Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Tehila Hakimi

SACRED AND PROFANE

This poet once told me,
poetry is pure.
You have to approach words with the fear of God
the way you hold an ancient Torah scroll found in an archaeological dig.
And underground, in the trenches of meaning,
poets engrave letter by letter in a tablet
like idol worshippers
in the name of the holiest of holy poetry.
There’s nothing holy to poetry,
no poetry is holy.

I’ll write poetry
like a cockroach leaving tracks on the bathroom floor
like a tired cat in the sun
like a worker in a loud assembly line
on minimum wage and five hours’ sleep
like a programmer at Google
under fluorescents
I’ll write poetry
from the locker room at the gym
in bed without glasses, one eye shut
(to focus)

You can’t distinguish word from word
sacred and profane
ass and mouth
piss and black coffee
used tampon and God
one day I’ll be a filthy poet of rats
publishing poems in the sewers.
 

קודש וחול

קודש וחול

מְשׁוֹרֵר אֶחָד אָמַר לִי פַּעַם,
הַשִּׁירָה טְהוֹרָה.
לְמִלִּים צָרִיךְ לְהִתְיַחֵס בְּחֶרְדַת קֹדֶשׁ,
כְּמוֹ שֶׁאוֹחֲזִים בְּסֵפֶר תּוֹרָה עַתִּיק, שֶׁמָּצְאוּ בַּחֲפִירָה אַרְכֵאוֹלוֹגִית.
וּמִתַּחַת לָאֲדָמָה, בַּבּוּנְקֶר שֶׁל הַמַּשְׁמָעוּת,
מְשׁוֹרְרִים מְשַׁבְּצִים עַל לוּחַ שִׁיר אוֹת אוֹת,
כְּמוֹ עוֹבְדֵי אֱלִילִים,
בְּשֵׁם קֹדֶשׁ קָדְשֵׁי הַשִּׁירָה.
אֵין קְדֻשָּׁה בְּשִׁירָה
וְאֵין שִׁירָה קְדוֹשָׁה

אֲנִי אֶכְתֹּב שִׁירָה
כְּמוֹ ג'וּק שֶׁמַּשְׁאִיר עֲקֵבוֹת עַל רִצְפַּת הָאַמְבַּטְיָה
כְּמוֹ חָתוּל עָיֵף בַּשֶּׁמֶשׁ
כְּמוֹ פּוֹעֶלֶת בְּפַס יִצּוּר רוֹעֵשׁ
עִם שְׂכַר מִינִימוּם וַחֲמֵשׁ שְׁעוֹת שֵׁנָה
כְּמוֹ מְתַכְנֶתֶת בַּמִּגְדָּל שֶׁל גּוּגֶל
תַּחַת פְלוֹרוֹסֵנְט
אֲנִי אֶכְתֹּב שִׁירָה
מֵהַמֶּלְתָּחוֹת שֶׁל חֲדַר הַכֹּשֶׁר
בַּמִּטָּה בְּלִי מִשְׁקָפַיִם, עַיִן אַחַת עֲצוּמָה
(בִּשְׁבִיל הַפוֹקוּס)

אִי אֶפְשָׁר לְהַבְדִּיל בֵּין מִלָּה לְמִלָּה
קֹדֶשׁ וְחֹל
תַּחַת וּפֶה
שֶׁתֶן וְקָפֶה שָׁחֹר
טַמְפּוֹן מְשֻׁמָּשׁ וֶאֱלֹהִים
יוֹם אֶחָד אֶהְיֶה מְשׁוֹרֶרֶת שֶׁל חֻלְדּוֹת, מְטֻנֶּפֶת
אֲפַרְסֵם שִׁירִים בִּתְעָלוֹת הַבִּיּוּב

 
Close

SACRED AND PROFANE

This poet once told me,
poetry is pure.
You have to approach words with the fear of God
the way you hold an ancient Torah scroll found in an archaeological dig.
And underground, in the trenches of meaning,
poets engrave letter by letter in a tablet
like idol worshippers
in the name of the holiest of holy poetry.
There’s nothing holy to poetry,
no poetry is holy.

I’ll write poetry
like a cockroach leaving tracks on the bathroom floor
like a tired cat in the sun
like a worker in a loud assembly line
on minimum wage and five hours’ sleep
like a programmer at Google
under fluorescents
I’ll write poetry
from the locker room at the gym
in bed without glasses, one eye shut
(to focus)

You can’t distinguish word from word
sacred and profane
ass and mouth
piss and black coffee
used tampon and God
one day I’ll be a filthy poet of rats
publishing poems in the sewers.
 

SACRED AND PROFANE

This poet once told me,
poetry is pure.
You have to approach words with the fear of God
the way you hold an ancient Torah scroll found in an archaeological dig.
And underground, in the trenches of meaning,
poets engrave letter by letter in a tablet
like idol worshippers
in the name of the holiest of holy poetry.
There’s nothing holy to poetry,
no poetry is holy.

I’ll write poetry
like a cockroach leaving tracks on the bathroom floor
like a tired cat in the sun
like a worker in a loud assembly line
on minimum wage and five hours’ sleep
like a programmer at Google
under fluorescents
I’ll write poetry
from the locker room at the gym
in bed without glasses, one eye shut
(to focus)

You can’t distinguish word from word
sacred and profane
ass and mouth
piss and black coffee
used tampon and God
one day I’ll be a filthy poet of rats
publishing poems in the sewers.
 
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
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère