Tali Cohen Shabtai, Israel new member

Tali Cohen Shabtai, Israel
Member of IWA BOGDANI

Tali Cohen Shabtai, is a poet she was born in Jerusalem Israel
Tali began writing poetry at young age of six, she was an excellent literature student.
She began Publishing her impressions in the school’s newspaper.
She firstly published her poetry in a respectful literature magazine in Israel the “Moznayim”at age 15

Tali has written three poetry books:

“Purple diluted in a black’s thick “ bilingual 2007
“Protest” bilingual 2012
“Nine years away from you”2018,
Two of her books are bilingual , and the third book  “Nine years from you” is scheduled to be published in foreign edition abroad.
Tali’s poems expresses spiritual and physical exile. Cohen is studying her exile and freedom paradox, Her cosmopolitan vision is very obvious in her writing Cohen Shabtai lived years in Oslo Norway, the USA. She is very prominent as a poet with special lyric”she doesn’t give herself easily, but subject to her own rules”.
Tali studied at the “David Yellin College of Education” for a bachelor’s degree. She is a member of the Hebrew Writers Association and the Israeli Writers Association in the state of Israel. In 2014, Cohen Shabtai also participated in a Norwegian documentary about poets’ lives called “The Last Bohemian”- “Den Siste Bohemien”,and screened in the cinema in Scandinavia.

By 2020, her fourth book of poetry will be published which will also be published in Norwegian.

To exit out the soul translated by Eitan Medini

I have to pave
This road
Free of chasms

Otherwise
My wings will be
Split
Immediately

And my cloths
Cloths of
A prisoner

Twotranslated by Eitan Medini

I don’t listen to songs
In them the singer thinks in double
And indeed
Two half exist in the buttock
In the brain

Last night
The salesman offer me
at the books’ desk
A book of collection of love songs
And I refused it.
They are not different
Than nice letters which granted
A roof for two
Between a sender and recipient
Most of them an absence of the
Sender exists

No need for this sensitivity to come
To an expression
And to an accusations of humanity
Since the singles
Are many

But with this to animate a lover in writing
Is an action with
Few steps
And often
Even overlapping
From – describing (the lover) by the elements
As of / altar / idol, holy of holy
Ritual and even a binding
Using an exaggeration like this is a curiosity
And a distortion

If we will confess this
kind of necessity
To his second half according to the saying
Of ‘the type of the most love stimulus ‘
Is the one which provides the bodily proximity

And love indeed distorting
The deficiencies

So let assume you understood
My approach
To the term love.

Salonnière translated by Eitan Medini

I live with a vieille dame
Among her Prozac and cigarettes
She welcomed me by a first introduction
With Anne Sexton’s book in 1967

She gave me a contract to stay neurotic in her
House
And behave like a
Petite Muette beside her bedroom

At that time she looked like a hostess in a house of ill
Repute,
Walking like a salonnière in her salon littéraire (never with visitors)
With that appearance of maison-close, then
She invited men to clean her old furniture
From new dust

I met her first seven years ago,
The time it took for her foundation
To blend un parfume
To her taste
Less than the time it took me to find
The favored delicacy for my
Lady cat

I barely could read her language, but –
We were aware to the provocation of
Douleur-pain.

She would not be surprised by any disgrace
I would bring into my life
Neither by any sensation I would choose to have
In my colors le matin.

She warned me from being a
Poète maudit – a cursed poet.
I watched her, I knew.

It all started with a clothes cuprard.

A nose with multiple facestranslated by Eitan Medini

When I lean
My
Face downward
The peak of my nose
Looks like upturned nose

When
I turn sideward
My nose
Is long
And sharpen

When I am smiling
Straightforward
To an item
In front of me
My nose looked
Rounded

I do have a multi faces nose

My cattranslated by Eitan Medini

There is a strange silence
Somebody died on the sofa
May be it’s not the one by me who died
When I counted the number of the dead
In this silence

She has stolen the death, very fast
In the breaks between
Inhalation and exhalation
No number of soldiers will
Worship the death of a newborn
Of 4.9 kg
Who has been to ashes
I have been with her
One year