Translated by means of Barbara Mann
Now that loss of life creeps throughout
and the pecans are bursting their shells,
I disguise inside Hebrew.
Not anything will befall me in blameless writing.
Not anything will befall me
if I’m absorbed into the letters,
if I don’t move out of doors the road—
shriveled to a small dot
crammed within an O
or into the abdominal of a C,
a semicolon dripping tears
like a captive.
Cherished holy tongue,
now that the entirety is in its personal time
and the entirety now could be horror,
when the orchard stretches out
and the earth is plowed,
I do best what Rilke says:
let attractiveness and terror occur to me
with out considering
that that is my finish.