The Flower of Anarchy: Selected Poems
Born in Moscow in 1941, Wieseltier spent the 1st years of his existence, in the course of the battle, as a refugee in Siberia, nonetheless in Europe. He settled in Tel-Aviv many years after coming to Israel in 1949 and has lived there ever considering the fact that. A grasp of either comedy and irony, Wieseltier has written strong poems of social and political protest in Israel, poems which are painfully undying. His voice is alternately anarchic and concerned, indignant and worrying, trenchant and lyric.
Opaque global rustles and raps if you ﬂare up at evening, a global jam-packed with mounds over half-buried palaces, ﬁne lattices blocked with earth. desires don't betray us, ﬁrst we betray them, so that it will wake tricked out like useful monsters, wealthy with ingenuity. ninety two let ter sixteen I’m again on the street the place I haven’t walked for a while the sidewalk scattered with twisted human heads screaming or drowsing i am going on jogging as though nothing’s unsuitable. Newly dressed limbs wave from the store home windows sway blindly.
strength armed with slingshots and catapults. We shot burning paper balls into it, condemned it to starvation and horror. The dumbfounded ape nearly beat his sandy chest. His invisible monks whined at his ft. Avram Katz forged the ﬁrst stone at him. The lattice gate stuck ﬁre and the silver foil blackened. Then the southern wall caved in. however the urban defended itself, a secondary wall was once quick piled as much as face the breach. like every besiegers in global background, we too needed to consume supper. the town.
Roosters) we'll input the town that was our urban (we’ll be so gentle that skinny farm animals will hold us simply) we'll improve alongside the unusual streets previous entrances of deserted homes the place we kissed at the doorsteps robust candy kisses. Long-vanished coﬀee retailers will ﬂash their pastries never-to-be-baked back, their scent nonetheless lingering. via traditional squares, via gardens programmed with automatic drip platforms, we'll flow in an abject procession insulting the nice flavor.
search for the song i do know, irrespective of how some distance i'm going I nonetheless won’t succeed in the most course that will get me out of the wooded area, right into a earlier that when had a destiny. I observed the wind’s laughter and a faithless earth sprout with buds. I’m going again. This morning I’ll stroll via established land. 15 p oetry swa l low e d each poet thinks occasionally he’s the final poet on the earth. How else may possibly it's? The world’s all dirt and eating ﬂames, each grocery a volcano. the area is muddy ripples and smashing.
while cellphone receivers are brandished like spears: after they ring the bell, then bang the door with their ﬁsts: while infantrymen current palms and the executioner places on his watch, not just does the cow pass on giving milk, not just does the poultry lay unbroken eggs: a tender lady walks into the ﬁeld and selections ﬂowers to ﬁll her room with body spray, and a tender guy is going to city, buys her a hoop with a crimson stone. The jeweler touches the gold and is transported. around the highway the broker in dry items.