Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Batsheva Dori-Carlier

TAPS ON THE WINDOW TONIGHT

Like rain my father returns from the other side.
At the vacant guest seat,
I set an empty plate, a fork and knife,
and imagine that he won’t stay long.
The dead are not known to hunger for rice and lentils.
As usual, he’ll read from Mahfouz’s Love in the Rain
which he bought long ago in the Old City.
Memories gather on the table like home cooking.
My father’s broad hands grasp mine and my sister’s,
a string of prayer beads, a pipe, books,
with the tenderness reserved
for fragile things.

נקישות בחולון הערב

נקישות בחולון הערב

אָבִי חָזַר מִן הַעֵבֵר הַשֵּׁנִי כְּגֶשֶׁם.
בַּמָּקוֹם הַפָּנוּי לְאוֹרֵחַ
אֲנִי מְנִיחָה צַלַּחַת רֵיקָה, מַזְלֵג, סַכִּין
וּמְשַׁעֶרֶת כִּי לֹא יִשָּׁאֵר זְמַן רַב.
הַמֵּתִים אֵינָם יְדוּעִים בְּרָעַבוֹנָם לְאֹרֶז לָבָן וְעֲדָשִׁים.
כְּתָמִיד, יַעְדִּיף לִקְרֹא בָּ"אֲהָבִים וְגֶשֶׁם" שֶׁל נָגִיבּ מָחְפוּז
שֶׁקָּנָה בְּכְרִיכָה רַכָּה בָּעִיר הָעַתִּיקָה לִפְנֵי שָׁנִים.
זִכְרוֹנוֹת נֶאֱסָפִים אֶל הַשֻּׁלְחָן כְּתָּבְשִׁילֵי כֹּחַ:
יָדָיו הָרְחָבוֹת שֶׁל אָבִי אוֹחֲזוֹת בְּיָדִי וּבְיָד אֲחוֹתִי,
אוֹחֲזוֹת בְּמַחֲרֹזֶת הַמִּסְבָּחָה, בַּמִּקְטֶרֶת, בַּסְּפָרִים,
בְּאוֹתָהּ עֲדִינוּת הַשְּׁמוּרָה
לִדְבָרִים שְּׁבִירִים.
 
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TAPS ON THE WINDOW TONIGHT

Like rain my father returns from the other side.
At the vacant guest seat,
I set an empty plate, a fork and knife,
and imagine that he won’t stay long.
The dead are not known to hunger for rice and lentils.
As usual, he’ll read from Mahfouz’s Love in the Rain
which he bought long ago in the Old City.
Memories gather on the table like home cooking.
My father’s broad hands grasp mine and my sister’s,
a string of prayer beads, a pipe, books,
with the tenderness reserved
for fragile things.

TAPS ON THE WINDOW TONIGHT

Like rain my father returns from the other side.
At the vacant guest seat,
I set an empty plate, a fork and knife,
and imagine that he won’t stay long.
The dead are not known to hunger for rice and lentils.
As usual, he’ll read from Mahfouz’s Love in the Rain
which he bought long ago in the Old City.
Memories gather on the table like home cooking.
My father’s broad hands grasp mine and my sister’s,
a string of prayer beads, a pipe, books,
with the tenderness reserved
for fragile things.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
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LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère