Jerusalem Light

By YEHUDIT BEN-ZVI HELLER

 

With burning eyes
she rose before dusk
the mountains beneath her
and all the hills
filling like window panes with liquid suns

 

In this hour
she lights her towers
like candles
or perhaps after blessing the fire

she has raised her hands
to cover her face with light

 

Co-translated by the poet and Agha Shahid Ali

 

 

Yehudit Ben-Zvi Heller is the author of Ha’isha Beme’il Sagol (The Woman in the Purple Coat), Kan Gam Bakayitz Hageshem Yored (Here, Even in the Summer It Rains), and Mehalekhet al Khut shel Mayim (Pacing on a Thread of Water).

Agha Shahid Ali (1949-2001) was born in New Delhi and grew up in Kashmir. He published more than ten volumes of poems and translations during his lifetime, including Rooms Are Never Finished, a finalist for the National Book Award in 2001.

Click here to purchase Issue 01

Jerusalem Light

Related Posts

Apples

April 2024 Poetry Feature: New Metamorphoses

CARLIE HOFFMAN
I know it’s October because I wear / shoes without socks. The air is good / to me & I sweat less through my shirts. / Entire days of trees on campus, of stray geese / crowding the grass near the traffic / circle like groupies, as if / the honking cars were a rock band.

Saturday

HANNAH JANSEN
At the laundromat the whir of machines, / whorled & busy, the pleasure & difficulty / of stillness     Waiting, sockless, I aspire to be / the cross-legged woman reading a magazine, / settled into her corner of time     I like her gray braid, / the way her skin sings.

two white daisies next to each other

Translation: Poems from The Dickinson Archive

MARÍA NEGRONI
No—posthumous—inquiry will manage—never—to see what I wrote. What I lost each time—to / discover what a home is: stiff body inside the openness it has created. No one will know how / much I insisted, how much I demanded—and with no defenses.