Poem
Rivka Miriam
AGAIN THE TREE COMES TO ME
AGAIN THE TREE COMES TO MEAgain the tree comes to me and claims the fall
but it’s mine. Mine alone, I’m the one who falls off.
Not leaves of trees.
And not feathers. Not wall plaster.
Not drops of rain. Not petals.
I’m the keeper of fall
ending-without-end like myrrh passing through.
My bosom is wide enough to shed and embrace its shedding.
I was plucked.
My mother gave birth to me plucked before I was cut.
I’m a treasure. A treasury of losses. A kingdom of loss.
I am autumn
and from autumn
the tree cannot steal the fall.
© Translation: 2009, Linda Zisquit
From: These Mountains
Publisher: Toby Press, London, 2009
From: These Mountains
Publisher: Toby Press, London, 2009
AGAIN THE TREE COMES TO ME
שוב בא אלי העץ
שׁוּב בָּא אֵלַי הָעֵץ וְאֶת הַנְּשִׁירָה תּוֹבֵעַ.
אַךְ לִי הִיא. לִי בִּלְבַד. אֲנִי, אֲנִי הִיא הַנּוֹשֶׁרֶת.
לֹא עַלְוַת עֵצִים.
וְלֹא נוֹצוֹת. לֹא טִיחַ־קִיר.
לֹא טִפּוֹת שֶׁל גֶּשֶׁם. לֹא עֲלֵי כּוֹתֶרֶת.
בִּי אֲצוּרָה הַנְּשִׁירָה
אַחֲרִית־אֵין־קֵץ כְּמֹר עוֹבֶרֶת.
רָחַב חֵיקִי דַּיּוֹ לִנְשֹׁר וְאֶל עַצְמוֹ לְהֵאָסֵף.
קְטוּפָה אֲנִי.
קְטוּפָה יָלְדָה אוֹתִי אִמִּי עוֹד טֶרֶם אֶקָּטֵף.
אוֹצָר אֲנִי. טִמְיוֹן. אִבּוּד. מַמְלֶכֶת.
סְתָו אֲנִי
וּמִן הַסְּתָו
לֹא יִגְזֹל הָעֵץ שַׁלֶּכֶת.
שׁוּב בָּא אֵלַי הָעֵץ וְאֶת הַנְּשִׁירָה תּוֹבֵעַ.
אַךְ לִי הִיא. לִי בִּלְבַד. אֲנִי, אֲנִי הִיא הַנּוֹשֶׁרֶת.
לֹא עַלְוַת עֵצִים.
וְלֹא נוֹצוֹת. לֹא טִיחַ־קִיר.
לֹא טִפּוֹת שֶׁל גֶּשֶׁם. לֹא עֲלֵי כּוֹתֶרֶת.
בִּי אֲצוּרָה הַנְּשִׁירָה
אַחֲרִית־אֵין־קֵץ כְּמֹר עוֹבֶרֶת.
רָחַב חֵיקִי דַּיּוֹ לִנְשֹׁר וְאֶל עַצְמוֹ לְהֵאָסֵף.
קְטוּפָה אֲנִי.
קְטוּפָה יָלְדָה אוֹתִי אִמִּי עוֹד טֶרֶם אֶקָּטֵף.
אוֹצָר אֲנִי. טִמְיוֹן. אִבּוּד. מַמְלֶכֶת.
סְתָו אֲנִי
וּמִן הַסְּתָו
לֹא יִגְזֹל הָעֵץ שַׁלֶּכֶת.
© 2000, Rivka Miriam
From: Nakh Ha-yehudi (The Jew rests)
Publisher: Carmel, Jerusalem
From: Nakh Ha-yehudi (The Jew rests)
Publisher: Carmel, Jerusalem
Poems
Poems of Rivka Miriam
Close
AGAIN THE TREE COMES TO ME
AGAIN THE TREE COMES TO MEAgain the tree comes to me and claims the fall
but it’s mine. Mine alone, I’m the one who falls off.
Not leaves of trees.
And not feathers. Not wall plaster.
Not drops of rain. Not petals.
I’m the keeper of fall
ending-without-end like myrrh passing through.
My bosom is wide enough to shed and embrace its shedding.
I was plucked.
My mother gave birth to me plucked before I was cut.
I’m a treasure. A treasury of losses. A kingdom of loss.
I am autumn
and from autumn
the tree cannot steal the fall.
© 2009, Linda Zisquit
From: These Mountains
Publisher: 2009, Toby Press, London
From: These Mountains
Publisher: 2009, Toby Press, London
AGAIN THE TREE COMES TO ME
AGAIN THE TREE COMES TO MEAgain the tree comes to me and claims the fall
but it’s mine. Mine alone, I’m the one who falls off.
Not leaves of trees.
And not feathers. Not wall plaster.
Not drops of rain. Not petals.
I’m the keeper of fall
ending-without-end like myrrh passing through.
My bosom is wide enough to shed and embrace its shedding.
I was plucked.
My mother gave birth to me plucked before I was cut.
I’m a treasure. A treasury of losses. A kingdom of loss.
I am autumn
and from autumn
the tree cannot steal the fall.
© 2009, Linda Zisquit
From: These Mountains
Publisher: 2009, Toby Press, London
From: These Mountains
Publisher: 2009, Toby Press, London
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