As For the World
As for the world,
I am always like one of
Socrates’ disciples,
Walking by his side,
Hearing his opinions and histories;
It remains for me to say:
Yes, Yes, it is like that.
You are right again,
Indeed your words are true.
As for my life,
I am always like Venice:
Whatever is mere streets in others
Within me is a dark streaming love.
As for the cry, as for the silence,
I am always a shofar:
All year long hoarding its one blast
For the Terrible Days.
As for action,
I am always like Cain:
Nomad
In the face of the act, which I will not do,
Or, having done,
Will make it irredeemable.
As for the palm of your hand,
As for the signals of my heart
And the plans of my flesh,
As for the writing on the wall,
I am always ignorant;
I can neither read nor write
And my head is like the
Heads of those senseless weeds,
Knowing only the rustle and drift
Of the wind
When a fate passes through me
To some other place.
by Yehuda Amichai
From Poems by Yehuda Amichai
Harper and Row, 1969
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