martes, 24 de noviembre de 2015

SIGAL BEN YAIR [17.598] Poeta de Israel


Sigal Ben Yair 

Sigal Ben Yair nació en Haifa, Israel, en 1970. Se diplomó en arqueología y se especializó en literatura hebrea comparada. Ha publicado poemas en diversas revistas especializadas. En 2011 publicó su primer poemario.

Sigal Ben-Yair, 1970. Israeli Poet. Her first book “Not Refined” was published in 2011, Helicon, Pegasus Series. Her poems were published in poetry journals “MITAAM, “ Helicon “,” Journal 77”, “Ktovet” and were published in various anthologies although, translated into French, Spanish, English and Arabic. Winner of “Teva” poetry prize in Metula poets festival 2011, and award winner of “Ramat Gan literature prize” 2013. Winner of Ministry of Culture and Sport of poets outset prize, 2014. Her second book “No Evidence” Hakibbutz Hameuchad – Sifriat Poalim Publishing Group was published in September 2014.



Eco

Me entrenaste para no llorar frente a la desdicha,
para morder mi rabia y detenerme antes
de que el suelo arda bajo mis pies. Me abrazabas
poco para que añorase el roce de toda otra piel,
para que respondiese a cualquier otra caricia.

Tienes un corazón fantasma
y cuando escucho que mi voz se trocó en la tuya
oigo un eco.

Ya no miro hacia atrás. Veme ahora:
soy, en resumidas cuentas, mi pasado.

Traducción: Gerardo Lewin




Even distance has

Lying naked in my memories
Even distance has its pleasure.
You are there. Other women enter and leave
Your doorstep, your bed, your arms.
I’m across the sea. The sea is a white lie.
Foam that I’m foaming.
The sea is a fairy tale, a deception, a distraction,
Mumble.
Thus beyond your back, squeezed in my memory
separate us houses
And fields,
And roads.




Secretry

I am a double-desked secretary, you have never seen
A double-desked secretary like me, A-legged, or in langless -
Legless. Model 803 cat. number 12985. Never have I left
My desk. Look at me through door no. 1918, floor no.
Minus three, I am all tabled up and shelf-limbed – leafing
Quickly from my waist up. I am a desked-woman, I have a screw-in
Spear pelvis, a handlebar transmitting commands to Turn – Bend – Type -
Print! In two copies please, 180 degrees of efficiency
Behind me they say, a beautiful landscape picture hanged. A clear lake
A dear and a sunset. At five past ten,
I rear my legs again – the excellent worker prize,
never, never have you seen my little legs, becomes longer,
Eaten, with the first florescent light of day.





At the mall

At new central station mall, forth row on the right
I conspire to steal
Books
The selected poems by Mayakovsky
118 NIS, recommended retail price.
My wallet is empty and I pray hundred
And Eighteen*
Calculating the sales lady field of vision
And the bored security guard. I want it so bad -
The selected poems by Mayakovsky . Now
I am trying to shake off
The dreadful fear of the commandments, and the slap sound of my bad mother hand
and the my arm bends
Wicked desire, hollow wallet, reposition threats
My weakening hand rests on my own stomach
I am crawling out.







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