I am a poet exiled
to fields of color.
Seeds
words in the furrow
of the brush
sprout rhymed lines
upon soft canvases
fertilize them
with pigments,
make pictures grow.
I am a painter exiled
from fields of color.
I assemble
words fallen
from heaven
like rebel angels
like rebel angels
I arrange urgent letters
on restless sheets,
build spectacles there.
from districts of love
to a land
of rain colors,
to sign-filled spaces.
I am doomed to collect
in a charity box
scraps of spirit
from reality's back rooms
to satisfy my soul
Translated by:
Anthony Rudolf
from "Images Reproduced", Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1999 the poem "exile"