Poems written in Hebrew by Nadia Adina Rose (whose artwork is featured in the above image) and translated into English by Linda Zisquit.
VISIT
Before sleep
my mother switches the tv
to the children’s channel
so the newscaster
won’t see her
getting undressed.
When I go out,
locking up,
Star Wars
breaks out.
PENDULUM
My mother’s movements
from the bed to the dining room
from the dining room to the bed
shift the dials
in the old age home.
The windows there
don’t tell her
the time,
they hang on the walls
like old pictures
she doesn’t remember
who painted and when.
Even a gust of wind
as I enter
doesn’t break through
to reveal to her
who am I
and what is my name.
HER SCREAMS
Larger than the doorway,
too big to carry
out.
Only when my mother falls asleep
I fold them
like umbrellas after a storm
and push them into the bag.
That’s how I leave the nursing home,
that’s how I cross the Street of the Prophets,
get on Bus 26,
forgetting why
the bag is so heavy.
DRAMA
Once a week
like for drama class
I come
to you.
Nothing happens,
Silence plays
all the roles.
We sit across from her
(me on the chair,
you in the wheelchair)
and at the scariest parts
we hold hands.
Not to be afraid.
HER TRAVELS
My mother doesn’t stray
from the borders of the old age home.
She doesn’t touch the earth
the way a text is not touched
once it’s sent to print.
She barely steps
on the kickstand
of the wheelchair
lest she’ll want to compose
a different end.
Editorial Commentary
This sequence of poems offers snapshots from an ongoing series of visits. We quickly learn that the narrator, presumably the poet herself, has a mom in a nursing home. These poems, then, are the observations and reflections related to those visits. They invite us to imagine this deeply personal space, and to relate to the universal themes of parent-child relationships and aging.
The poems are a collaborative effort between two local Jerusalem writers. They were written in Hebrew by the poet-artist Nadia Adina Rose and translated into English by poet, translator, and art world champion Linda Zisquit. Seeing how these themes traverse languages stresses how universal they can seem. Besides the quick mention of a Jerusalem street and bus line, these scenes could take place anywhere that elderly care institutions resemble one another, presumably in the so-called developed world. Especially in translation, we may be tempted to read these poems as a reflection on the limits of universal themes.
As the editor, I took the liberty of choosing the name “My Mother” for this Halah post. At first, I was struck by the repetition of this phrase throughout the poems. Then, I was especially interested in the way that it is not included in the poem “Drama.” The true drama, I think, of the poem “Drama” only arises when reading it within the sequence. In other words, the unspoken background information proposes new dimensions to the tensions hinted at by the poem. Noticing how this poem relates to the sequence with the omission of “my mother,” reminds us of how strange the entire sequence may appear against the backdrop of life in Israel today.
~Lonnie