Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Shira Stav

REMEMBER

Remember how you slept with a man charred with experience, a man who has known many women and girls, your hands embraced his sun freckled shoulders, where you could hide your face, your fear which you blow off as you empty yourself of all memory again and again with each breath, and you offer your flesh ever so despised for him to make use of, for him to mark its organs, declare what to do with them, and he shuts the nipples, growling at candy, your body exposed to his eyes, to his hands that never explore you but only manipulate, never ask, like a gardener installing sprinklers, he licks you with skill and you come quickly, guilt ridden, and already hating his body smooth as old parchment, his black blue cock that penetrates you with painful precision, scorching you even as you are already very lax, waiting for the moan that is never heard. His severe eyes now see your entrails through your skin, the stomach and intestines squirming all the way to the rectum, the food descending through them slowly like a poisonous snake and the empty womb,  drenched now in blood and cold semen, you get dressed quickly to cover your shame, drink the coffee frozen facing him and he moves about his kitchen still naked and completely tanned with the purple cock lying on his thigh, and not giving your body back to you, waiting patiently for you to collect it from the bed where it was forgotten, from the chair, from the empty apartment so sparsely furnished and roamed by a dog, overgrown, hungry, comfort thirsty, and you go out into the midday heat, into the dusty day, inscribing in your head the street name the house number Emile Zola 2. Do you remember? Yes, I remember. You know? It is remembered in me, to this very day.  



זָכוּר

זָכוּר

זָכוּר לָךְ אֵיךְ שָׁכַבְתְּ עִם גֶּבֶר צְרוּב נִסָּיוֹן, אִישׁ שֶׁיָּדַע נָשִׁים רַבּוֹת וּנְעָרוֹת, יָדַיִךְ חִבְּקוּ אֶת כְּתֵפָיו הַמְּכֻסּוֹת בַּהֲרוֹת שֶׁמֶשׁ, שָׁם יָכֹלְתְּ לְהַחְבִּיא אֶת פָּנַיִךְ, אֶת פַּחֲדֵךְ הַנִּנְשָׁף מִמֵּךְ וָהָלְאָה כְּשֶׁאַתְּ מְרוֹקֶנֶת אֶת עַצְמֵךְ מִכָּל זִכָּרוֹן וְחוֹזֵר חֲלִילָה עִם כָּל נְשִׁימָה, וְאַתְּ מַעֲנִיקָה לוֹ אֶת בְּשָׂרֵךְ ׂשָׂנוּא כָּל כָּךְ שֶׁיִּשְׁתַּמֵּשׁ בּוֹ, שֶׁיְּסַמֵּן אֶת אֵיבָרָיו יֹאמַר מָה לַעֲשׂוֹת בָּהֶם, והוּא מֵגִיף אֶת הַפְּטָמוֹת, נוֹהֵם עַל סֻכָּרִיּוֹת, גּוּפֵךְ גָּלוּי לְעֵינָיו, לְיָדָיו שֶׁאַף פַּעַם אֵינָן חוֹקְרוֹת אוֹתָךְ אֶלָּא רַק מַפְעִילוֹת, לא שׁוֹאֲלוֹת, כְּגַּנָּן הַמְּסוֹבֵב מַמְטֵרוֹת, הוּא מְלַקֵּק אוֹתָךְ בִּמְיֻמָּנוּת וְאַתְּ גּוֹמֶרֶת מַהֵר, מְלֵאַת אָשָׁם, וּכְבָר שׂוֹנֵאת אֶת גּוּפוֹ הֶחָלָק כְּמוֹ קְלָף יָשָׁן, אֶת הַזַּיִן הַכָּחֹל שָׁחֹר הַחוֹדֵר אֵלַיִךְ בְּדַיְקָנוּת מַכְאִיבָה, חוֹרֵךְ אוֹתָךְ מַמְשִׁיךְ גַּם כְּשֶׁאַתְּ כְּבָר רָפָה מְאוֹד, מַמְתִּינָה לַאֲנָחָה שֶׁלְּעוֹלָם אֵינָהּ נִשְׁמַעַת. עֵינָיו הַחֲמוּרוֹת רוֹאוֹת עַכְשָׁו מִבַּעַד לְעוֹרֵךְ אֶת קְרָבַיִךְ, אֶת הַקֵּבָה וְהַמֵּעַיִם מִתְפַּתְּלִים עַד הַחַלְחֹלֶת, אֶת הַמָּזוֹן יוֹרֵד בָּהֶם לְאַט כְּמוֹ נָחָשׁ אַרְסִי וְאֶת הָרֶחֶם רֵיק, שְׁטוּף דָּם וְזֶרַע קַר עַכְשָׁו, אַתְּ מִתְלַבֶּשֶׁת מַהֵר לְכַסּוֹת עַל חֶרְפָּתֵךְ, שׁוֹתָה אֶת הַקָּפֶה קְפוּאָה מוּלוֹ וְהוּא סוֹבֵב בְּמִטְבָּחוֹ עָרֹם עֲדַיִן וְשָׁזוּף כֻּלּוֹ עִם הַזַּיִן הַסָּגֹל מוּטָל עַל יְרֵכוֹ, וְלֹא מֵשִׁיב לָךְ אֶת גּוּפֵךְ, מַמְתִּין בְּסַבְלָנוּת שֶׁתֶּאֶסְפִי אוֹתוֹ מִן הַמִּטָּה שֶׁבָּהּ נִשְׁכַּח, מִן הַכִּסֵּא, מִן הַדִּירָה הָרֵיקָה שֶׁחֲפָצֶיהָ מוּעָטִים כָּל כָּךְ וְכֶלֶב מְשׁוֹטֵט בָּהּ מְגֻדָּל, רָעֵב, תְּאֵב נִחוּמִים, וְאַתְּ יוֹצֵאת אֶל חֹם הַצָּהֳרַיִם, אֶל אֲבַק הַיּוֹם, חוֹקֶקֶת בְּרֹאשֵׁךְ אֶת שֵׁם הָרְחוֹב מִסְפַּר הַבַּיִת אֵמִיל זוֹלָא 2. אַתְּ זוֹכֶרֶת? כֵּן, זָכוּר לִי. אַתְּ יוֹדַעַת? זֶה זָכוּר בִּי, עַד הַיּוֹם.
 
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REMEMBER

Remember how you slept with a man charred with experience, a man who has known many women and girls, your hands embraced his sun freckled shoulders, where you could hide your face, your fear which you blow off as you empty yourself of all memory again and again with each breath, and you offer your flesh ever so despised for him to make use of, for him to mark its organs, declare what to do with them, and he shuts the nipples, growling at candy, your body exposed to his eyes, to his hands that never explore you but only manipulate, never ask, like a gardener installing sprinklers, he licks you with skill and you come quickly, guilt ridden, and already hating his body smooth as old parchment, his black blue cock that penetrates you with painful precision, scorching you even as you are already very lax, waiting for the moan that is never heard. His severe eyes now see your entrails through your skin, the stomach and intestines squirming all the way to the rectum, the food descending through them slowly like a poisonous snake and the empty womb,  drenched now in blood and cold semen, you get dressed quickly to cover your shame, drink the coffee frozen facing him and he moves about his kitchen still naked and completely tanned with the purple cock lying on his thigh, and not giving your body back to you, waiting patiently for you to collect it from the bed where it was forgotten, from the chair, from the empty apartment so sparsely furnished and roamed by a dog, overgrown, hungry, comfort thirsty, and you go out into the midday heat, into the dusty day, inscribing in your head the street name the house number Emile Zola 2. Do you remember? Yes, I remember. You know? It is remembered in me, to this very day.  



REMEMBER

Remember how you slept with a man charred with experience, a man who has known many women and girls, your hands embraced his sun freckled shoulders, where you could hide your face, your fear which you blow off as you empty yourself of all memory again and again with each breath, and you offer your flesh ever so despised for him to make use of, for him to mark its organs, declare what to do with them, and he shuts the nipples, growling at candy, your body exposed to his eyes, to his hands that never explore you but only manipulate, never ask, like a gardener installing sprinklers, he licks you with skill and you come quickly, guilt ridden, and already hating his body smooth as old parchment, his black blue cock that penetrates you with painful precision, scorching you even as you are already very lax, waiting for the moan that is never heard. His severe eyes now see your entrails through your skin, the stomach and intestines squirming all the way to the rectum, the food descending through them slowly like a poisonous snake and the empty womb,  drenched now in blood and cold semen, you get dressed quickly to cover your shame, drink the coffee frozen facing him and he moves about his kitchen still naked and completely tanned with the purple cock lying on his thigh, and not giving your body back to you, waiting patiently for you to collect it from the bed where it was forgotten, from the chair, from the empty apartment so sparsely furnished and roamed by a dog, overgrown, hungry, comfort thirsty, and you go out into the midday heat, into the dusty day, inscribing in your head the street name the house number Emile Zola 2. Do you remember? Yes, I remember. You know? It is remembered in me, to this very day.  



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