ARAMAIC by Elisha Porat

On a night's drive in an open Jeep
you go past signs on corrugated tin:
Rashaya, Hatzbaya, Kafraya.
As if I sail and travel
beyond times, in a living Aramaic land.
Only the field radio keeps me posted:
an escort, wounded, a chopper landing.
And someone, agitated, beset by horrors,
hurts both my ears:
shrilly, with a trembling sputter,
bungles the Hebrew.

Translated from the Hebrew by Tsipi Keler

Comments

[David Matthews]

Nice poem.

[Matt]

Excellent.

[Robert]

Enjoyed.

[sangeet]

Moving!