Poem of the Day

A reader alerted me to this poem with the comment, “it stopped my heart”. Of course, I had to go find the poem because I like poetry to have a strong effect on me. My heart is still beating, but it may have stopped for a moment… I found two translations, and went with the one by the author and Ted Hughes, found here. There is also an audio recording linked there, which I found worth listening to.

The Diameter of the Bomb
By Yehuda Amichai

The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters
and the diameter of its effective
range—about seven meters.
And in it four dead and eleven wounded.
And around them in a greater circle
of pain and time are scattered
two hospitals and one cemetery.
But the young woman who was
buried where she came from
over a hundred kilometres away
enlarges the circle greatly.
And the lone man who weeps over her death
in a far corner of a distant country
includes the whole world in the circle.
And I won’t speak at all about the crying of orphans
that reaches to the seat of God
and from there onward, making
the circle without end and without God.

Here’s another one from my poetry buddy, who seems to be the only reason the PotD has been afloat this past week. I’ve been spending my time with my family instead of pumping up my poetry file. I did get some awesome poetry books for Christmas, though…

Lying in Wait for Happiness
By Yehuda Amichai

On the broad steps leading down to the Western Wall
A beautiful woman came up to me: You don’t remember me,
I’m Shoshana in Hebrew. Something else in other languages.
All is vanity.

Thus she spoke at twilight standing between the destroyed
and the built, between the light and the dark.
Black birds and white birds changed places
With the great rhythm of breathing.
The flash of a tourist’s camera lit my memory too:
What are you doing here between the promised and the forgotten,
between the hoped for and the imagined
With your lovely face like an advertisement for God
And your soul rent and torn like mine?

She answered me: My soul is rent and torn like yours
But it is beautiful because of that
Like fine lace.