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I saw my father drowning
In surging days.
His weak hand gave a last white flutter
In the distance—
And he was gone.
I kept on alone
Along the shore,
A boy still,
With small, thin legs,
And have…
You’ve grown
but not
grown up
You’re ripe
as earth is raw
where roots probe deep
Like all roots
you probe
in deep darkness
Translated by Marcia Falk.
On this ancient trunk
With hanging branches, gray flax
I’m a young branch.
To grow: my sole passion.
Green shoot
rising
high
to the bright,
I’ll bring red blossoms
to argue:
World, I’m right!
From…
[ . . . ]
I never loved properly . . .
A little Judaic boy,
I was the only one around
To shiver in the steppe wind at night.
Like a sleepwalker, I walked along tram tracks
To silent summer cottages…
The rinsed fences dry themselves in the wind.
The kneaded black earth turns softer under my feet.
Soaked soil, tousled and wanton wind,
What more can I want from you today?
It seems to me that I’ve…