Touching the Colors (Volume II) Poems of Shulamit Sapir-Nevo translated by Mel Rosenberg

Barcelona

Along the Rambla

The kings’ men

Men of gold

Men of coal

Men of tin.

Pass into another

Time zone

And freeze.

The city hurries by

But they remain rooted

Like the lampposts and benches.

Only the ringing of coins in the bucket

Wakes them for a precious moment.

Barcelona

The Poem of the Captive Songbird

Captive colors

Padlocked flight

Dreams behind bars

Eyes-

Tears

That do not end.

Barcelona

In the Boukaria Market

Vendors sell

The field

Its colors

Its lusciousness

Its ripeness

All picked this morning

While great mother nature

Lay sleeping.

Versaille

Versailles, After the Feast

For twenty three francs

You can wonder in jeans

Through the royal room

But at half-past five

They close the mirror.

Rain in a Distant City

Rain in a distant city

Speaks another language

Falls politely to the

Suit-filled street.

Geneva

Winter

Asphalt trees

Cut off midword

Flinging clenched limbs.

Prague

The Jewish quarter of Prague

In the Jewish quarter of Prague,

The screams are now the whispers of

Tiny letters,

Of children’s drawings sharing the horror,

The fading testimony of the moss.

Between shards of memories

The hand of time

Slipped Into their lives

And then erased

The creases of their being.

Prague

Babushkas

Babushkas

Rows on rows on rows

In their smiling wooden dresses

Faces nectarine

Kerchiefs cover

Their ginger hair

Full of flowers,

Full of body,

Arms folded

So very pretty

But their hearts are sealed.

Prague

People

People,

Heavy set, weighted gaze,

Bearing burdens of the years,

Walk to and fro in the squares

Past large buildings

Of days gone by.

Bullet fire

And red flags

Still fresh

On frozen faces.

Prague at Night

The town descends from among the clouds

Veiling its face.

Screaming gulls circle the turrets

Seeking to undo

Sacrificial spells.

*

In the town square

Scents of cinnamon and honey

Curl from copper vats.

An angel sends golden fingers

To pluck the violins commanding the night

through her gates.

Roma

On the steps of Rome

Lovely roses

Cover their heads

In colors of light

Extend a crying hand

And wilt.

Florence

Locks

The locks, entangled,

Like rosary beads

On the bridge of gold

Where all must pass.

Those entrapped by her beauty

Hope

Wish

Pray

Someday to return

To open her gates

Where their names are carved

And her lock is sealed.

Florence

Masks

The masks of ice

In the gelateria,

Frozen smiles,

Sugared almond eyes,

Selling happiness,

That melt in an instant.

Verona

In Julia’s Courtyard

The door is open

On her veranda

Now, naked and golden

She blossoms in the garden,

Where many hands touch her breast,

But none her heart.

Greenwich

The clock that

Sets the hands of time

Around the world

Must have

A lifetime guarantee.

Greenwich

Action

We can almost reach out and touch Jack Sparrow

His men, on tea break

Laugh with us across the fence

separating

The age of pirates and the computer age

Until the security officer arrives

And yells

“Cut”.

London

Odors of Childhood

In the autumn fields

Of a cold city

He gathers

A handful of leaves

Closes his eyes

And fills his lungs

With a child’s scents

Of time.

London

The cave of gold

Ali Baba’s cave of gold

Opens

In Camden market

The world’s wonders

Wrapped in swirls of incence

And ancient magic.

Fortune tellers

Come and go

Like the murmur of the breeze

They spread their cards

Of future stars.

Talking to Paul

Twenty years on

I’d like to see you again

Wrapped in black robes

While the moist part

Of the heart

Turns to stone

And on it lies a heavy cross

Instead of a woman.

Squirrel

The squirrel’s desire –

One paw outstretched

But the body hesitates,

One step from bliss

Or abyss.

Cape of Good Hope

Penguins

Penguins cry on the white sands

Feet hesitate

Between

Shore and sea.