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On a day transparent with light
like a landscape by Monet,
my childhood broke away
from a small Jewish town
and glided on ice
blue in the distance—
while a small cloud hovered in me
like a cloud of a…
At the time for words, father, my adonai, leave it in my hands, the
shame that I don’t feel, and assign to me the job of justification,
what they call history.
The fact is that every land has its…
Oh, Father of great mercy
In sunset’s flame there fades
My cradle land
That was once nearer to me than my salt-crusted shirt
Where with my brother Russian
I shared more than once
A measly bite of…