Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Request: a poem by Hava Pinhas-Cohen

The following poem is the second in a series of 3 poems by the Israeli poet Hava Pinhas-Cohen that I translated and published recently in The Toronto Journal of Jewish Thought:


Hava Pinhas-Cohen

When a baby is in my arms
Its life woven with human milk
At nights there come heartbeats, thumping voices

At a certain station in that land
Barefoot and weak
I spread my arms
Like the horns of a ram in a thicket
The earth whispering to the heavens
Hear, make a canopy of your mercy
Like shade for the vine and the fig tree
Please, do not put me to the test.

There is wood and thicket, a smell of fire
And the sight of smoke. Don’t play hide-and-seek
With mothers—

Weakly I cover my eyes
My voice is lost in a scream
That can’t be heard
Where are you

Translated by Sharon Green

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