Log Cabin Chronicles
Now in the fall the curlews assemble
In the orchards, and the grey conies
Are already changing their colours, while I
Too rub on my heart the cream
That protects from summer heart, to keep it
Safe on wintry days as well.
And in my room which darkens in the cloudy light
I go up to the wall: I tear off papers,
Pictures and reminders of the last two thousand years.
I stand in front of the empty rack
And once more take a pledge:
No bungling now, you treacherous body,
You have to bear me still
All of me, into the next thousand.
Translated from the Hebrew by Asher Harris
Elisha Porat writes on a kibbutz in Israel.
Home | Poetry Menu | Fiction
Copyright © 2007 Elisha Porat