Tamir Greenberg

Tamir Greenberg Poems

To you who sleep on street corners,
hugging a bottle of vodka and scratching in your bitterness,
tottering drunk at intersections, bumming a shekel, a cigarette or gum,
challenging an attaché case and an SUV,
...

For eighteen entire days
we abandoned our bodies to the joy of love
and suddenly you went away: forces stronger
than the warmth of my body summoned you.
...

You, pure wickedness, sublime perpetuum mobile of agony, destruction, and bereavement,
Have you blessed progress, which perfects your language to the level of art?
Bless, wickedness, the wonderful airplane, lump of black steel
Carried on delicate streams of air, its greased belly loaded
...

4.

I ask nothing
that Nature, in its grace, can't
yield, and even in that,
I wish for a commonplace thing.
...

5.

If a moth comes through the window of my room
and sheds from its wings yellow dust on my notebook -
is this a sign?
If I wake at night from a troubled sleep
...

6.

1.

In John Donne's poem about
the second anniversary
...

Today my grandma Rachel turned fifteen
and the saliva drooling from her mouth
is but a wondrous, diaphanous thread,
a path of light, a boat for drunken angels
...

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
...

I can't write about love.
I'll write words. Here, I've written:
'Love.' I could become absorbed describing the warmth
in the pores of the skin. In all of them. The pores
...

Having written so much poetry
I learn the true way of love,
in particular, all that concerns
white doors whose edges are gold, their weight ivory,
...

I sailed north. Maybe west.
I can't remember.
Beyond the cliff boys landed on my shoulder,
intimating a gray secret. I laughed a lot.
...

I've touched the asphalt, but didn't pray.
I uttered words and let the wind
come in through my shirt.
My fingers felt a white pebble
...

Theft, drugs, drunkenness – that is the sum of me,
And some dank morning my fate will catch up with me.
Without a moment's doubt I'll stab a friend, a cop, a tart,
My blood streaming white. Nothing else soothes the heart.
...

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.
...

Solitude endlessly driving you on,
Every foundation you'd smash if you could,
You're bent on destruction, body and soul,
Like child overjoyed at the new game ahead.
...

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.
...

You never have loved me. No.
Not in the morning kiss on the beach
And not in the warmth of a tumbled bed.
What to me was the entire sea, with its terrible depths,
...

19.

More than anything I hated death.
No, not death. The dead. I mean,
just one dead. I mean, a dark haired boy.
I mean - I didn’t hate. I loved.
...

Tamir Greenberg Biography

Curriculum Vita - Tamir Greenberg Born in 1959. Architect, Poet, Playwright. Head of Architecture Department at the Technical College of Shenkar University. 1986 – His play, “Mizmor le’David” (“Hymn to David”) is staged at the Acre Theater Festival. The play won several awards, as well as accolades from print media, T.V., and radio. 1992 – Published a book of poetry: “Self-Portrait with Quantum and A Dead Cat”. The book won the prestigious “Luria award” for poetry, and the “Tel-Aviv foundation award”, and enthusiastic reviews in the media. 2000 - Published a second book of poetry: “The Thirsty Soul”, to rave reviews. 2001 – Won “The Prime Minister Award”, one of the most prestigious awards in Israel, given once a year to poets and writers. 2001- “En Paper de Vidre” – A book of his translated poems published in Barcelona, by “Enciclopedia Catalana” publishers. 2007- The play, 'Hebron', which deals with the Israely-Palestinian conflict. The play was staged in June 2007 by a co-production of the Israely national theatre, 'Habima', and 'The Cameri Theatre'. The play has been translated into English, Arabic, French and German. Greenberg publishes very often articles in the 'Ha'aretz' most prestigious newspaper in Israel, dealing with litherature and culture. Greenberg has participate in many internatinal poetry festivals in Israel and abroad. Greenberg's poetry has been translated into many languages, such as English, French, German, Spanish, Catalane, Italian, Russian, and many more.)

The Best Poem Of Tamir Greenberg

To You Who Sleep

To you who sleep on street corners,
hugging a bottle of vodka and scratching in your bitterness,
tottering drunk at intersections, bumming a shekel, a cigarette or gum,
challenging an attaché case and an SUV,
to you from whom a balding man looks away and an elegant woman
hastens to answer her phone as you approach,
you, who are the wound and the salvation, the silence and the scream,
slaves of the white dust falling on the city, ambassadors of dreams,
angels of unconsciousness,
who at some time were given a name, and whose cheeks some woman
caressed with affection, and baked a cake for your birthday,
you who with heartening laughter replied:
“Doctor! ” or “Driver! ” or “Policeman! ”
you, the butterfly wings again stained with spittle,
you, a whisper of love and a strangled melody,
you, skin trembling as a black Harley roars past,
you, the remains of a bread roll kissed by hot lips,
you, all the laws of the state and its judges, newspapers, news, ads,
you, heroin, cocaine, LSD, VIP, muselmen
in the concentration camps of greed,
human leftovers cast in the garbage after a hearty meal,
you, with your putrid flesh, shreds of trousers and a broken nail,
pills, needles, lips bleeding a question that will not still be asked,
you, perfect wound sprawling in the crowd, zero longing rotting in the crowd,
here, kitty, tickle my arm with your whiskers, pet me, shadow of death, pet me,
who for a while wore disguise, a name, a wallet and a coat,
who were we, who betrayed, and kicked, and shot an arrow into the sky
with a challenging laugh,
and were we in your rags we would be like you, we would be like you,
and in our dreams rain falls on your faces,
and in our dreams rain combs your hair,
and when we awaken – your hand, yes, your hand
fumbles for the alarm clock –


may you sleep well, my brothers, my loved ones,
and the drug will still flow with passion in your blood,
and someone else who is sweet in your heart will still laugh,
and the city’s face will still be shamed white by your dreams,
and were I a man, I would be like you.

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