The Book

The Book

A Proposal for a National Meditation for Beginners
Haifa in Winter
Revenge
I And They
Days Walk among Us Like Spies
Words to a Picture
The Book
Our Blood Is the World"s Petrol
Patches
Harmony

I am visited by a dream of those who circle
there above us taking stock of the world’s assets.
I don’t envy them their loneliness,
I’ve more than enough of that,

or even their rare privilege of seeing
all we’ve been spared this time around.
I don’t grudge them the luck of a weightless body.
I have enough hovering of my own
and like the astronauts I too

am sometimes roped to my seat in the half-dark
and that’s only half a metaphor.
Everyone who deals with art for its own sake
in a real way, not to say genuine,
learns quickly enough to live with his loneliness
and the wonders of his hoverings in the dark.

Nonetheless, every day, like, for example
this prosaic morning when the sun is seen
to open her legs generously
and I am granted a new sunrise,
my daily jealousy is immediately aroused
of those circling above me who are granted
more than one sunrise, day by day.

Translated by Vivian Eden

AuthorAsher Reich
2018-08-21T17:23:15+00:00 June 4th, 2006|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 48|0 Comments