#gabriel preil

[power-chords]

The Record by Gabriel Preil, translated by Grace Schulman

The poet reads lines about the credences of summer. The glass in his hand hides And rekindles a small fire; a delicate wisdom flares; the beauty of things cannot be exhausted.

but the voice of the poet recalls a shadowy sailor cast up on a desolate shore far from every certainty

#‘CAUSE PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT THEY’RE GONNA GET AWAY FOR THE SUMMERRRRR (j/k. but not really) #gabriel preil #grace schulman #poetry #yiddishkeyt #heat 2 midrash

[forsoothsayer]

Self-Courtesy by Gabriel Preil

I was a boat, and well at anchor In a pink fishing village in Maine- And not some woodchip adrift and pale On the Bronx’s blackheart waves.

Nailed to a flat plain coffee-shop back here Sipping cola through a straw, I’m free To ignore my patches. Here at least I can show myself some courtesy.

Eyes full of a suspicious cloud, In Jerusalem I disavowed My title of nobility. Here in New York I can be A threadbare jacket hanging on my hanger.

#gabriel preil #born on this day #hebrew poetry #american poetry

[matybe]

Nadie marca mi número

Se apagan las líneas de la comunicación

Es, así, quizás como la muerte empieza

a decirnos algo sobre su existencia.

-Gabriel Preil       Quizás la muerte...      (Chipre) 

#matybe.libertad

[dr-treyf]

I was a boat at anchor in a pink fishing village in Maine-- not a wood chip floating palely in black Bronx waters. Nailed to a seat in a stagnant coffee shop, sipping cola through a straw, I ignore my patches. I can at least be courteous to myself. A suspicious cloud in my eyes, I disregarded in Jerusalem my title to nobility. I New York I am a threadbare jacket hanging on an old clothes hanger.

Gabriel Preil, "Courteous to Myself (אדיב לעצמי)"

#gabriel preil #hebrew #lit #poetry #jewish

[forsoothsayer]

Lesson In Translation by Gabriel Preil

My interpreter tried to bring to light The states that went unstated, The methods of design and indirection, The compulsion to explore, reach and arrive, (Once even reading something in my face.)

Above all else she thought to plow the specific subsoil, to identify the bristle of roots, the burning morn of making. There were moments when an image drew her in, like trees in the morning singing their birds, or the incidental orchestrating itself, a delicate length of irony, a longing.

The original, one may assume, is still the original, She did not transmute it into her own possession Or something else and other of mine. She seems to have held the lines with honor as usual, Their fidelity flowing from autumn to fall.

That said, I question how even so careful, cool a text Can be turned mournful, defeating all peace of mine. Had I learned a lesson in translation?

#gabriel preil #born on this day #hebrew poetry #american poetry

[dr-treyf]

There is no escaping my time.  It is Lithuania, it is America, it is Israel. I am an imprint of these lands; and one way or another they have absorbed my weathers. Yes, I am diving into waters that are much too deep; and I am afraid the waters are not deep enough. Anyway, it looks as if I want to lock myself in  with the time that is right for me. No other times shall have a share in it. 

Gabriel Preil, "Another Time (זמן אחר)," lines 1-10

#gabriel preil #better than amichail #hebrew #lit #poetry #jewish culture