Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Orit Gidali

KOHELET

I, Kohelet, was king of Jerusalem.
I really was.
Treading a thousand flowers en route to the white bed
where my wives awaited to remove from my head the crown
made of marzipan in the biting of sweet tongues,
my silk rubbing against their silk, my flesh would choose
among them, and my flesh was sweet in their flesh.
Kohelet, I held a thousand women,
and I didn’t have a single one
I could recognize by smell
or by her skin or her feet,
her steps as she walked away from me: David’s lament.
Her steps toward me: his song.
I am Kohelet, Solomon,
my linen, the mystery of shrouds,
and my bitten crown is above me.

קוהלת

קוהלת

אני קוהלת מלך הייתי בירושלים
באמת הייתי
דורך על אלף פרחים בדרכי למיטה הלבנה
שם חיכו נשותי, שהסירו את כתר ראשי
העשוי מרציפן בנגיסת לשונות מתוקות, משיי
מתחכך במשיין, והייתי בוחר מתוכן לבשרי,
ובשרי כבר מתוק בבשרן.
קוהלת החזקתי אלף נשים
ולא היתה לי אישה יחידה
לזהות את ריחה
ועורה ורגליה
צעדיה ממני: קינת דוד
צעדיה אלי: שירתו
אני קוהלת שלמה
סתרי תכריכים של סדיני
וכתרי הנגוס מעלי.
Close

KOHELET

I, Kohelet, was king of Jerusalem.
I really was.
Treading a thousand flowers en route to the white bed
where my wives awaited to remove from my head the crown
made of marzipan in the biting of sweet tongues,
my silk rubbing against their silk, my flesh would choose
among them, and my flesh was sweet in their flesh.
Kohelet, I held a thousand women,
and I didn’t have a single one
I could recognize by smell
or by her skin or her feet,
her steps as she walked away from me: David’s lament.
Her steps toward me: his song.
I am Kohelet, Solomon,
my linen, the mystery of shrouds,
and my bitten crown is above me.

KOHELET

I, Kohelet, was king of Jerusalem.
I really was.
Treading a thousand flowers en route to the white bed
where my wives awaited to remove from my head the crown
made of marzipan in the biting of sweet tongues,
my silk rubbing against their silk, my flesh would choose
among them, and my flesh was sweet in their flesh.
Kohelet, I held a thousand women,
and I didn’t have a single one
I could recognize by smell
or by her skin or her feet,
her steps as she walked away from me: David’s lament.
Her steps toward me: his song.
I am Kohelet, Solomon,
my linen, the mystery of shrouds,
and my bitten crown is above me.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère