At the End of Sleep: Bilingual

Tal Nitzán, Vivian Eden, Irit Sela, Aliza Raz, Rachel Tzvia Back

• Editorial: Restless Books
• Año: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781632060129
• Categoría: Literatura
• Categoría: Poesía de Oriente Medio

With At the End of Sleep, an anthology selected from the past decade of Israeli poet Tal Nitzán's work, one of Hebrew poetry's most powerful and acclaimed contemporary voices is finally given her English-language due. Reaching beyond lyricism for its own sake with her lucid, sharp, and occasionally ferocious verse, Nitzán illuminates sexuality and struggle, protests the abuse of power, and plumbs the depths of the Israeli condition.

DOMÉSTICA
(2002)

דומסטיקה

In the Time of Cholera

Facing one another

we turn our backs to the world’s calamities.

Behind our closed eyes and curtains

both heat and war

erupted at once.

The heat will calm down first,

the faint breeze

won’t bring back

the boys who have been shot,

won’t cool down

the wrath of the living.

Even if it tarry,

the fire will come,

many waters won’t quench etc.*

Our arms as well

can only reach our own bodies:

We are a small crowd

incited to bite,

to cling to each other

to barricade ourselves in bed

while in the ozone above us

a mocking smile

cracks wide open.

* “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it” (Song of Solomon, 8:7).

—T.N. & V.E.

בימי כּוֹלֵרה

פָּנֵינוּ זֶה לְזֶה,

גַּבֵּנוּ לְפֻרְעָנֻיּוֹת הָעוֹלָם.

מֵאֲחוֹרֵי הָעֵינַיִם

וְהַוִּילוֹנוֹת הָעֲצוּמִים,

בְּבַת אַחַת

שָׁרָב וּמִלְחָמָה.

הַשָּׁרָב יָפוּג רִאשׁוֹן,

רוּחַ קְלוּשָׁה

לֹא תָּשִׁיב אֶת

הַנְּעָרִים הַיְּרוּיִים,

לֹא תַּצֵן

אֶת חֲרוֹן הַחַיִּים.

הַבְּעֵרָה

גַּם אִם תִּתְמַהְמֵהַּ בּוֹא תָּבוֹא,

מַיִם רַבִּים לֹא יְכַבּוּ וכו',

גַּם יָדֵינוּ שֶׁלָּנוּ אָרְכָּן

יָפֶה רַק לְגֵוֵנוּ:

אֲנַחְנוּ הָמוֹן קָטָן מוּסָת

לְהִלָּפֵת לְהִתְנַשֵׁך

לְהִתְבַּצֵּר בַּמִּטָּה

שָׁעָה שֶׁבָּאוּזוֹן מֵעָלֵינוּ

מִתְרַחֵב חִיּוּךְ לַעֲגָנִי.

Something quiet

Nothing is quieter

than blows inflicted upon others,

nothing threatens less

the satisfied soul’s calm.

The defeat in their eyes is mute,

their arms

drop quietly.

What a pleasant silence.

Except for a tiny piercing sound

that bothers mainly in the mornings

but can be dimmed easily

by the relaxing rustle

of newspaper pages.

Before they’re buried under ruins

they disappear under the Entertainment Section

the half full cup of coffee

the slamming door

in our house

that stands firm.

—T.N. & V.E.

דבָר שקֵט

אֵין דָּבָר שָׁקֵט יוֹתֵר

מֵהַמַּכּוֹת הַנִּחָתוֹת עַל אֲחֵרִים,

אֵין אִיּוּם קָטָן יוֹתֵר

עַל מְנוּחַת הַנֶּפֶשׁ הַשְּׂבֵעָה.

הַתְּבוּסָה בְּעֵינֵיהֶם אִלֶּמֶת,

זְרוֹעוֹתֵיהֶם

נִשְׁמָטוֹת בְּשֶׁקֶט.

אֵיזוֹ דְּמָמָה נְעִימָה.

מִלְּבַד צְלִיל דַּקִּיק נוֹקֵב,

טוֹרֵד בְּעִקָּר בַּבֹּקֶר

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