This poem is taken from PN Review 61, Volume 14 Number 5, May - June 1988.
Poems (translated from the Hebrew)An Israeli Abroad
I get up in the morning
And go out into the orchard to gather apples.
Birdless skies and wet grass
Ask me:
Do you have the right to exist?
I bring my wife a basket
Of apples washed in dew.
She thanks me:
Do we have the right to exist?
The apples are baking brown.
I peer into the steaming stove,
My face grows red.
Do you have the right to exist?
I think of the harp
That played at midnight
When the north wind stirred:
...
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