By Anna Polibina-Polansky

English Poetic Translations from Ivrite,

                out of Lea Goldberg

***

The silence through the space, will fight the tempest,

The cat's eyes do reflect the sheen of knives.

Oh night! The cradle of the constellations...

The broad'ning time inspirits hours' hives.

The dew reminds a meeting. It is snatching

You, and the lattern leads to sunken jails.

The golden stick, for mightiness, is catching.

The sailor of the wind, off blankly sails.

The bushes are all tattered by its breath bleak.

The treasure's vapor licks the foamy night.

The city murrs, so wordless, in its treasures.

So gilded is its aspirating sight.

The stones go mist and fury, out of measures.

So starving are all towers and domes.

The pebble goes foam,

At long ways home.

Tr. 2020

- The Dawn After a Tempest -

The market is all broken, in dismay.

The trolleys lick the snowdrafts of hay.

The clock at distant towers, goes loud.

Of its long, tolling work, it is so proud.

The chiming flies about. The streets smell drops.

Oh those petty portions of sweet crops!

From  distant bridges, monuments wet-eyed

Drop all beneath, their ever-lasting sight.

The tree is breathing and exhaling dawns.

The name of lightnings is devouring lawns.

Oh summer pearls descending all about -

In clouds!

Tr. 2020