Poem
Meir Wieseltier
BURNING HOLY BOOKS
Holy books, said my friend, angry,there’s no such thing. Books,
books: let them talk
to us about books.
It was a hot night.
At noon light rips
through the room, and everything’s clear:
over the holy we’ll put a transparent
grid. From now on we’ll examine it
with a critical eye, we’ll see
the holy, crisscrossed through bars:
iron or a mathematical passion.
Will this make it look less
holy? Now it’s evening.
It could be a mistake,
our own.
But the grid should be placed there. With courage,
with care. It’s time to preserve
the wreck of holiness.
16.6.86
From: The Flower of Anarchy: Selected Poems of Meir Wieseltier
BURNING HOLY BOOKS
© 1995, Meir Wieseltier
From: Machsan (Storage)
Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad,
From: Machsan (Storage)
Publisher: Hakibbutz Hameuchad,
Poems
Poems of Meir Wieseltier
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BURNING HOLY BOOKS
Holy books, said my friend, angry,there’s no such thing. Books,
books: let them talk
to us about books.
It was a hot night.
At noon light rips
through the room, and everything’s clear:
over the holy we’ll put a transparent
grid. From now on we’ll examine it
with a critical eye, we’ll see
the holy, crisscrossed through bars:
iron or a mathematical passion.
Will this make it look less
holy? Now it’s evening.
It could be a mistake,
our own.
But the grid should be placed there. With courage,
with care. It’s time to preserve
the wreck of holiness.
16.6.86
From: The Flower of Anarchy: Selected Poems of Meir Wieseltier
BURNING HOLY BOOKS
Holy books, said my friend, angry,there’s no such thing. Books,
books: let them talk
to us about books.
It was a hot night.
At noon light rips
through the room, and everything’s clear:
over the holy we’ll put a transparent
grid. From now on we’ll examine it
with a critical eye, we’ll see
the holy, crisscrossed through bars:
iron or a mathematical passion.
Will this make it look less
holy? Now it’s evening.
It could be a mistake,
our own.
But the grid should be placed there. With courage,
with care. It’s time to preserve
the wreck of holiness.
16.6.86
From: The Flower of Anarchy: Selected Poems of Meir Wieseltier
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