Poetry

People on the Move

The ones who do see some things. A cloud beautifies the sky. There's smoke over a chimney. I went off, got in my own way. Meanwhile, stories come to me about human contradiction or the climbing of ladders. You can anticipate the fall. It happens as simply as possible. People moving see it differently. The…

The Answer

After a talk with my would-be publisher I myself don't know who's the author of my book. (The state, the paper allocations, the moon's pull, or other circumstances?) It'll only be half an answer: The author of my book is the Polish language 1973/1975

In Flight

Poplars, embankments, the Loire behind them. The upper Danube's not so broad, from river to river the light's so different. One doesn't need geography for feelings. Birds fly up the branches. Watch us. Feelings are vulnerable. Strange bodies rub together, our bodies. Someone plants a kiss between navel and shame. A doorknob turns on a…

Poems From A 1984 Diary

trans. Yiddish Ruth Whitman 3 I'll set out for Beer Sheva and go to the Bedouins and ransom a donkey from them, no matter what it costs, Is it my fault that the slave trade still goes on with God's creatures in Beer sheva? I'll prepare an apartment for him, invent a name, tell him…

Eight Fabliettes

trans. French Norman Shapiro 1. The Little Pup Little pup sat eyeing bone, One he used to call his own. Burly hound came swaggering up, Snatching bone from little pup. Sky watched hound dine on said victual: Didn't care one whit or tittle. Pup's still little, as before; Hound's still hungry, wants some more. 2….