Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Sigal Ben Yair

NESHER HILL

Two cyclamen but no rock*
facing the quarry and the evergreen mountain**
(my father dying in the bedroom of my childhood)
what a long way
toward the hurt of a painful tetanus shot
slicing my bare arm my knees bruised again and again
on the way to the kindergarten near the abandoned shelter
on the square, a sled made of orphaned cardboard, two cyclamen
sun-scorched in memory pink as a tattoo
from the candy at the improvised cinema
before Bruce Lee’s Fist of Fury
                         
and Kirk Douglas’s The Bad and the Beautiful
eyes open and shut in immense darkness.

גבעת נשר

גבעת נשר

שְׁתֵּי רַקָּפוֹת בְּלִי סֶלַע
מוּל מַחְצָבָה וְהָהָר הַיָּרֹק כָּל יְמוֹת
(מוֹת אָבִי בַּחֲדַר נְעוּרַי)
כַּמָּה אֲרֻכָּה הַדֶּרֶך
אֶל כְּאֵב זְרִיקַת הַטֵּטָנוּס הַכּוֹאֶבֶת
שֶׁפִּלְּחָה אֶת זְרוֹעִי
בִּרְכַּי נֶחְבְּטוּ שׁוּב וָשׁוּב
בַּדֶּרֶך לְגַן הַיְלָדִים לְיַד הַמִּקְלָט הַנָּטוּשׁ בַּכִּכָּר
קַרְטוֹן גְּלִישָׁה מְיֻתָּם, שְׁתֵּי רַקָּפוֹת
נִצְרָבוֹת בְּשֶׁמֶשׁ זִכָּרוֹן וְרֻדּוֹת כְּמוֹ קַעֲקַע
מַמְתַּקִּים בַּקּוֹלְנוֹעַ הַמְאֻלְתָּר שֶׁל הַמַּתְנָ"ס
לִפְנֵי בְּרוּס לִי אֶגְרוֹף הַזַּעַם וְקִירְק דַּגְלָאס הָרַע וְהַיָּפֶה כָּךְ
הָעֵינַיִם נִפְקָחוֹת נֶעֶצָמוֹת בַּחשֶׁךְ הַגָּדוֹל

 
Close

NESHER HILL

Two cyclamen but no rock*
facing the quarry and the evergreen mountain**
(my father dying in the bedroom of my childhood)
what a long way
toward the hurt of a painful tetanus shot
slicing my bare arm my knees bruised again and again
on the way to the kindergarten near the abandoned shelter
on the square, a sled made of orphaned cardboard, two cyclamen
sun-scorched in memory pink as a tattoo
from the candy at the improvised cinema
before Bruce Lee’s Fist of Fury
                         
and Kirk Douglas’s The Bad and the Beautiful
eyes open and shut in immense darkness.

NESHER HILL

Two cyclamen but no rock*
facing the quarry and the evergreen mountain**
(my father dying in the bedroom of my childhood)
what a long way
toward the hurt of a painful tetanus shot
slicing my bare arm my knees bruised again and again
on the way to the kindergarten near the abandoned shelter
on the square, a sled made of orphaned cardboard, two cyclamen
sun-scorched in memory pink as a tattoo
from the candy at the improvised cinema
before Bruce Lee’s Fist of Fury
                         
and Kirk Douglas’s The Bad and the Beautiful
eyes open and shut in immense darkness.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère