Jasmine, Poem on
Sandpaper
Fairuz raises her lips
to heaven
to let the jasmine rain down
on those who once met
without knwoing they were in love.
I'm listening to her in Muhammad's
Fiat at noon on Ibn Gabirol Street.
A Lebanese singer playing in an
Italian car
that belongs to an Arab poet from
Baqa' 'al-Gharbiyye on a street
named
after a Hebrew peot who lived in
Spain.
And the jasmine?
If it falls from the sky at the
end of days
it'll stay green for
just a second at
the next light.
Embroidered Rag.
Poem on Umm Kulthoum
She had a black evening gown
on
and her voice hammered steel nails
into the elbow leaning on the table
in the cafe on Struma Square.
"My eyes have gotten used to seeing
you,
and if you don't come one day
I'll blot that day from my life."
I came with a sponge to rub out
a huge eagle drawn in chalk
on the edge of a cloud.
An embroidered rag that years the
cook at
the base at Be'er Ora hooked to
his belt loop
fluttered under its wings.
I asked him for a couple of potatoes
and on the cassette player her
gown darkened again.
He shut his eyes to the steaming
lunch and kept peeling potatoes.
Who's that singing, I started,
Umm Kulthoum?
He nodded.
For all he cared, I could have
cleaned out the whole kitchen.
translated from the Hebrew
by Ammiel Alcalay
