With judgement and good taste, when I lack salvation and flame
within the Lord of Words is harsh
as the gap between poverty and swoon.
On the border writing and translation –
nights packed with insomnia –
the world incipient as a moment, in which apparent sanity
makes the edge of madness real. The poems speak their piece,
for the heart is the name and the mouth. I have one like that
and it translates itself: in my own life dreams of death,
and inevitably, everything predestined gets written.
Translated from Hebrew by Vivian Eden, The 4th International Poets’ Festival, Jerusalem, 1997