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This urn will be made of fired clay
Of native soil, from Poland, my country
In it are lodged the ashes of my parents
My brothers, daughter, and wife.
The urn will be simple, like a jug
With a small…
Contributor:
Stanislaw Wygodzki
Places:
Date:
1948
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And so its pain is unremitting, like an amputated leg
This ash and feathery void chafes at us,
They say two willows were seen in Mazowsze
wearing green prayer shawls also a market stall
in the middle…
Contributor:
Arnold Slucki
Places:
Warsaw, Poland
Date:
1950
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for I. Ehrenburg
Horses weren’t made for water.
They can swim but not too far.
“Gloria” means the same as “glory”—
You will easily remember this part.
Braving the sea, a transatlantic vessel
Ra…
Contributor:
Boris Slutsky
Date:
1956
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I do not want to see you in my dreams
each night. I do not want to tremble when I hear
a footstep at my door. I do not want
to think of you each hour of every day.
I do not want to see
in the…
Contributor:
Leah Goldberg
Places:
Tel Aviv, Israel
Date:
1952
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We wore each other out today
the sun and I
working in the vineyard.
The sun dropped behind the mountain
exhausted, red,
and burning hot
I was left alone.
We were both
a little overheated
today,
the…
Contributor:
Rukhl Fishman
Places:
Bet Alfa, Israel
Date:
1958
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Shlomo reclines within his shrine
Woe to my days, woe to my nights
Everyone knows how he is
Nobody knows about me
Woe to my days, woe to my nights
As if it means something to anybody.
If I have a…
Contributor:
Nathan Alterman
Places:
Tel Aviv, Israel
Date:
1963
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In winter, the rain beat down on the roof.
She said white was her favorite shade.
At hand he then gave her, his heart filled with joy,
A bunch of daffodils, fragrant and moist.
She laughed: “My dear…
Contributor:
Uri Assaf
Places:
Date:
1963
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Each rose is an island
of the promised peace,
the eternal peace.
Inside the petals
of each rose dwells
a sapphire bird called
“And They Shall Beat Their Swords.”
And it seems so
close, the light…
Contributor:
Zelda
Places:
Date:
1967
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Let the sun come up today,
Let the morning shine,
All the prayers and plaintive words,
Won’t bring us back to life.
For we whose light is darkened now,
Are covered by the dust,
The bitter tears…
Contributor:
Yakov Rotblit
Places:
Date:
1968
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In history class
I draw a Latin-American moustache
On Titus Aspasianus;
Miriam, who under her flannel shirt
Is beginning to show development,
Is making vulgar contours
Onto the sculpture of his bust…
Contributor:
Haim Be’er
Places:
Date:
1970