Tuesday, May 28, 2013

"Branch with Last Cherries"

I wanted to pick out an Abraham Sutzkever poem and write something about it. When the fit is on me to write, I like to write my impressions of a poem that has affected me. When I encounter a remarkable poem, I want to say something.

But what could I say about this poem? There's nothing I could say. The impression goes too deep and the quality is too remarkable for commentary.

Branch with Last Cherries

Where there is no more my home, no more my mother,
There is my blue home and there is my mother.
Perhaps someone lives who still recalls her face.
Among copper scorpions I will walk to seek him.
Elijah, I shall call him. Elijah.
Him, the Chosen One, who recalls my mother's face.
I will kiss his feet and beg: Elijah,
By virtue of my wounds — please, breathe out her face.
Just for a moment. If it's too long: half a moment.
With the rest of my years I am prepared to pay.
Oy, as to a branch of last cherries, through a mist,
I shall come close, and fear to come closer.
In that half moment, I shall ask: Tell me, mother,
Could the Creator look you in the eye?


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