Poems by Dahlia Ravikovitch

A Wicked Hand

Smoke rose in the slanted light And my daddy was hitting me. Everyone there laughed at the sight, I’m telling the truth, and nothing but.

Smoke rose in the slanted light. Daddy slapped the palm of my hand. He said, It’s the palm of a wicked hand. I’m telling the truth, and nothing but.

Smoke rose in the slanted light And Daddy stopped hitting me. Fingers sprouted from the wicked hand, Its works endure and will never end.

Smoke rose in the slanted light. Fear singes the wicked hand. Daddy stopped hitting me But that fear endures and will never end.

Delight

There did I know a delight beyond all delight, And it came to pass upon the Sabbath day As tree boughs reached for the sky with all their might.

Round and round like a river streamed the light, And the wheel of the eye craved the sunwheel that day. Then did I know a delight beyond all delight.

The heads of the bushes blazed, insatiable bright Sunlight striking the waves, igniting the spray. It would swallow my head like a golden orange, that light.

Water lilies were gaping their yellow bright Mouths to swallow the ripples and reeds in their way. And indeed it came to pass on the Sabbath day As tree boughs lusted for the sky with all their might, And then did I know a delight beyond all delight.

Warm Memories

Imagine: Only the dust was at my side, I had no other companion. Dust walked me to nursery school, Ruffled my hair On the warmest childhood days.

Imagine who was at my side And all the girls had another. When winter starts slinging its terrible nets, When the clouds devour their prey, Imagine who was at my side And how much I wanted another.

The pinecones rattled, and for a while I ached to be alone with the wind. Many a night I’d dream in a daze Of a few lone houses moist with love. Imagine how deprived I was If the dust was my only companion.

On the khamsin days, I’d sail all the way To the capital city of the whales. I was filled with a reckless happiness. I’d never come back till the day I died,

But when I came back, I was like a raven Despised by its raven cousins. I had no companion at all, Only the dust at my side.

Like Rachel

To die like Rachel when the soul shudders like a bird, wants to break free. Behind the tent, in fear and dread, Jacob and Joseph speak of her, a-tremble. All the days of her life turn head over heels inside her like a baby that wants to be born.

How grueling. How Jacob’s love ate away at her with a greedy mouth. As the soul takes leave now, she has no use for any of that.

Suddenly the baby screeches, Jacob comes into the tent— all this Rachel does not even sense. Rapture washes over her face, her head.

Then did a great repose descend upon her. The breath of her nostrils would not stir a feather. They laid her down among mountain stones and made her no lament. To die like Rachel, that’s what I want.

Finally I’m Talking

Yona, shalom, this time I’m the one who’s talking and you won’t interrupt anymore. Now, God help us, you’re in the ranks of the holy and pure. Who would’ve believed you’d come to this, that you’d finally calm down. And what a riot you stirred up when you took your leave, each man suddenly at his brother’s throat. Hitting, spitting, and instead of you, they hung on the wall two drawings, that’s all, to help us recall. And they called you holy and their faces grew pale, and they called you defiled and oh how they sighed, and they cried Holy Holy, whore whore, and lots...