Poet, Translator and a Researcher
Lectures
Workshops
What's-new

Sung

Hand Over Hand

Amir Or / Hand in Hand (text below). Music by Tomohisa Hashimoto

Hand over hand. (What broke out – touches.)

You say: to be penetrated, to penetrate. Sea-sand, sand-sea

verging on the very centre. Words fall between us

like something broken. Listen, I love you.

But you, having it only your way, exist, exist, exist.

You are not being paid for this and still,

Mr. and Mrs. Other, you stroll along the street as if

you’re only a name and have no navel. I

act like you, repeat the movements

which you repeat. Tell me, reflection -

I throw another stone at you – is anyone more actual than me?

I say sand-sea, sea-sand. Like something

broken: a multiplication of faces, legs and hands       like something

that’s there. So: enough. Come back to me. I’ll let you go

as often as you like.

Now there’s no longer a difference between us, except this poem

where some sort of a world lives. Another possibility,

not really different: here, you don’t leave at all.

You don’t stop coming for a moment. I open

a mirror and turn its pages in front of what’s already

written. It’s what you are: sadness in front of the blue evening sky,

anger, insult, longing sucking the blue from your chest

or happiness that suddenly spills in front of the blue     of that evening sky;

it’s a voice which accompanies what, looking,

I see now or don’t see. And I see you:

world by world, now by now, one

and yet another one. In this poem that stumbles from page

to page you watch and flicker between letter and letter

and vanish – present in every one of these apparently silent centimeters -

and don’t stop coming, and not really coming. So enough, please,

don’t hide everywhere, talk to me, all of you at once.

 

From POEM, translated from Hebrew by Helena Berg

COME

Amir Or / Come  (translation below)

Music and singing: Yasmin Even

*

Come, let’s make love, not reality.
I’ve got no strength left to die
and to die.
This otherness, yours and mine,
is less dangerous (or so at least
in my own self’s opinion).
No. Don’t even try
to understand me.
On the contrary,
treat me like an enemy,
spy on me nimbly,
be alert.
Write down
all the guard posts,
all the secret passages,
the accomplices,
the assassins.
In short,
prepare as much as you can.
Later
the die will be cast—
and it will no longer be clear
who is the double agent
and what is the motive for murder
and who
tore up
the game board.

Neither will it be clear
whose
report it is above. Full stop.
Read again. Read between the lines.
Recode. Destroy all evidence.
Ready?
Come then,
let’s make love.

(Translated by the author)