Tractors

The sons of Doctor Mengele sell tractors
On the road between Munich and Stuttgart,
Whoever buys them will plow the land,
Water a tree,
Paint his roof tiles red,
And during Oktoberfest will watch the band
March in the square like tin soldiers in a shop window.

In the beauty salon of history, they know how to comb a forelock
Even in the hair
Of a monster.

Kærlighedens offside

Kineserne fyldte den med hør,
egypterne med avner.
Romerne syede den af komaver,
og renæssancens lærde
stoppede den ud med hestehår
for at minde den om, at den skulle galopere.
Så vil du have bolden tilbage
på dit livs bane, skal du fylde den op igen
Med hår fra en kvinde, du har elsket,
heppe på hende
og aldrig nogensinde sparke til det,
der ruller under dine fø.

Love's offside

The Chinese filled it up with flax
The Egyptians with wheat chaff,
The Romans stitched it from ox's innards
And the scholars of the renaissance stuffed it with hair
Plucked from a horse, to remind it to gallop.
 Therefore, if you want to bring the ball back
 To the court of your life. You must fill it again
With the hair of woman you loved.
To root for her,
And never kick
What rolls
Under your feet

'Love's offside' was translated into Danish for the magazin Goldberg.
The poem is from Ronny Someck's book 'Algeria'.

A poem written by Ronny Someck from the book '7 Shurot al pele ha-Yarkon' (1987).

The track is from the cd 'Al Xurvot HaAviv' (2010) by Quetev Meriri with original artwork by Israeli artist Merav Shacham, which you also can see in the video.

Read the poem > here

I speak today in memory of the words which once stuck in my mouth
in memory of the toothy gears which crushed syllables
under my tongue and smelled the gunpowder
in the gap between the gullet and the arid lips.
My dream then was to smuggle the words packed like stolen goods
in the mouth’s warehouse,
to rip the cardboard boxes open and pull out the
toys of the alphabet.
The teacher would lay a hand on my shoulder and say that Moses, too,
stuttered but nonetheless made it to Mt. Sinai.
My mountain was a girl who sat
next to me in class, and I had no fire in the bush of my mouth
to ignite, before her very eyes,
the words consumed by my love of her.

Translation: Vivian Eden