Agi Mishol Monday Translated by Lisa Katz So what did we have? The sweet scent of jasmine, the painted orange sun discovered suddenly while cutting the persimmon in half at the first volley of light. The chicory flowers' morning blue, the entire meadow, a cluster of snails on top of a sea onion stalk and there was also the word "wagtail." What else was there? The cicada requiem, pink sheep in the sloping sky, and the soft, much-kissed down on the bottom of the cat's ear and that's it, I think that's what we had today. Horse Translated by Lisa Katz Can this be the one and only horse whose skin quivers under my hand? Can this be the sea neighing manes of foam, can this be the soul horse? Can this be the dream horse, winged, eating from the palm of my hand, the Prussian blue horse? Can this be my obsessional horse? The soft foal stamping toward me under the awning of your eyelashes, can this be the literary horse? Oh archetypal horse, cause of all horses, can this be the final horse?
Prairie Schooner – University of Nebraska Press
Published: May 18, 2005