National Treasure

Maya Bejerano


Maya Bejerano was born at Kibbutz Elon in 1949, and now lives in Tel Aviv. She holds a BA in literature and philosophy from Bar-Ilan University, has studied violin and flute, and has an MA in library science from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Bejerano has taught literature at all levels, gives creative writing and poetry workshops, and works as consultant at the Tel Aviv municipal library. She has also participated in numerous poetry festivals. Bejerano has published nine books of poetry. She has been awarded the Prime Minister`s Prize twice (1986, 1996), the Bernstein Prize (1988) and the Bialik Prize (2002).

Maya Bejerano, Israeli poet, is considered by many poetry readers as a national treasure.. She has published ten volumes of poetry, and her collected poems, Frequencies, appeared in 2005. She has also published a children’s book, a book of essays, and two short stories collections. Her poems have been set to music, and her work has been translated into Arabic, Chinese, English, French, German, Greek, Italian, Polish, Romanian, Serbo-Croatian, Spanish, and Vietnamese. She has participated in numerous international poetry festivals

Maya Bejerano has published ten volumes of poetry, and her collected poems, Frequencies, appeared in 2005. She is the recipient of, among others, the Prime Minister Award, the Bernstein Award, and the Bialik Award. A selection of her poems in translation from the Hebrew The Hymns of Job and Other Poems is forthcoming from BOA Editions in late fall 2008.

Some poems of Maya Bejerano

translated by Tsipi Keller
Section ten of Mutable and Immutable
In a cage of blankets and stones
a cage of tables and closets
my banquet cage
a cage of brave strokes
slaps as kisses
a cage of beatings
what a wretched snappish cage
not bright nor stunning
invisible in the dark
a cage of speech sounds and stares
I stare from within at desires
you stare inside
we’ll extend hands
two caged beasts
I in your cage you in mine
cage of gold, pursed lips
the cage of your blindness
let me go don’t be a dog
my very dear cage
haven’t we agreed
from Mutable and Immutable[1]

2.
Who is he who paralyzes me
Who is he who kicks me
Who is he
Who transforms me
Who fascinates me
Who raises me
Who escorts me with congenial threats
Who scratches my back
Who slinks into me
Who hurts my orifices
Who's waiting who's leaving
Who grows in my belly
Whose head
Whose feet
Whose hands
Whence his soul his dream

3.
Infinite sweetness in your gray eyes
Oceana Oceana
A sense of neglect in your gray eyes
A sense of infinite solemnity
Oceana Oceana
A sense of a smiling infinite
A sense of immeasurable wonder
Oceana
A sense of impending shuddering sobbing
A sense of the flat Chinese tree outside in light
Across the room
A sense of a thrilled awakening
Of a starved puppy
Oceana Oceana

4.
When were there words
When did words lie down to rest
When were words exploited
When were they spoken with such indifference
When did I stop traveling with them
When were the words speechless
When did they fail

5.

I talk about myself in generalities
I talk about myself in riddles
I talk about myself in visions;
what am I saying when I talk about myself
see myself in rambling questions
hanging from tall branches
in vocal scales
I talk about myself
in lows and highs
high-pitched and soft
blunt and pointed
I talk about myself as unassuming
I take public transportation
during regular hours;
sometimes, I talk about herself-
the star lady
the unruly lady
when I talk about herself I put on her spirit
shut myself in her speech
when I talk about herself
she's enveloped in light.

I'm back talking about myself in generalities
in silly deeds and frivolities
I talk about myself
and lose my grip
how to talk about myself

6.
Boredom is a kind of pain
and free will;
boredom is a kind of body
boredom is a kind of fabric
boredom is a kind of tension on a couch
the kind of tension that has corroded
boredom is a kind of lie
a breezy summer wrap
boredom is a kind of time
boredom is a figure of speech:
I'm bored-
your presence is a kind of boredom
a boredom of no shape
standing stark naked
boredom is blurry-eyed
a roving boredom
boredom is a kind of somberness

7.
Racket
for Dorit

Life racket, sickness racket
happy racket sad racket
spring racket
winter racket
what a racket in me
a racket of the particular and the vague
a thing wasteful and agreeable
the racket of travel and the racket of love
the racket of weakness or the racket of strength
the racket of brightness and the racket of darkness
the racket of meetings
the racket of longing for distances and fears
and the racket of children blurs them all;
the racket of kisses covers me all over
the racket of festivities the racket of movement
and listening to the racket of speech