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With the holy poem
clenched between my teeth,
I set forth alone
from that wolf-cave, my home,
to roam
street after street
like a wolf
with his solitary bone.
There is prey enough in the street
to…
See the Mount of Olives and the Greek monastery.
Minarets and cupolas abound,
Squares of yellow houses like honeycomb.
The valley of Josephat, white, dry fields—
There in the dell, where it is…
Arab Halva—moist, sticky, fibrous. The taste tears across my lips like a memory. Within me Jaffa stirs, wakens from sleep; eyes and faces of Jaffa.
I am there, it is afternoon, a city half-awake…
A fire [of joy] is kindled within me, when I recall [the spiritual climate] when I was in Yemen,
[But] my soul [descended to] abysmal depths and was immensely astounded when I came to Zion.
The Jews…
Again the herd throngs the village gateways
and dust rises up from the dirt roads.
And farther still a pair of clappers
keep pace with the lengthening shadows.
Evening descends, evening descends.
A…
And you’re dead. And you’ve not yet been covered by the ground;
Far through a thousand streets like horses galloping round,
Young and old newsboys spread, rushing about their business,
Hawking papers…
Sheet music for “Broadway’s Not a Bad Place after All” from the theatrical revue Ziegfield Follies.
Once this was the heart of Warsaw—this labyrinth of sad narrow streets between tall tenement houses. Now this is a remote place, an ancient tumor on the body of the modern city, where its blood flows…
The towering life of the towering city
Is burning in white fires.
And in the streets of the Jewish East side
The whiteness of the fires burns even whiter.
I like to stroll in the burning frenzy of…
The slow and green river that winds throughthe blanched street of the Jewish Quarterkept watch over your agony.From my old tableI used to see himapproach your windows withrestless eyes. And as he…