In Netanya, above the cliff / by Elisha Porat


Pubblichiamo due versioni in traduzione inglese di In Netanya, above the cliff / by Elisha Porat. Si ringrazia Elisha Porat per il dono dei due testi.
domenica 16 gennaio 2005 , Inviato da Redazione Antenati - 3091 letture

In Netanya, above the cliff / by Elisha Porat


In Netanya, above the cliff, on one

of those sweet Friday afternoons, I

sit on a stone that marks the border

between the garden, the promenade

and the street. A warm sun ploughs

furrows that shiver across my back,

echoing the foam above the waves below,

of a wintry sea that retains the chill.

The town around me already

slowly removes the bandages

from terrorist attacks that hurt, grinding down

without mercy. Suddenly I am pounced upon

by this vision I have had before: my whole being

beholds the grim advance, the realization

of day-to-day Zionism.

The first German tourists run up and down

the paths, and the entrance to the gallery throngs

with holidaymakers: the town is coming round;

on warm Friday afternoons; at the end

of spring, two thousand and four.

As before, I am cast aside. Your turn

has not yet come. Someone else

will pledge his heart on your behalf.

With the grim advance, the realization

of day-to-day Zionism, the salt of my

life, and the single breath of spirit

from the fibers closing slowly

around my aging heart.


Translated from the Hebrew by Eddie Levenston

© All Rights Reserved.


In Netanyah, on the cliff, on this sweet

Friday midday, I

sit on the low wall

that runs between garden, promenade

and street. On my back the pleasant sun

ploughs rippling furrows

just like the foaming waves

down below of the winter sea

that hasn’t yet warmed up.

The town around me is already

slowly peeling off the bandages from the

searing attacks that so mercilessly

smashed through it. And suddenly

there swooped upon me

that vision that I have already seen:

my whole being looks upon the dreadfully

nondescript path to

Zionism achieved.

The first German tourists

hurry there and back along the paths,

and at the entrance to the gallery a leisurely

crowd murmurs: the town is coming back to itself;

on the warm Friday midday; at the end

of spring in the year two thousand and four.

I am held over just like then: your

turn hasn’t come yet. And someone or other

will surely give his heart for you.

In the dreadfully nondescript path to

this Zionism achieved, the salt

of my life, and the only soul

of the fibres that are slowly blocking up

around my aging heart.


Translated from the Hebrew by Asher Harris

© All Rights Reserved



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> In Netanya, above the cliff / by Elisha Porat
22 marzo 2005, di : Zdravka

Amazing poem, very nice, and very strong. Who is the poet? an Italian poet? or another poet?
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