Wednesday, September 3, 2008

II, 4

Who intoxicated the fingers and made them write the line
"In me the strength of those who finished living is sown!"
My dove, you gave me a sheet of paper - a mirror.
The dazzling words of mine your wings spread over me.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

II, 3

Crickets, like shoemakers, hammer their blades of grass into my forehead.
Tears on my cheeks from the meadow that's coming down into my attic.
Slaughtered, the hens are now calling out, honoring mourning.
Melted snows pour their spirit into my ear, ignited.

Monday, April 14, 2008

II, 2

A sudden kiss on my lips. Who and where am I? Finally
The locks all unlock themselves. Muteness is cut by a knife.
Pearls, pearls, and pearls, with secret rushes of sea
Raining from my lips now. A pearly terror attacks me.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Really lame first-stanza translation

Sounds trapped on the lips, like pearls of forts oceanate
are mute for thousands of years, and over the muteness - a blade.
"Dove darling, childhood's child, let the lips speak, give them speech
Become now the cry of the sounds, or else the dream is extinct..."

Help me out here. This is really shitty.

קלאַנגען אין ליפּן געפֿאַנגען

How important is it to rhyme the English equivalents? Or I suppose I need to get beyond word-for-word equivalence and try to mount a phraseological response.