Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Rita Kogan

DORA

My grandma Dora referred to the sea as a woman.
“How she relax me, the sea”, she called,
“How she relax me.”
Dora’s R`s burst into swirls,
Breaking on her cliff of a chest,
Which stood high
Among vast, white meadows,
In green twisting stems,
In red devouring flowers,
Which were her dress,
An evening gown for the bench on the porch
She shared the bench with two women neighbors
Who were also meadows, stems and flowers.
“Ritochka, Ritochka! Where are you going? It’s dark!”
She referred to me as a woman.
Her R’s chased me like a coastal swell,
Pushing me against her firm, quivering body.
“Give grandma a kiss!” sang the two neighborhood sirens,
Their immense bodies trembled and tensed
In expectation of a kiss.
I would offer Dora my cheek with eyes shut,
Hold my breath before
diving into the bitter eau de cologne,
Into the depths beneath the cracks in her cliff.
I wiped away the froth of her ridges secretly,
Only after neither I nor the wake of my swimming
Could be seen in the dark.

דורה

דורה

סָבְתָא ‬דּוֹרָה ‬הָיְתָה ‬קוֹרֵאת ‬לַיָּם ‬בִּנְקֵבָה.
"‬אֵיךְ ‬שֶׁהִיא ‬מַרְגִּיעָה ‬לִי, ‬הַיָּם"‬, ‬קָרְאָה,‬
"‬אֵיךְ ‬שֶׁהִיא ‬מַרְגִּיעָה ‬לִי!‬"‬
הָרֵישִׁים ‬שֶׁל ‬דּוֹרָה ‬יָצְאוּ ‬בִּמְעַרְבּוֹלוֹת,‬
הִתְנַפְּצוּ ‬עַל ‬מְצוּק ‬שָׁדֶיהָ ‬הַנִּשָּׂא
בְּתוֹךְ ‬שָׂדוֹת ‬פְּרוּשִׂים, ‬לְבָנִים,‬
בְּתוֹךְ ‬גִּבְעוֹלִים ‬מִתְפַּתְּלִים, ‬יְרֻקִּים,‬
בְּתוֹךְ ‬פְּרָחִים ‬פְּעוּרִים, ‬אֲדֻמִּים,‬
שֶׁהָיוּ ‬שִׂמְלָתָהּ,‬
שִׂמְלַת ‬עֶרֶב ‬לְעֵת ‬סַפְסָל.
אֶת ‬הַסַּפְסָל ‬חָלְקָה ‬עִם ‬שְׁתֵּי ‬שְׁכֵנוֹתֶיהָ,‬
אַף ‬הֵן ‬שָׂדוֹת, ‬גִּבְעוֹלִים ‬וּפְרָחִים.
"‬רִיטוֹצְ'קָה, ‬רִיטוֹצְ'קָה, ‬אֵיפֹה ‬אַתְּ ‬הוֹלֶכֶת ‬עַכְשָׁו? ‬לַיְלָה!‬"‬
קָרְאָה ‬לְעֶבְרִי ‬בִּנְקֵבָה.
הָרֵישִׁים ‬שֶׁלָּהּ ‬רָדְפוּ ‬אוֹתִי ‬כְּמִשְׁבְּרֵי ‬חוֹף,‬
הָדְפוּ ‬אוֹתִי ‬כְּנֶגֶד ‬גּוּפָהּ ‬הַיַּצִּיב, ‬הָרוֹטֵט.
"‬תְּנִי ‬לַסָּבְתָא ‬נְשִׁיקָה!‬"‬ ‬שָׁרוּ ‬שְׁתֵּי ‬הַשְּׁכֵנוֹת, ‬הַסִּירֶנוֹת.
גּוּפָן ‬הָרָחָב ‬נִדְרַךְ ‬וְרָטַט ‬בְּצִפִּיַּת ‬"‬נְשִׁיקָה!‬"‬
הָיִיתִי ‬מַגִּישָׁה ‬לְדוֹרָה ‬אֶת ‬לֶחְיִי ‬בְּעֵינַיִם ‬עֲצוּמוֹת.
עָצַרְתִּי ‬אֶת ‬נְשִׁימָתִי
בְּטֶרֶם ‬צָלַלְתִּי ‬מִתַּחַת ‬לְמֵי ‬הַקּוֹלוֹן ‬הַחֲרִיפִים,‬
אֶל ‬הַמְּצוּלָה ‬שֶׁבֵּין ‬מְצוּק ‬שָׁדֶיהָ ‬הַמְּבֻקָּע.
אֶת ‬קֶצֶף ‬אַדְווֹתֶיהָ ‬מָחִיתִי ‬בַּסֵּתֶר,‬
אַחֲרֵי ‬שֶׁאִי ‬אֶפְשָׁר ‬הָיָה ‬לְהַבְחִין
בִּי ‬אוֹ ‬בִּנְתִיב ‬הַשְּׂחִיָּה ‬שֶׁהִשְׁאַרְתִּי
בְּתוֹךְ ‬הַחֲשֵׁכָה.
 
Close

DORA

My grandma Dora referred to the sea as a woman.
“How she relax me, the sea”, she called,
“How she relax me.”
Dora’s R`s burst into swirls,
Breaking on her cliff of a chest,
Which stood high
Among vast, white meadows,
In green twisting stems,
In red devouring flowers,
Which were her dress,
An evening gown for the bench on the porch
She shared the bench with two women neighbors
Who were also meadows, stems and flowers.
“Ritochka, Ritochka! Where are you going? It’s dark!”
She referred to me as a woman.
Her R’s chased me like a coastal swell,
Pushing me against her firm, quivering body.
“Give grandma a kiss!” sang the two neighborhood sirens,
Their immense bodies trembled and tensed
In expectation of a kiss.
I would offer Dora my cheek with eyes shut,
Hold my breath before
diving into the bitter eau de cologne,
Into the depths beneath the cracks in her cliff.
I wiped away the froth of her ridges secretly,
Only after neither I nor the wake of my swimming
Could be seen in the dark.

DORA

My grandma Dora referred to the sea as a woman.
“How she relax me, the sea”, she called,
“How she relax me.”
Dora’s R`s burst into swirls,
Breaking on her cliff of a chest,
Which stood high
Among vast, white meadows,
In green twisting stems,
In red devouring flowers,
Which were her dress,
An evening gown for the bench on the porch
She shared the bench with two women neighbors
Who were also meadows, stems and flowers.
“Ritochka, Ritochka! Where are you going? It’s dark!”
She referred to me as a woman.
Her R’s chased me like a coastal swell,
Pushing me against her firm, quivering body.
“Give grandma a kiss!” sang the two neighborhood sirens,
Their immense bodies trembled and tensed
In expectation of a kiss.
I would offer Dora my cheek with eyes shut,
Hold my breath before
diving into the bitter eau de cologne,
Into the depths beneath the cracks in her cliff.
I wiped away the froth of her ridges secretly,
Only after neither I nor the wake of my swimming
Could be seen in the dark.
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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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