Efrat Mishori
Efrat Mishori es poeta y doctora en filosofía. Nació en Israel en 1964. Ha publicado siete poemarios y un libro de cuentos infantiles en verso. Obtuvo el prestigioso premio Primer Ministro para literatura en 2001. En 1997 escribió Soy el modelo de la Poesía, un espectáculo unipersonal que incluía música y actuación hablada. Su tesis de doctorado (2006) trata acerca de Tel-Aviv como el objeto transicional de un poeta. Su último poemario (Thinkerbell/Campanita) será publicado este año (2015).
Poems
The Field
Metallic Wing
Pellets of Glass
Theonewhosprangup
Ballad of the Wise Efrat
Also on this site
The Importance of Lightness
Review by Yochai Oppenheimer.
I am the Model of Poetry
Article by Galia Yahav.
Bibliography
In Hebrew
The Physical Mouth (Ha-pe ha-fizi), Ha-kibbutz ha-meuchad, 2002.
Bites of Small Fish (Neshikhot shel dagim qtannim), Even Hoshen, 1999.
As Far As Efrat (Mi-merxaqqey Efrat), Ha-kibbutz ha-meuchad, 1996.
Efrat Mishori, Poems 1990-1994 (Efrat Mishori, Shirim 1990-1994), Hotza’a ‛atzmit, 1994.
Ala metálica
- ¿Qué es eso a lo que te refieres, madre?
Un ojo iluminado en la húmeda oscuridad del túnel.
¿Qué es lo que planeas, madre?
Una cabeza titilante que me mira con reproche.
- No me refiero a nada, hija,
herida flecha, mano extendida, cercenada oreja.
No planeo nada, hija,
cuerpo desmembrado hiere la morada del pavor.
- ¿Qué es eso que ahuyentas, madre?
Un asa envuelta en un extraño trozo de piel.
¿Qué es eso que esgrimes, madre?
Un ala metálica que golpea en su estructura.
- No ahuyento nada, hija,
rombo desesperado, abierta boca, corona enferma.
No esgrimo nada, hija,
muslo infantil, cansada bandera, mejilla abatida.
- ¿Qué es eso que persigues, madre?
Una infancia sumergida en un barril de cieno.
¿Qué es eso que ocultas, madre?
Un hilo rojo que se descuelga desde el techo.
- No persigo nada, hija,
tembloroso marco, rodilla floja, debilitado dedo.
No oculto nada, hija,
cuchillo lavado, piso limpio, brazo vendado.
Traducción: Gerardo Lewin
METALLIC WING
“What is it that you mean, mother,
Eye lit in a moist tunnel of dark –
What is it that you scheme, mother,
Head flickering a reproachful remark.”
“I mean nothing at all, daughter,
Wounded arrow, outstretched hand, severed ear,
I scheme nothing at all, daughter,
Disjoint body rocking the dwellings of fear.”
“What is it that you let fly, mother,
Handle wrapped in a queer piece of skin –
What is it that you hold high, mother,
Metallic wing in its socket, beating unseen.”
“I let fly nothing at all, daughter,
Desperate kite, open orifice, maladied crown,
I hold high nothing at all, daughter,
Baby’s thigh, weary flag, cheek cast down.”
“What is it that you chase off, mother,
Childhood sunk in a barrel of mire –
What is it that you erase, mother,
From the ceiling swings a red wire.”
“I chase off nothing at all, daughter,
Trembling frame, failing knee, finger numb,
I erase nothing at all, daughter,
Rinsed knife, clean floor, bandaged arm.”
From: As Far As Efrat
PELLETS OF GLASS
Pellets of glass worked with heat
Sunk deep at the base of a bowl.
Beaten in on themselves, poised and moist,
Shining at me, forbidden, aglow.
Won’t touch m.
Won’t touch m.
Won’t m ove my hand.
I’ll cherish the ban,
I’ll raise it between my lips,
I’ll slake it with what words
Cannot secrete.
From: As Far As Efrat
Translation: 2004, Anat Schultz
THE BALLAD OF THE WISE EFRAT
“Aha, why didn’t you grasp it,
Efrat my daughter?
Aha, why didn’t you grasp it, my wise daughter?”
“The mass of water has refused to reach the shore, mother,
leave me to push by myself,
my strength is in my loins and not in my brain, mother, make haste
and come not nigh my threshold”.
“Whence has the wave vanished to, Efrat, O daughter mine,
Whence has the wave vanished, O wise daughter of mine?”
“The article ‘the’ is close at my heels, mother, let me inhale by myself,
my strength is in my loins and not in my brain, mother, make haste
and come not nigh my threshold”.
“How come you’ve reached the end, Efrat, O daughter mine?
How come you’ve reached the end, O wise daughter of mine?”
“I grasped the tree of life, mother, let me flow by myself,
my strength is in my loins and not in my brain, mother, make haste
and come not nigh my threshold”.
“Have you searched within the leaves, Efrat, O daughter of mine?
Have you searched within the leaves, O wise daughter of mine?”
“The roots of the tree are sick, mother. Let me taste them by myself,
my strength is in my loins and not in my brain, mother, make haste
and come not nigh my threshold”.
“Ah, you sought the source of green, Efrat, O daughter of mine.
Ah, you sought the source of green, O wise daughter of mine?”
“That’s true, because it’s poison, mother, let me err by myself,
my strength is in my death and not in my brain, mother,
make haste and come not nigh my threshold”.
From: Efrat Mishori, Poems 1990-1994
Translation: 2004, Aloma Halter
THE FIELD
The field’s owner observes it with a wise, somewhat distant eye,
Gathering its edges
Within the borders of her open eyelids.
In I burst with a bounty of weeds,
Pouring cheeky nectar into petal-cups held out on its reeds,
And all that I am not in it –
And all that I am not offered –
Overflows
The bounds of the field.
I’m all outside –
A puddle exposed and fearing
Tucked at the edge of the grounds.
The field’s owner bends down,
Sinking into me an inquisitive eye,
While her other eye marks
A field of a thousand bounds.
From: As Far As Efrat
Translation: 2004, Anat Schultz
THEONEWHOSPRANGUP
Where did she spring from
the woman who came to tell me how beautiful life is
Where did she spring from
the woman who withdrew what she’s said
Where did she spring from
the woman who hated the one who withdrew
Where did she spring from
the woman who gave a slap to the one who hated
Where did she spring from
the woman who caressed the one who slapped
Where did she spring from
the woman who wiped out the one who slapped
Where did she spring from
the woman who consoled the woman who did the wiping out
Where did she spring from
the woman who drove away the one who consoled
Where did she spring from
the one who asked from where she sprang
from where sprang
theonewhosprangup
From: The Physical Mouth
Translation: 2004, Aloma Halter
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