Online: Aviva-No

Trinity Journal of Literary Translation | 153

Online: Aviva-No

trans. Yael Segalovitz

Whose time is it like metal, retaining cold and lightning.

And why should I live it, placed on the chest any attempt to escape will rupture the aorta.

(Object, 1)

6.

She had a heart heavier than the ocean my mother and it sank. Do you feel the desert in your bones? The sunken ships, stuck

םיקיר תוֹרוֹבּה תא ,םיבלְצ וֹמְכּ לוֹחבּ ןּמה דרְבּ קפֹדּ תא ,םיבכוֹכּמ ?םירְכוֹז םתּא

.ז

ךְָרבְדּ היה המ יתוֹחֲא לא לע ,םיתוּרּׁשבּ הלְסאַה דע .ריּקל שׁאֹר הבּסהשׁ

הּעוֹרְז לשׁ דבֹכּה הלְתמ קּתנ טלאָוּט רינ ,וֹמוֹקְּממ םינפּ תוֹבְּגמ יּתְׁש .היתוֹלְּגְרמ וּרְּׁשי

וֹפּא ןוֹרֲח בחוֹתּה ,התוּמְתּ ינְבּ לשׁ םהיקְסעְל הז רקֹבְּב ,ךְָלּׁש שׁירֲחמּה טקּׁשבּ ,הלחְלח לׁש םגּ יל רֹמֱא – התּא *** רוֹאה לוּשּׁח תוּמְלה ףוֹסּבְל ינרְתּבְּיׁש עמוֹשׁ ינֲא יתדּלמ

רׁשוּמ יפוּגּ הּלמ הּלמ אוֹבל וילא סרוֹה .עדּוְתהְל יניע וֹמְבּ

like crosses in the sand, the wells empty of stars, the pulse of the manna hailing down do you recall?

7.

What were your words to my sister in the restroom, on the toilet until she turned her head to the wall.

Her arms’ heft ripped toilet paper holder from its place, two hand towels were laid out at her feet.

He who sticks His blazing wrath into mortal affairs, with Your muted silence, in this morning of unbearable pain, You, tell me –

***

Clangs on the anvil of light that will eventually bisect me since my birth I hear

Word by word my body is sung dares dangerously to enter with my own eyes to know.

)2 ,הרישׁ(

.טי

תוֹרוּבְגּ ,םימׁשְגּ לע רישׁל רשְׁפא םיננֲעה יסְרכּ העְבשּׁה לכּ ,םימּה תפּח ךְֹרְּב וּכְכּח ,ריׁשל רשְׁפא םהמ קדּה לעְו ,םילבֲאה ,טבְשׁ רחׁשְבּ וׁשְכע ,ךְתוּדְלי םׁש ,רפְּרפֲא אׁשד לע רפכּ :םיקוּחְדּ םיתּמה ךְיּיח םׁשְו םירבְשׁ תוֹאלְמ ךיתוֹצּוְק ךְדי תא ןבּ ְּתְרבֱעהשׁ ,תחלְקּמה ןמ ,ךְיתוֹתְפֹש לע ךְוּיּח ,וּריעהשְׁכּ םגּ ,ְּתְקרס אלְֹו שׁי זחְׁשמ רוֹמוּה שׁוּח ,ןטְסוֹאְבּ תארק ,היְפרְגוֹאגְּב םוּכּס ,לפרֲעה יבְׁשוֹי םהל ללְכבּ ,תיטירְבּה הבְּלּכל

לע םיּימוּמְדאַ ,הרוֹמּה לשׁ תוּאתְּשׁהה ינוּמּסְו םיּקחְרמ ,רבְּדּמה לשׁ תוֹקתֲעמה תוֹפּּמה טְלפְסאַ יוּק ,תוֹרדְֹש ךְוֹתְבּ םיעוּבְק ,ְתְּחלצ ְתּאשׁ הוְלׁש תוֹרְכוֹע תוֹיְגס ,ךְידימְלתּ לא ךְמּמ .היְרְטמוֹאגְּב

היה רבְכּ הז לּכׁש ְּתְרעׁש םאה ,וֹל ְּתְעּדוְתה םרטְבּ בשׁוֹנ אוּהְו ערא דיתעה יכּ ְּתאַ ךְילא – ןמְּזל הדימֲעה

םאה ,ץיקה םימיּה ץק ,םיריוֲאה רצְבמ ךְוֹתְּב ,יעְמְשׁתּ אלֹ ,אלֹ ,החירְּפמ תדעְרנ היּדקְׁשה ,םיללְּטה ןיבּ ,הדֲעְרנ איה

(Poetry, 2)

19.

One can sing of rain, the mightiness of water, all through the shiv’ah corpulent clouds rubbed against the softness of the mourners’ tent, and of the slightest of them one can sing, now on February dawn, kafir over the greyish lawn, there your childhood, and there your fallen life is crammed: Your locks are full of shards from showering, through which you’ve run your fingers and did not brush, even when they chided, a smile on your lips, you read Austen, that British bitch has a sharp sense of humor, as fog dwellers usually do, outline of geography,

and the teacher’s markings of amazement, reddish upon the copied desert maps, distances you’ve crossed, fixed within Sderot, asphalt lines from you to your students, disquieting problems of geometry.

Could you have guessed all this was before you came to know it, because the future has occurred and it is blowing your way you who are time resistant –

The end of time has wakened, will you not hear, in the air’s fortress, among the dewdrops, the almond tree quivers at its blossoms, no, it has quivered,

האָיקה המדֲאה ,חמְצתּ רשֲׁא הּיחְמּצה התְלּכ ,וּשְׁבי םיעטּנּה םיצעה ,אלֹ קנֲע אוּהְו ,הּבּלּ תא ,םיּלזְרבְּכ דרי רוֹאה ,ךְתמְׁשנ תא םשׁוֹנ וֹללֲח תא אלמ ,ךְכּ לכּ רוּדה .אלֹ-הביבֲא לוּמ לא וֹלּכּ ערְכה םלוֹעה

.דכ

,רעצּמ דֹמֲעתּ לאַ ,יּבל ,באְכּ הפְּרתּ לאַ ,אאאאאאלֹ שׁוּא ,חתְר ,טהְל םּד ,םירירְׁש םתּא םגְו ,רֹשּבה ךְרֹאְל םיגְרּתְֹשמּה םיבּצֲעה ,רעְבּ ,רעְבּ ,ףוּגְו ,םיּימינְפּה םירביאבּ תוֹכְכּחְתמּה תוֹמצֲעה ,שׁאּב וּלֲע הסְרמ הלֲעתְו טעְמ םהּב וּדְרּג ,וּרְקּד ןאָ יא הּתחְכשׁ ,הּרְכז ןכיה לאְַׁשא לבוּ ידי ןיבּמ טֹמְׁשא לבּ .ןמְּזה ךְוֹתּ לא תוֹחאָ

no, the planted trees have dried out, the growing flora have expired, the earth has vomited its heart, and it’s enormous breathing your breath, light had descended like iron, so refined, filled its space below the whole world has broken so, facing Aviva-no.

24.

Noooooo, pain, don’t let go, my heart, don’t cease in sorrow, Blood, boil, flare, murmur And body, burn, burn, the nerves winding through the flesh, and you too muscles, catch fire, bones chafing the innards, pinch, scratch them some, so that abscess will emerge thus I shan’t ask where her memory is – what might it mime, thus I shan’t let slip between my hands a sister into time.

160 | Irish

Invictus

William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

This is a translation from English into Irish.

In memory of Madiba, Nelson Mandela. (I gcuimhne ar Nelson Mandela. Ar dheis De go raibh a anam uasal.)