Sharon Green translated this two love poem from my first Poetry book to English. They will be published in Syracuse University Press 2015 .
After a while they are no longer bodies but spaces.
When bodies touch one another and sweat has a smell
and when black hair is tangled with
other hair, and when fingertips encounter
wrinkles, then ancient currents pass through
these spaces and the weight of my body
pulls me down on all fours, then Henry Moore knew
me. Without make-up. Innocence, that’s a luxury
for the rich. And experience, it’s a question of attitude
Then, we are truly consoled.
He fell, not like a slow falling leaf
He left a void behind him:
–that’s how it’s said in spoken Hebrew
This void is a hole causing cramps in his mother’s womb
He had such a heavenly name:
All the warmth that they gave him
Went up in smoke, they thought it would protect him, at least
Like a bullet-proof vest that offers protection for the future
But it betrayed him and vanished.
Nana Ben-Ari said that every night
When she tucks in her four sons
She counts them and never escapes
The feeling that each white sheet is not
Just a cloth, or a blanket, or a home.
The activity answers back to her
That perhaps it’s forbidden to waste the white color
Each night, as if it’s an obvious thing.
Every night is like snails dragging a house
Full of painful thoughts.
Misery can be singular or plural
What place does it occupy when talking about
It’s sealed in cinder block and cement
For an old house.