Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Batsheva Dori-Carlier

HEAT WAVE IN STOCKHOLM, JULY 2014

White seagulls swoop up and down
like sirens in my head all night.
The flight to Israel is delayed, no longer assured,
and I write a note to buy milk and organic honey
at the natural foods store.
In the morning in the virgin forest
we pick intensely red raspberries and wild strawberries
whose dripping juice makes stains on shirts that may be
removed in the wash but what about the red stains
spreading over shirts
over there, ceaselessly,
like the cry of seagulls in my mind.
At the edge of the forest there’s a cliff that’s been
here before us and will remain long after.

חמסין בסטוקהולם, יולי 2014

חמסין בסטוקהולם, יולי 2014

שְׁחַפִים לְבָנִים עוֹלִים וְיוֹרְדִים
כְּסִירֵנוֹת בְּרָאשִׁי כָּל הַלַּיְלָה.
הַטִּיסָה לָאָרֶץ תְּקוּעָה, לֹא מֻבְטָחָת,
אֲנִי רוֹשֶׁמֶת לִקְנוֹת חָלָב וּדְבַשׁ אוֹרְגָּנִי
מֵחֲנוּת טֶבַע.
בַּבֹּקֶר אֲנַחְנוּ קוֹטְפִים בְּיַעַר עַד
פֶּטֶל וְתוּתֵי בָּר אֲדֻמִּים מְאֹד,
עָסִיס מְטַפְטֵף עַל הַחֻלְצוֹת
אֶת הַכְּתָמִים אֶפְשָׁר לְהוֹרִיד
בַּכְּבִיסָה וּמָה קוֹרֶה עִם הַכְּתָמִים
הָאֲדֻמִּים הַמִּתְפַּשְּׁטִים בַּחֻלְצוֹת
בְּאַרְצִי וְלֹא מַפְסִיקִים,
כְּמוֹ צְוָחוֹת הַשְּׁחַפִים בְּרָאשִׁי.
בִּקְצֶה הַיַּעַר יֵשׁ צוּק שֶׁהָיָה כָּאן
לְפָנֵינוּ וְיִשָּׁאֵר זְמַן רַב אַחֲרֵינוּ.
 
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HEAT WAVE IN STOCKHOLM, JULY 2014

White seagulls swoop up and down
like sirens in my head all night.
The flight to Israel is delayed, no longer assured,
and I write a note to buy milk and organic honey
at the natural foods store.
In the morning in the virgin forest
we pick intensely red raspberries and wild strawberries
whose dripping juice makes stains on shirts that may be
removed in the wash but what about the red stains
spreading over shirts
over there, ceaselessly,
like the cry of seagulls in my mind.
At the edge of the forest there’s a cliff that’s been
here before us and will remain long after.

HEAT WAVE IN STOCKHOLM, JULY 2014

White seagulls swoop up and down
like sirens in my head all night.
The flight to Israel is delayed, no longer assured,
and I write a note to buy milk and organic honey
at the natural foods store.
In the morning in the virgin forest
we pick intensely red raspberries and wild strawberries
whose dripping juice makes stains on shirts that may be
removed in the wash but what about the red stains
spreading over shirts
over there, ceaselessly,
like the cry of seagulls in my mind.
At the edge of the forest there’s a cliff that’s been
here before us and will remain long after.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère