” in Jerusalem staged Molière’s comedy Harpagon [The Miser].1 A large and diverse audience of Jerusalemites filled the hall. It would seem that…
The sunset grew bold: it insisted on staying
In the Red Sea at night, when the innocent pink
Young fawns delicately make their way
Downhill to the palace of water to drink.
They leave their silken…
The light passes through the curtain and brightens it, spreading a dull glow over the night-table and drawing a single shining line over the edge of the ashtray. The woman’s one eye follows it until…