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

Crete

The Ladle Man

Turning on his axis of time

With wrought iron motions

His face transfixed as in a distant photograph

He takes the wood in hand

And ploughs it into soup ladles,

Stirring the rhythm and colors of life.

Crete

Supermodel

Atop her Ferrari,

Between the hills rising from Malia,

Laden with odors of wild herbs,

No one can compete with her when she smiles

Spinning her beauty like a web until you are spellbound.

Crete

She dons black

Spinning the life of garden and birds,

Mourning and evening

Weaving hues into mats

Crete

The Pig

The holiday pig, decorated,

Heads the procession

Through town.

Hearty, immaculate, smooth and pink,

Freed of the swamp of life,

Soon to alight on

Goblet-studded festive tables

Its meat succulent and tender

Served in porcelain plates.

Crete

The Spice Lady

She gathers grasses and herbs

From field and hills,

Ties them into miracles

Bound in small nylon bags.

Her wise, ancient visage

And mountainous tongue

Promise you

Long life,

Eternal grace.

Brazil

Rounder, barer, undulating

More than this

You will never find.

This Garden of Eden,

All the smooth fruit

Dripping a dark, peach-amber hue.

Brazil

In the old city of Salvador de Bahia

Dona Flor, unkempt,

In a dress that denies its buttons

Wafts through the alleys

Winking to each

Of her husbands.

London

Morning Prayer at Hyde Park

Sitting in the English silence,

Under grey skies,

Waiting for the

Sun-God.

Florence

Ponto Vecchio

Every evening at sunset

The shopkeepers seal the bridge’s gold

With heavy wooden boards.

Then the sun comes and

Spreads it

Generously

Across the River Arno.

Florence

Renaissance

The birds get together

At the bar on the bridge,

Happy hour,

Small talk.

Florence

Street Artist

Soon the city van

Will appear

To wash away the love

From the street.

He strokes her body,

And draws one last kiss

From her vanishing face.

Cyprus

Loto Lady

Her face coal,

Freed from get-rich dreams,

She peddles

Shiny tickets of addiction

And, in return,

Collects the small coins

And prays

For a slice of bread.

Cyprus

The Sugar Man

Blowing sugar

In a giant, flaming pan,

Into a pink cloud –

A childhood dream

So Sweet

It doesn’t end.

Cyprus

Sand

Sand, imprisoned

In heavy, grey sacks,

Lying like concrete,

Forming the border

Instead of being

Scattered gold,

Welcoming the clams.

Thailand

Golden Age

The golden years of her life,

Wrapped around her neck

Like a snake,

Stretching her

Like a swan

Until she pulls away from the earth

And turns into a lighthouse.

South Africa

The Seagull Fleet

The seagull fleet

With gleeful voices

Sail, white-uniformed

Over town

Happy marines

Enjoying their

Leave.

South Africa

Good Hope

On the other side of the

Black barbed wire,

The mixture of poverty and pain

Awake on the multicolored canvas-

Art bringing

Dreams

To life.

South Africa

Table Mountain

The sun sets carefully

Over Table Mountain,

Spreading a clear golden lace,

Soon all the gods

Will come to dine,

No table could be more divinely set.

Prague

The Music

Gypsies play the night

Like a veil slipping

From windows

Crowded

Coffee houses.

The wind sweeps the strains

Down the street

Until they echo in the distance

Trapping the heart

Like the peal of

Long forgotten bells.

Poems by Shulamit Sapir-Nevo

Translated to English by Mel Rosenberg