TAMIR GREENBERG [9013]

Tamir Greenberg es arquitecto y trabaja como jefe del departamento de diseño y arquitectura de la escuela de ingeniería y diseño Shenkar. Publicó dos libros de poesía: "Autorretrato con un quantum y un gato muerto" y "Alma sedienta".

Sus poemas han sido traducidos a muchos idiomas. Su tragedia Hebron fue puesta en escena en 2006 como una co-producción de dos teatros israelíes: el Habima y el Cameri. Simultáneamente, la obra fue montada en el Schauspielhaus, en Hamburgo.

Heroína - II

En el momento en que la aguja hienda tu antebrazo

liberarás un jadeo reprimido, como en la hora del goce.

Reclinada, por tres minutos te cerrarás sobre ti misma

para luego alzar la vista y sonreirme.

Ésta es nuestra rutina ahora. El dinero, de a poco, se acabó.

Venderé el auto para que no nos falte.

Y por la noche, entrelazados cuerpos y almas,

susurraré en tu oído: mañana estaremos bien.

Traducción: Gerardo Lewin

HEROIN 2

When the needle presses and enters your arm, 

You'll sigh in surrender, as if in rapture. 

Hunched for three minutes, in a world of your own, 

You'll then lift your head, and you'll give me a smile.

By now it's routine. Bit by bit money's drained.

To provide for you I'll put the car up for sale.

At night, as we lie limbs and souls entwined, 

I'll whisper: 'Tomorrow'll be better. It will.' 

ANNABEL LEE

It was many and many a year ago

in a kingdom by a mountain

I loved there an innocent dark boy

but his beautiful name and his gentle body

were never ever known to me.

Years ago he perished and died.

Two years passed since he went.

Like a bird's brief and muted chirp.

Like the dropp of a pine leaf

into a sweaty palm.

Under the ceiling the angels hovered

whose names were like his and like mine, 

and a cold wind blew from my eyes and killed Annabel Lee.

Later, the soft light in the clouds drew back, 

and time, too, turned its face to the wall.

I recall a black-and-white-photo

I wanted to steal from his desk

but never found the nerve. 

HEROIN – EPILOGUE

And so, despite my promise, I've abandoned you.

You who were so dear to me, I've turned you out.

Eight hundred shekels I slipped in for you.

On March 9th I closed the door and slid the bolt.

Still I don't regret it. No. No. I don't.

Not all the money wasted, nor the hours, 

Every day with you was a lesson in delight, 

In the total love of now without tomorrow.

And our parting too was a kind of compulsion, 

As bitter and cruel a choice as ever was.

What I want is to live. Life, not illusion. 

Body and soul happy in their essence.

I do not want tranquillity or mindlessness, 

The sweetness to be had from a pill or magic drop.

I gave up hoping, my gentle pleading useless, 

Wearied by the long wait for taxis from Lod.

And so – why can I never sleep, tired as I am? 

With no whisper of my breathing, are your nights also bad? 

Relief, pangs of conscience, and love's fierce flame

Are very soon going to drive me mad.