Aharón Almog
Es poeta, dramaturgo y novelista. Nació en Tel Aviv en 1931 en el seno de una familia que dejó el Yemen en el siglo XIX. Se graduó en la Escuela de Agricultura Mikve Yisrael y en la Universidad de Tel Aviv. Enseña Literatura Hebrea en colegios secundarios. Obtuvo el Premio Brenner, el Premio Primer Ministro en Literatura y el Premio Bialik.
Bibliography
Poetry in Hebrew
Aviv Atzevet B’Yehuda [Sad Spring in Judea], Sifriat Poalim, Merhavia, 1956
Hatzda’a Le-Israel [Praise to Israel], Sifriat Poalim, Merhavia, 1972
Hilton Yerushalayim [Jerusalem Hilton], Sifriat Poalim, Merhavia, 1979
La-Menatzeah Al Mot Sahkan Kaduregel [To Immortalize a Football Player], Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv, 1981
Requiem Le-Zonah [Requiem for a Whore], Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv, 1983
Rehov Herzl [Herzl Street], Am Oved, Tel Aviv, 1987
Im Tiru Sukka Afa [If You See a Sukka Flying], Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv, 2004
Fiction in Hebrew
Ha-Yamim Ha-Rishonim [First Days], Tarmil, Tel Aviv, 1964
Kelev Shahor [Black Dog and Other Stories], Tarmil, Tel Aviv, 1974
Shavua Be-Tashah [A Week in 1948], Tarmil, Tel Aviv,1980
Ha-Laila She-Bo Meta Ha-Tzionut [The Night that Zionism Died], Zmora Bitan, Tel Aviv, 1989
Al Tats-hiku et Safta [Don’t Make Grandma Laugh], Zmora Bitan, Tel Aviv, 1994
Plays in Hebrew
Tikun Hatzot [Midnight Prayer], Ministry of Defense, Tel Aviv, 1961
Dos recuerdos
I. Añoranzas
Añoro el sandwich que llevaba a la escuela.
Ocho años, mucha piedad de madre.
Una alforja blanca, una servilleta bordada:
cómo me amaban los charcos en el camino
hacia el Centro Wolovelsky.
Luego un desastrado tacho de lata con halva y pepino
en las frías mañanas, de camino al trabajo diario.
Hubo muchos: herrero de obra, empleado, chofer.
En 1951 vi un aviso en el diario:
"se solicita conductor de jeep".
Me puse una camisa blanca y me presenté.
Había gente esperando: uno se mordía las uñas, otro leía un libro.
El dueño de un local mayorista del centro comercial
salió de su oficina y preguntó:
"¿Qué harían ustedes, niños míos, si vieran que
a mitad de camino el motor se quedó sin aceite?"
El puesto lo obtuvo aquel que dijo
"Conmigo esas cosas nunca pasan".
II Tuve un maestro
Tuve un maestro que solía entrar al aula
como una tromba, diciendo:
"Rápido, escriban".
Escribir qué, nos preguntábamos.
"No importa, escriban".
Así escribimos durante todo ese año
y así seguí escribiendo hasta hoy.
Traducción: Gerardo Lewin
THE DONKEYS HAVE DISAPPEARED
the donkeys have disappeared from this land
a sycamore died trees of the field mourn
the mountains won’t skip*
the hills won’t applaud
spring is over summer is done
and they always tell you what to do go here
go there come back pay this
and you do what they tell you go here
go there and pay this
worn down you return over the years
like the dust that collects on your desk
recall the things you have forgotten
Translator's Note: Psalm 114: “When Israel went out of Egypt [. . .] the mountains skipped like rams”
ABOUT MY MOTHER
How proud my mother was; my son is a poet
the neighborhood women looked at her in awe, her son is a poet
neither doctor nor engineer, a poet
as if something otherworldly,
with wonder the shopkeeper wrapped fish in newspapers
and talked about the poets in the city of his birth
who the caliph beheaded.
In a dream my mother saw a head adorned with curls
a crown of thorns
summer pursued summer
wearing a bowtie and a tuxedo
tortured Herzl in our living room looks amazed at Bialik
who smiles from the sideboard opposite
I look at the long beard my mother cleaned each Friday night
at the curtains she wanted to change
at the books at the floor tiles
her soul wasn’t tired from constant watching
what she did doesn’t matter
a man takes everything with him
© Translation: 2012, Lisa Katz
I HAVE A LONGING
I have a longing for the sandwich I took to school
for eight years with mother’s great compassion. A white lunch box
an embroidered napkin, how the puddles loved me on the way
to the Wolovelsky Center. Afterwards
a clumsy tin pail with fenugreek and a green cucumber
every morning to my daily work
different jobs: construction welder, transportation, clerk.
In 1951 I saw a newspaper ad:
driver wanted with a jeep license
I put on a white shirt and went off.
People waited in line. One chewed his fingernails the second read a book
a wholesaler from the industrial park emerged from his office and asked
what will you do my children if the oil runs out
in the middle of the way?
The one who got the job was the one who said:
with me it never happens.
© Translation: 2012, Lisa Katz
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