Chapter 9 The Page Frightens Me
Iara:
My Hebrew is escaping from me / the words are
disappearing / the ideas are tasteless / suddenly I'm afraid to write / to send
/ I do not want to bore / white heart falls asleep
Ze'ev ... I do not succeed. I'm sending you this email
as an exercise for myself to show nonsense ... without fear.
Ze'ev:
Once the writing brought forth more writing
And the words
Were holding each other
Like a paper chain in a sukkah
Today the blank white page
Brings me fear
Iara:
Sometimes everything seems missing / lost, distant,
abstract / looking for words that will catch what is missing, to bring someone
who is not, to bring closer what was sent / words that would fill everything
that seems empty / ... Nothing will return / time steals my Hebrew / Shadow
captures the words in the dark / enlarges the distance / draws borders /
between languages / between us
I do not know what's going on. It seems to me that the
current has stopped. As if the Portuguese were trying to enter the
conversation, jealous of the Hebrew, and then everything got confused. I have
not spoken Hebrew for a long time, just write, and there has been no direct
conversation between us for a long time, and the time between letter and letter
does not allow me to warm up.
Ze'ev:
My treasured Hebrew is
forgotten
I start stuttering
Become confused
Shadows take words
from me
Trying to spoil
And make me miserable
Portuguese is trying
To enter into the
conversation between us
Envious of the Hebrew
The poor thing!
It's lucky that we
cook poems from my mistakes
Let's pray that noon
Will dwarf our shadows
Iara:
Will dwarf is your addition?
Ze'ev:
Yes. I thought you'd like it. Yesterday, I walked on
foot, and I did not stop laughing at the little shadow of all the people I saw
on the way. The first was a limp, old man. His little, young shadow limped in
front of him. I was so sorry I did not have the courage to ask his permission
to shoot it on video ... - but it got into the poem.
Ze'ev:
Everything seems lost
and empty
I look for words to
fill my veins
-
In vain
Iara:
You, who also have two first languages, you might
understand. It seems to me that every language is a different world and I
cannot connect them. I dived inside the iPad a few months ago. I discovered
inside me a woman I did not know. All in Hebrew. The Portuguese world takes me
back to an uncomfortable place. Without dreams, full of problems. But I have a
life, a family, beloved husband and children, and they are in Portuguese ...
only they are so connected to what I felt before. It's hard to be the new Iara
with them.
How do you know what is superfluous? I realize that it
was superfluous only after you took things away from my texts. What if you left
"decorations"? Saying straight what you feel is always superfluous?
Ze'ev:
If you say the same thing twice, in my opinion, it is
superfluous. If something is too general, it is superfluous. If you tell the reader
what you feel instead of showing him what you feel, it's superfluous. If you
can say the same thing in fewer words it is better, because in the poem every
word counts.
Iara:
There were big demonstrations all over Brazil
yesterday. I remembered that in some places in Israel the police used water to
stop the demonstrations. Here rubber bullets and tear gas are used. Only the
poems ran away from me. Reality does not allow me to be an astronaut anymore
...
Ze'ev:
The poems, like cats, come only when they want.
Iara:
I miss the poems, they helped me so much, and now that
I want them, they are out of my reach. I prefer dogs.
Ze'ev:
Here we have an effortless poem:
The poems, like the cats
Come only when they want
I prefer dogs
Iara:
Shalom Ze'ev,
My daughter asked me to translate some of our poems.
She might try to compose them for her graduation at the university (she's
studying music). So, I went back to them after a long time and was surprised.
There are very beautiful poems. I feel
like trying to get back to writing. I need to find the way ...
The poems are begging
me to find them
But even 'Waze'
doesn't succeed
In showing me where
they hide
Iara:
My thoughts get wet in the rain / roll along in the
water / drive in the streets / go down to the smelly / dirty river / continue
to the sea / maybe they will come to your sea / with stories of ships / in all
the languages / reach your shore / maybe with jellyfish, and sting you
I was a swimmer when I was a child. I stopped
swimming, because I was always sick, because of the chlorine from the pool. I
returned to swimming after 30 years, and then it took me a long time to learn
to swim again. I've never written since I finished school. So, I'm starting,
like in the swimming.
Ze'ev:
I enjoy your writing as much as you do. Yesterday, I
read that professionals do not have more taste cells than ordinary people, but
they do have more experience. They checked their brains on the scanner and saw
that most of their activity is from memory. That's what you're missing-experience.
Watch it, Mister
My thoughts get wet in
the rain
Roll in the water
Sail in the streets
Go down
To the stinking river
And from there to the
sea
Someday they'll come,
inside a jellyfish
To the shore of your
sea
To sting you
Iara:
For lack of words / I was silent / I was listening /
Alarms on the street / Cars hurrying / Wind whistling in the window / Music on
the radio in the kitchen / Only words I did not hear / Where were they hiding?
Where did they escape?
Ze'ev:
I heard
Alarms on the Street
Rising, falling
And nerve-racking,
noisy engines
The wind whistled
through my living room window
Music played on the
radio in the kitchen
Only words I did not
hear
The 'bitches'
Just when I needed
them so much
Iara:
No poem / no conversation / My head is leaning on the
pillow / moving sweat / without words
I woke up at midnight, I wanted to start a
conversation. I had nothing to write ... so I stayed with the pillow ... I was
completely wet with sweat (maybe it was age) and without words.
Ze'ev:
I woke up at midnight
Wet with sweat
Maybe it's age
I wanted to write
I had nothing to write
I remained wordless
Iara:
I'm lazy to work on our poems because you're raising
them to the next level. It's fun for me, but I have to go back to the place of
the student, as I was at the beginning. I do not know how.
Iara:
Sometimes I feel I'm like a bat / to see myself / to
find my way / I shout / and wait for the echo / to be sure that they heard me /
that I have a voice / that I have a body / that I'm not a dream
Ze'ev:
In my poems
I shout like a bat
Waiting for an echo
Of approval
That I was heard
That I have a voice
That I have a body
That I do not dream
Iara:
Where did our poems disappear? / They stayed in India
/ With the suffering / Happiness is silent
Ze'ev, I long for the Hebrew and for the poems. All
I'm reading now is about war, missiles, alarms. Is there a way to ignore the
noise? In Brazil, the rockets also fall on our heads in various forms of hatred
and racism. The World Cup ends, and there is room and time to listen to life
outside the stadium.
Ze'ev:
The poems did not run away, because I continue to
write. You can always start over. If you start I'll always be here to finish.
Iara:
I meant the joint poems :-) When I write to you I have
hope that there will be a hint to the beginning. That's how it was. It was a miracle and only
you knew. Suffering remained in India. Then I realized that before the trip
there was a need to write to understand or arrange thoughts and emotions. And
now there is no need to arrange.
Iara:
I had a poem in a dream / a few lines / and even a
rhyme / I searched for it everywhere / with a friend: "Sorry, I did not
see" / cousin: "Sorry I did not hear" / Strangers / Children and
mothers / No one saw or heard/ My good friend invited me to her house (maybe
they were there) / "have a cup of coffee and we'll find it" / the
clock suddenly rang / and I got a poem stuck in my throat
Ze'ev:
In my dream I lost a
poem
A few lines
Very beautiful
I asked
A close friend
A distant cousin
Neighbors
Children on sidewalks
And when I heard the
clock ring
I woke up with the
poem
Lodged between my ribs
Iara:
Shadow in front of my window / Passing from one
building to another / Tells me about the sun's / Travel / Hidden / between the
buildings of the city /
I got lost. A hard day ... it will pass. I'm really
looking for something to hold on to.
Ze'ev, since we started with the poems, I promised
myself that I would try to write every day. I've been trying and trying for two
days, and nothing comes out. Too busy with relatively practical things for my
father, but even such things could become poems. In recent days, nothing seems
like a poem to me ... So, I write only to write, not to forget that I have the
Hebrew, that will look after me, and will ease my pain.
Chapter 10 When We Write Together
Iara:
They started sewing words / embroidering poems/ There
got so many strings / That now they are entangled
Ze'ev:
That's how it is when
we write together
When we sew words
When we embroider
poems
Strings are entwined
Knots tied
Bridges bridged
And now we're tangled
Iara:
***
Birds
Black dots
In the white, cloudy
sky
Notes for a new poem
Ze'ev:
Very nice. Now you have to photograph these birds.
Iara:
Because of our poems I started to notice what's
unnecessary in every little thing I do and why! I choose carefully what to say,
what to eat, what to wear, what to hear. I notice, even in others, what is
worthwhile, what is not needed. At work, which is the main thing, when
listening to stories, I began to listen more to the words and to the melodies
between them. The stories usually hide, more than they show. I'm so involved in
writing that sometimes it's hard for me to sleep, I'm looking for words,
sentences. I enjoy it and even lose weight. Now I eat words and stories!
I'm losing weight / Now I eat words and stories /
First dish / One or two poems / Second dish Newspaper headlines / Novel is
dessert, or even legend / and instead of drinking I read a Joke
Ze'ev:
Instead of steak -
words
Instead of soup -
stories
I wipe songs
Lick fingers
Chew headlines
Pages of romance
Regurgitate
Instead of coffee and
cake
I read a joke
Lose weight
Iara:
If you don't read the words on the page - they remain
silent / if you read them and don't understand them – they are worthless / to
give life to words / is the work of the magicians
Ze'ev:
Words on the page are
Dead If you don't read
them,
Silent If you don't
understand them
What fun it is to
redeem words
To let the lips of
sleepers speak
The last line is based on Song of Songs 7:9 –" …
good wine goes straight to my beloved, to make the lips of the sleepers
speak".
Iara:
The language of my childhood that was silence / Is
revealed to me like a gift / in a box / It reminds me of smells / colors and
sounds of the past / Summer heat / Boots in the puddle / hide and seek / and
also alarms and shelters / War and holidays / Orchards' Fragrance
Ze'ev:
I return to the silent
language of my childhood
Revealed to me like a
gift in a box -
Summer heat
Boots in the puddle
hide and seek
Holidays
The scent of orchards
Alarms and shelters
Iara:
Looking for words / I find memories in a chain /
memory brings memory/ without words / Playing hide and seek in a distant land /
dancing in a circle / riding a bicycle / A brother who had not managed to live
/ born and died within hours
Ze'ev:
Looking for words
I find memories -
Memory begets memory
Without words
I play hide and seek
in a distant land
I dance in a circle
I Ride a bicycle
A brother who did not
manage to live
Died within hours of
being born
Iara:
Maybe after India, who knows? If I do not lose my
mind, if I continue to be me, I will lose my language. I will come back without
words, without thoughts. I'll have only emotions and senses, as you dreamed.
Maybe you wash my poems and words. After they dry they are brighter.
Ze'ev:
I send a few words
Messy
Dusty
Picked up from the
sidewalk
I Receive
The same words
More or less
Arranged a little
differently
Hair re-styled
Smell of shampoo
Iara:
The letters are written one by one / quietly / on a
blank / white paper / and a poem is born
Ze'ev:
A poem is born quietly
Without wrinkles
Without drama
Without a shriek
In letters that are
wet with blood
On white paper
Iara:
If I had chosen / to photograph myself / I would have
photographed / the magical place / from which I saw my sons and daughter's
heads / burst out/ The miracle of the creation of life.
In one of my births, I gave birth while sitting, I saw
my daughter coming out of me, there are no words for that!
Ze'ev:
Too bad you did not take photographs.
Iara:
Everything is photograph in my mind!!!!
Ze'ev:
"Photograph" is a wonderful mistake: the
correct word would be "photographed."
There's nothing like
your crazy mistakes
Every morning with its
inevitable sunrise
Every evening with its
incredible [t]error
Between the sin clouds
on the horizon
Iara:
Here in the house everyone started writing after we
started with the poems. My son writes about soccer. My daughter, who always wrote and stopped,
wrote about a strike at the university, and everyone was very enthusiastic.
it's contagious. Good illness! I will not seek a medicine to cure it. It's
funny that sometimes we write on a computer on a lot of subjects and then, when
we get home, we are all silent!!!
The poems we wrote in Hebrew / woke up Brazilian words
/ that jumped on my son / like a ball / And became stories / About football /
Got out of my daughter's feet / Went straight to the page / Asking for a
revolution
Ze'ev:
When the Messiah comes
Everyone will write
verses
Speak rhymes
Sing
The cloud of poetry will carry us
Above the separations between us
Unwalled, we will see with our own eyes
The death of prose
Iara:
You got up religious today. Did you see the movie
"The Train of Life?" It has a section where the gypsies play music
with the Jews, and that's amazing. Your poem reminded me of it!
Iara:
The waters sounded like a poem from heaven / the sun
paralyzed them / there is fire and water in the sky
Ze'ev:
There is fire and water in the sky; this is an idea
that appears in the Talmud. It would be better to present it as lightning and
rain.
In Hebrew, rhyming Sea with Water (Maim - Shamayim) is
the most familiar of all rhymes.
The rain teaches me to
write poems
Tells me with its
dripping drops
That it's a water verse from heaven
The lightning brings
me brilliant ideas
Slowly clouds of poems
blacken the page
Thunder at me in their
silence
Iara:
I never thought of lightning as fire. Only as light
and noise. I love the sound of S in the word sun. The rain begins with a drip,
but at some point, it sounds like sh-sh-sh-sh. That's why there are so many of
it in the Hebrew word for rain (Geshem).
Iara:
All of a sudden / In the middle of the night / From
the tip of my fingers / In conjunction with a virtual friend / Words appear /
connect / stick / turn into a poem, In the language of my childhood that came
back to me
You need some quiet and concentration to start writing
poems again ... and there are always children who come in, go out. Maybe that's
why I stay up with you at midnight. I never did that. I always slept early and
got up early. Now I go to sleep almost in the morning, get up early, and look
for some time during the day to rest.
Ze'ev:
All day long I yawn
Dreamy
Happy
Because instead of
sleeping
I write
In the language of my
childhood
That came back to me
Iara:
My beloved Hebrew is also the language of wars / But I
know them only from afar / Up close only for six days / Alarms and shelters /
Also, chewing gum / Vacation without studying / I was not in the army / Also
not in another war / Beyond the Earth
I thought I did not know anything about army and wars,
except what I knew from movies. It's not in my day-to-day experience at all.
Everything sounds unfamiliar. I thought I was writing in Hebrew, feeling like
an Israeli, but I do not have that part, this experience, it is far from me.
Except for the Six-Day War, when I was six years old, in Israel. I'm here in
Brazil reading, writing, thinking in Hebrew, with an Israeli accent. But the
language of the army, expressions, tasks ... it does not belong to me. I'm not
an Israeli who lives far from where I grew up, I'm a Brazilian, who used to be
an Israeli, and the Israeli mentality stayed with me through language, without
experiences of war.
Ze'ev:
When Israelis fought in Lebanon, were you worried? Did
that interest you? Did you know someone who was worried? Have you heard news
about Israel over the years? Does the term Yom Kippur War say something to you?
If Iran threatens Israel, do you feel something?
Iara:
of course. But it is not the same thing to live in
war, to be in the army. At my house, when the wars began, everyone came to hear
from my father what he thought. Everyone called, he knew everything. But it was
from a distance. How to explain? Do you know what it's like to walk down the
street at night, or not to go at all, because you're afraid they'll steal from
you or kill you? You know, but you do not have the experience. that's what I'm
talking about. When they fought in Lebanon, I thought about Shachar, even
though we had not been in touch for several years. I also had a dear cousin who
was wounded. And I was at the university, in a hospital, fighting another war.
Even when I treated AIDS patients, at the beginning of the plague, when
everyone died of the virus, it was also a war. I knew that, I had this
experience. You know what it means to be with a boy and tell him: "you
have AIDS," when it means he will die in two months? I have no idea how
fearful it is to be in battle. You can imagine, but you never know. My Bat
Mitzva was three days after the beginning of the Yom Kippur War. So, I did not
have a party. I was worried, I was angry, I was sad ... but it's not like being
in the country, or being in the war itself.
Ze'ev:
If you are related to Israel, the reasons are not
important.
Iara:
I know about wars and I do not know. And about wars in
Hebrew I know a little more than about wars in other languages. It's also like
knowing about cold in minus degrees ... or knowing about pain following the
death of a son or daughter. Or see the time passing through the seasons. Maybe
I write about it all the time. And only recently, because of our poems, I
understand that I have a connection with Israel much bigger and much more
important than I thought. Give it the name you want: Israeli, one who loves the
Israeli language (Hebrew with an Israeli accent).
Ze'ev:
In love with Hebrew
Has a crush on Israel
Married to a Brazilian
In the land of iron
In Hebrew Brazil sounds like Barzel which means iron.
Iara:
A Brazilian linguist, a Jewish woman, said there was a
possibility that there were Jews in Brazil from the time of King Solomon. The
name Brazil already existed before the Portuguese came here. It's named after a
tree that has a color of iron.
Iara:
I think I always had poems / I just did not write them
down / I saw them long ago / I just did not know / heard them / But now I tie
them / to your words / so they will not escape
Ze'ev:
The poems I write
Are familiar to me
Without words
For years
They accompany me
Like private
supervision
Or washed jeans
Iara:
Washed Jeans - a lovely idea!
Ze'ev:
The sense of touch is special in that everything I touch
touches me back. That's the feeling with the poems - we touch them, but they
touch us as well. It is not clear who preceded whom. It's also not so
important. They are familiar to you because you are familiar to them. Jeans fit
you better and better every time you wear them. When you buy new jeans, they
feel different.
Iara:
Today I received a book by Roland Barthes, Mourning
Diary. He wrote notes, after his mother's death, every day a note, for nearly
two years. All the notes are on mourning. They were published after he died.
You see he wrote, because he had to understand ... some notes are poems. I feel
that every poem brings me some understanding, or simply illuminates something
that is not clear. This is an analysis without Freud.
Iara:
My children sit and talk / different words / computer
software games / songs they heard / stories/ jokes / tattoo / earrings / bring
without a ticket / another world / new news
My children play computer software. Tattoo and
earrings belong to the world they bring home. They do not need a plane ticket
to India to bring news ... The children bring home different worlds, close to
them, far from adults, who repeat what they hear from the children.
The kids who grew up in front of computers / learned
quickly that the world is small / They connected me forcefully to Facebook /
and since then I have been traveling without plane tickets / from country to
country / in all languages / thanks to my children
Ze'ev:
Without asking me
My children, who grew up on computers
Connected me to the network
Since then I've been flying without a plane
From country to country
Haunted by poems
Iara:
We're at the end of the year right now. The city is
decorated, celebrations everywhere. It's also the end of the school year (here
we finish in December) so there are graduation parties, concerts. There's a
happy atmosphere, and it's like Rosh Hashana. It's also time to do
"soul-searching", to look back at the events of the last year. At the
beginning of the year I had the feeling of an end. The children are no longer
children. I'm not young anymore. I could not dream or envision the future. I
was really sad. And now I see myself at the beginning, not knowing why, but the
vision has widened, and suddenly there is joy and hope. Nor did I think I could
feel that poems were like friends. I can talk to them, they do not leave me
alone. I lost a lot of weight (20 kilograms) and began to recognize myself
again. I got to know me again in the mirror. What was unnecessary came down,
which was like a mask. And you teach me to leave only what is important in the
poems. To remove what is unnecessary, to remove masks, to make everything clear
and understandable.
Ze'ev:
At the beginning of
the year I had a narrow feeling of end
In the middle of the
year I began to write poems
And the poems gave me
strength to blossom
So that at the end of
the year
I have a feeling of a
beginning
Iara:
Words on the page / Tell secrets / Lies / Bring new
news / Cry / Laugh / Make Fun / Pray / Greet / Teach / Fight / Silent / Point.
My eyes were drawn to the letters on the page / I heard their voices / they
were calling / shouting / telling me legends / singing me songs/ cried over the
dead / until a point came and silenced them
Ze'ev:
Letters on the page
are running -
Drugged
Regardless of their
contents
To their inevitable
end
I hear their little
shoes
Hit the white sidewalk
On their way
Into the round, tiny,
black hole
Called a point
Iara:
Like a magician
pulling a rabbit out of his hat
You release the tunes
Stuck between the
words I send
Ze'ev:
Here, in this song you sent me right now, you managed
to release the melody without me, like a magician.
Iara:
really?
Ze'ev:
Your idea is clear. There is a melody ... Only the
image of the magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat is not surprising enough.
Iara:
I felt like writing about the melody. It's like the
Hardware and the Software. the Software is the soul of the computer. That's how
the melody is hidden between the words.
I was accepted to Doctors Without Borders. It is an
international organization that comes with medical help to places that have no
help at all or have some help but not enough. They also help with epidemics
like Ebola in Africa. I'm probably going to Mexico for six months, to Acapulco,
to work with urban violence. I'm Already thinking about the colors, the smells,
the food, that I'll meet there for us. I go alone, without my husband, without
the children, but after India I'm no longer afraid. The words begin to come to
me to help the departure, maybe some poems will come eventually. Let them
come!!
Ze'ev:
I like your volunteering to Doctors Without Borders,
and the courage to check the borders of volunteering ... Yesterday, I thought
about the difference between the flag of Zionism and the flag of Israel - the
former is a symbol of Judaism without borders.
Iara:
I just thought we were poets without borders!
Iara:
Translating to
Portuguese
The poems we wrote
together
Reading them one by
one
In a deep, loud voice
Flowing and hot
Recording
Listening
Again and again
Until I hear your
voice
Iara:
In Hebrew I am lighter
Freer
And I laugh more often
The Suffering is
always in Portuguese
When the suffering is translated into Hebrew in a
poem, it disappears, like a butterfly between the flowers.
Iara:
Hebrew surrounds me with memories / tells stories /
that happened / or not / I don't care / windmill in the playground / packages
for soldiers / cyclamen in the rocks / The memories invent my life / my life
invent me / and I invent in Hebrew / a new me
Ze'ev:
Those cyclamen that
are clinging to my memory
And to the sides of
the rock
Did they really exist,
or not?
Behind me
Words and memories
And before them
The Cyclamen
Iara:
The trip to India brings me distress. Mixed feelings
of fear and curiosity, joy and tension. It's hard to fall asleep, to
concentrate, hard to think. I write in order to relax. So, nothing interesting
comes out, and it does not help. I do not think I'll be able to write in India,
I do not even know what will be there. So, there is also a fear that all this
writing will end. I might be exaggerating, that's how I am, what should I do?
Everything in a big way! There the clock will be reversed, I'll be in front of
you 3 or 4 hours. So, if I happen to be able to talk, it will not be in the
middle of the night.
Ze'ev:
Your measure of the speed of writing a poem is
exaggerated: Do you think that every day one can write a poem or two? It was
true for you for a few weeks. At the beginning of the last century, there was a
poet named Avraham Ben Yitzhak who only published 11 songs his entire life.
Iara:
I know ... it's not rational at all. It came into my
life suddenly as a need. I'm looking for it the whole day long. Now it will
stop. we will see what will be. It's all new. Like I'm in a hurry. How long
will I have? I know it does not matter how many poems we wrote. Maybe because
you're so quick, I went into a rhythm like this ... We're both
"guilty."
Ze'ev:
I am constantly dealing with the question of how not
to let the poems and photographs control my life. How not to search. I count on
myself to be able to recognize when I come across something worth pondering. It
also improves the quality of my writing and my photography, because if you are
constantly searching, when you are ready to write you are already exhausted.
Iara:
"Don't let the poems take over", is very
interesting. That's how I really feel, as if the poems are the most important
thing I have. It's like writing or not living. If I do not write every day it
will end, I will not have it anymore. A year I'm in this storm, but I'm happy.
Ze'ev:
To write or not to
live
What a whirlwind
Like in a movie
How happy I am
History of a Book
I retired more than ten years ago without preparing
myself for an alternative occupation. I was really glad when my friend, who is a filmmaker, asked
me to help him finish one of his stuck scripts. When a friend of my friend
heard about it, he asked me to help him finish one of his stuck scripts, also.
Meanwhile, my son returned from India with colored lampshades for sale. Each
lampshade had five points, but they offered him to invent one in the form of a
Star of David, with six points, and he managed to produce a lampshade like this.
I opened a website in English, to market the lampshade around the world. Very
quickly I found myself investigating the Star of David symbol in different
cultures. As part of this study, which lasted five
years, I met an archaeologist from Jerusalem who discovered a shape of the Star
of David in Roman excavations. He told me he was stuck with a book about his insights into
archeology. I helped him to publish the book online. Then I met a doctor of
Arts who was stuck with research about the Star of David. I helped him develop
and publish his research. I also helped an amateur photographer who sent me photos of
the Star of David to publish on my blog; he was stuck with articles he wrote
about the gravestones of Jews who were murdered by Arabs before the establishment
of the state of Israel. Few knew about my strange hobby, but I could not hide
it from my children. When my daughter heard from Shachar
Kadmon that he was stuck with his book, "Shadow in the Water," she
referred him to me, and when Shachar heard that his Brazilian friend, Iara
Czeresnia, got stuck with poems she had written in Hebrew, he suggested that
she contact me. This was the beginning of the writing of "I'm such a
Brazilian Woman", which is currently being published by Iton 77 Publishing
House.
B. Fateful meeting
Four years after I began to write poems with Iara, a
special evening was held in Sao Paulo for the publication of one of Ronny
Someck's books in Portuguese. At the end of the event, Iara showed Ronny some
poems she had written with me about Sao Paulo. Ronny loved the poems and wrote
to her: "These poems are samba drummings. You write about a city and
personify it. Suddenly the city becomes both at eye level and very high. I love
these poems. " Iara toured with Ronny and Liora throughout her town, and
when she arrived the following year for a visit in Israel, Ronny and Liora
toured with her throughout Tel Aviv. A few months ago, I suggested to Iara that
I give us, as a reward for our finished writing project, a hardcover book in two
copies - one for me and one for her. Iara agreed and offered to send the book
to Ronny Someck. Shachar Kadmon also read the book and offered to publish it
for the general public. When I edited the book, I sent each of its ten chapters
to Iara for approval. At the end of this stage, Iara sent the book as a text
file to Ronny Someck. Ronny read the book and recommended publishing it by
publication house named Iton 77. He also agreed to let the editors see what he
wrote about our book : "This ping-pong is beautiful; the word balls move
from one end of the table to the other. Sometimes, there are conflicting ideas
(and that's really great), and there's a feeling that the reader sees the balls
and also feels the wind that accompanies their flight."
C. Mysticism
In a particularly successful coincidence, the two
copies of the book came to me from the printing press a few days before I met
with the editors of the publishing house, so that they could get a living
impression of the final product. They were remarkably attentive to any
suggestion I made. Perhaps they were influenced by the story that I told them
about my help to the editor's father with the online publication of his stuck
articles about the gravestones of Jews who were murdered by Arabs before the
establishment of the state of Israel, because she was the one who edited some
of them.
Back Cover - What it is to feel Yonat
Fifty years ago, when I was a soldier at Kibbutz
Revivim, a poem came to me and asked if I had a place for it. I bought a
notebook, and I made a place for it. Then came another poem, and another, until
there was no place in the notebook. I didn't show any of my poems to anyone.
And there were, in Kibbutz Revivim, a pair of writers, Yonat and Alexander
Sened, who were writing together. One day I showed Yonat one poem, and she
liked it, and she commented on it, and asked me to show her another poem, and
another - until she read the whole notebook. When I left Kibbutz Revivim, she
sent me to the editor of Massa, the literary supplement of Davar newspaper. Six
years ago, a Brazilian poet, a Jewish woman, wrote to me in Hebrew. I liked her
poem, and made comments about it, and asked for another poem and another, until
we had a book ... and I felt Yonat.
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