Meteor

Abraham Regelson

1.Sultry days, roaring seas
a fugue of azure peaks,
flashing circlets explode boiling foam on the beach;
Creeping vines, purple flowers struggling --
the city children dwelling
gardens and homes, smoothly formed,
grace the gleaming sand,
a sun-cleansed purity inhabits their form,
laborers in the Northern Zone,
Jaffa, the fulcrum,
our arm of iron,
our passage to the sea
assembling a vision of our navy;
Virginal heavens sound forth their purity.
Snowlight -- then, dusk suddenly,
he is gone,
eclipsed,
our nation's heart,
brotherhood,paternal love,
A Traveller, wandering his path --
an ashen, crooked walking-stick 'neath his clothes
eyes fondly sparkling,
worried, wrinkled, suddenly laughing,
trustee of benevolence
sufferance,
mouthing wisdom,
his shoulders bear our people's suffering
our people's claims --
Awake, full of joyful yearning,
and here, worn and crumbling
he's still running,
days transforming,
and he is gone.

2.

So lonely
the sweet fragrance of sacrificeis cheering --
munificence to the populace.
Hermits on a solitary mountaintop interred
by the population below observed,
at the dawn a shooting star,
Honey throated warblers,
visting his mountaintop lair,
cypress-pines whispering the air.
No flowers on his grave,
nor prayers, his soul to save.
A simple man
an empty trifle,
all in vain,so simple
he fell, and was gone.
At the gate, his corpse,
Jerusalem,
a dreadful throng,
transported to his tomb.
Earthy clods on his casket darkly tapping,
below his fleshly tomb imparting mercy, wisdom,
naught but dust remains,
tears and widows weeds
Drowned, an elixer of tears!
We take what we need
the breath of love, country lore,
information, power,
honoring our independance,
vital belonging,
gaurding, protecting, nursing,
shaken, the old ways are broken,
a sudden abduction,
worlds in collision.

3.

Midnight on the mountain,
distant rumblings from the town,
stellar majesty,
rhythmic echolic measures against sea haze,
pestle of soul on mortar of man,
our auditory mechanism,
but silent, no hint of light
a darkened closet.
Such a man, in Springtime, all unbent?
Like deep etched stone tablets,
a vagabond, crowned in speculations,
bound equally in adoration and lamentations
they follow him?
And then I knew the truth --
hidden in the earth,
blended with the land -- our land,
the musical rhythm of our land.
Wondrous stars,
language tremulous, ineluctable
union eternal
'twixt man and spheres musical
(a mere fancy, lovers clasping hands,
boneless hands),
She addressed the Meteor:
"What joyful land?
Sanctified this day,
through dance eternal?"
Wandering vagabonds:
"Cut off, in life,
today God returned
I'm surprised you know me,
I'm enormously gratified
your singing supplications
consummate my existence.
On the Sixth Day, the Craftsman consummated perfection,
Yes, his passion touched Heaven.
A race, a family, a sacred stem --
the living plant,
shifting scrolls, the time of legends,
living seas flowing,
a pregnant moment
swallows me;
ebb and flow of history,
not in vain,
overwhelmed by eternity.
Good fortune!
Like lilies in bloom,
your sparkling eyes --
alone, you've won the prize;
a balanced mind,time,
place and nature all aligned,
delightfully refined;
at one with locust and blossom,
beautious days midst joyful, silent stars,
and moon --
a boastful genius,
my firstborn.
Sacrificed, all the firstborn --
butchered, day by day, sunrise to sunset, sacrificed,
flying sparks illume their pain,
from the Temple's sword,
exhausted.
His passion for the burning bush,
the consummation of sexual passion,
hidden, mutual devotion.
Sing along with me, exist,
there's justice in his death,
the very instant,
in what is real, the heart of existence.
Our maternal diaspora,
our yearning eternal,
our birthright,
our great treaure, from the prophets,
a thousand thousand generations, uplifting souls,
an ode of thanks, a song of exaltation,
a song of completion, one with the land,
our land's pregnant womb
glorious, fruitful fortune
her dew craves human throngs,
thirsts for them, teeming like hordes of stars."
The Land lies still.
The ancient undead circle luxuriantly round
like firefly-columns
by the side of the road, crickets
a war of plucked viols --
a growing sea.

Translated by Jerome Raymond Kraus (2008)©
Copyright Jerome Raymond Kraus (2008)