Yehuda Amichai, from A Life Of Poetry 1948-1994: "For My Mother,"
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A Man in His Life
by Yehuda Amichai
A man doesn’t have time in his life
to have time for everything.
He doesn’t have seasons enough to have
a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes
Was wrong about that.
A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment,
to laugh and cry with the same eyes,
with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them,
to make love in war and war in love.
And to hate and forgive and remember and forget,
to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest
what history
takes years and years to do.
A man doesn’t have time.
When he loses he seeks, when he finds
he forgets, when he forgets he loves, when he loves
he begins to forget.
And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur. It tries and it misses,
gets muddled, doesn’t learn a thing,
drunk and blind in its pleasures
and its pains.
He will die as figs die in autumn,
Shriveled and full of himself and sweet,
the leaves growing dry on the ground,
the bare branches pointing to the place
where there’s time for everything.
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Yehuda Amichai, from 'Six Songs for Tamar' (trans. Harold Schimmel)
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You are beautiful, like prophecies,
and sad, like those that come true,
calm, like the calmness afterward.
Black like the white loneliness of jasmine.
With sharpened fangs: she wolf and queen.
— Yehuda Amichai, Love poems: A Bilingual Edition, (1981)
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You are silent, like prophecies,
and sad, like those that are fulfilled,
calm, like the calmness afterward.
Yehuda Amichai, opening lines to Majestic love song
in Amen (tr. Ted Hughes, Oxford University Press 1978)
I'm not sure I have the correct punctuation for this particular translation – happy to be set straight...
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From The Book of Miracles (Augsburger Wunderzeichenbuch), c. 1550. Source
* * * *
Love is not the last room: there are others after it, the whole length of the corridor that has no end.
- Yehuda Amichai
[alive on all channels]
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Yehuda Amichai//Words for the year, Caitlyn Siehl//The shape of a girl, Joan Macleod
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When you smile
serious ideas suddenly get drowsy
all night the mountains keep silent at your side—
at morning, the sand goes out with you, to sea
when you do nice things to me
all heavy industry shuts down.
Yehuda Amichai, from "Songs for a Woman"
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Yehuda Amichai, from A Life Of Poetry 1948-1994; "As For The World,"
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In the Middle of This Century
by Yehuda Amichai
In the middle of this century we turned to each other
With half faces and full eyes
like an ancient Egyptian picture
And for a short while
I stroked your hair
In the opposite direction to your journey,
We called to each other,
Like calling out the names of towns
Where nobody stops
Along the route.
Lovely is the world rising early to evil,
Lovely is the world falling asleep to sin and pity,
In the mingling of ourselves, you and I,
Lovely is the world.
The earth drinks men and their loves
Like wine,
To forget.
It can’t.
And like the contours of the Judean hills,
We shall never find peace.
In the middle of this century we turned to each other,
I saw your body, throwing shade, waiting for me,
The leather straps for a long journey
Already tightening across my chest.
I spoke in praise of your mortal hips,
You spoke in praise of my passing face,
I stroked your hair in the direction of your journey,
I touched your flesh, prophet of your end,
I touched your hand which has never slept,
I touched your mouth which may yet sing.
Dust from the desert covered the table
At which we did not eat
But with my finger I wrote on it
The letters of your name.
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Yehuda Amichai, from 'Six Songs for Tamar' (trans. Harold Schimmel)
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🕎✡️Yes, its gonna be Yehuda Amichai in the queue today. If you follow me, you know I ❤️ Amichai!!✡️🕎
I also posted a queue a couple of months ago with the poems of Almog Behar, a wonderful Mizrahi Jewish poet. You can check those poems out here
And for V.G. --I'm lighting a candle for your family members today💔
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[…] My body is a dry dock
for what is called my soul. My body
will be dismantled and my soul
will go out to sea, its form the form of the body
in which it was, its form the form of the sea,
the form of the sea the form of my body.
Yehuda Amichai, tr. Ruth Nevo, Travels
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“The sun thought that Jerusalem was a sea
and set in her: a terrible mistake.”
― Yehuda Amichai, The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai
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