A Bicycle Shop in the Eliezer Neighborhood / Dorit Weisman
I wash my hands in coarse soap paste
Clusters of tires on every side and it’s crowded and gloomy and black
My father’s voice vanishes in the void, repelled like a wave
The air, from a valve, exits with a distant growl
I wash my hands in coarse soap paste
Clusters of tires on every side and it’s crowded and gloomy and black
I want to penetrate the black interior, to keep digging
The grains of thick soap make my skin crawl
The water leaks into a tin can with a hole
The air, from a valve, exits with a distant growl
I wash my hands in coarse soap paste.
Translation from Hebrew to English: Joanna Chen
From the book Normal, Pardes Publishing house, 2015
After Two Catheterizations / Dorit Weisman
Shabbat morning, the street is silent
I stroke your back
Lingering over the valleys between your shoulder blades
We do not mince our words in the act of love
And we have our own ways
But now your heart is different.
It has five metal stents
Along two coronary arteries
The ivy leaves outside redden
I listen to your every breath
Anxious you do not exert yourself
I want you for many more years
Smooth and muscular and beneficent as you are now
As you always were
Following me through the desert for forty years.
Later, by the kitchen sink, naked
Together peeling potatoes for the oven—
The grandchildren will soon be here.
Translation from Hebrew to English: Joanna Chen
From the book Scrambled Eggs in Jerusalem, Cohel Publishing house, 2017
Dancing Csárdás With You / Dorit Weisman
I continued to hold your hand
pressed my cheek
against your warm temples
and your cheeks
your face was growing yellow
your stomach still warm
I heard Tammy say to you:
I hope we’ll meet
again
I also hope
to dance Csárdás with you
in some wonderful place
my mother
they put a sticker on your forehead
they put you in a pale-blue sack
a private ambulance
took you away to cool.
Translated by Becka Mckay
From: Dancing Csardas With You
Publisher: Even Hoshen, Ra’anana, 2005
ISBN: 965-7270-27-8
The Austro-Hungarian Empire / Dorit Weisman
The only trace within me
of the Austro-Hungarian Empire
the family vineyards of Tokaj
the houses with the servants
is the upraised pinky
when drinking grapefruit juice in the morning.
My mother admired Sissy, she is
Elizabeth, or Erzsébet the Hungarian way,
the wife of Emperor Franz Yosef.
In her childhood, and adolescence, in Gödöllő,
she spent time in their summer palace,
as well as the King’s Park and Erzsébet Park.
Gödöllő was the lost Garden of Eden.
The same Gödöllő, the one he traversed by train
years before
the good soldier Švejk
on his way to the Great War.
Translation from Hebrew to English: Joanna Chen
From the book Scrambled Eggs in Jerusalem, Cohel Publishing house, 2017
Love
My aunt, not so young anymore,
with a hearing aid, a suitcase
and two flowery purses,
set out on a voyage
from her house, about an hour from Boston
and to the airport
and from there in an Air France plane over the Atlantic
as far as Paris –5905.86 kilometers.
In Paris she waited some hours
and afterward took another plane—also Air France—over the Mediterranean
to Ben Gurion Airport, 3280 kilometers,
where I waited for her one afternoon.
I came, she said,
for love.
Translation from Hebrew to English by Joanna Chen