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

The heroic rooster woke me up,
crushed my sleep with the boots
of his cock-a-doodle-doo.

But I smiled as I recovered.
This very evening,
the cock will be my supper.

At night I was visited by flocks of his crows.
Sunless in me rose
his red cockscomb.
The cock and I are one.

Translated by Vivian Eden

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