Meitar Hillel Kurman, sinh năm 1993, là Nhà thơ trẻ đến từ Israel, được trao giải thưởng Rachel Negev 2018 cho việc khuyến khích thơ trẻ và giải thưởng thơ Tu Be'Av năm 2022 của Hội Nhà văn Israel. Đồng sáng lập Bet Sofit, lớp viết của Hiệp hội Nhà văn Israel. Đồng quản lý một số dòng thơ ở Tel Aviv, bao gồm "Du-Et" và "Junior". Đã được xuất bản thơ và bản dịch trên các tạp chí khác nhau của Israel, bao gồm: 'Haaretz', 'Ho!', 'Mashiv HaRuach', 'Báo 77', 'Carmel', 'Moznaim' và 'Al Ha'Sfataim'. Hiện tại Anh đang sống tại Tel Aviv, Israel. Sau đây là 10 bài thơ và Tập Gaza Paris Jerusalem của ông đã được xuất bản bằng tiếng Anh. Bạn đọc có thể tự dịch ra ngôn ngữ của mình hoặc vào các trang của trang Web này để đọc bằng các ngôn ngữ khác và gặt hái được những giá trị đặc sắc của thơ Meitar Hillel Kurman.
Nhà thơ Meitar Hillel Kurman
INTRODUCTION NEW AUTHOR: Meitar Hillel Kurman, from ISRAEL
Meitar Hillel Kurman, was born in 1993, from Israel, is young Poet, awarded the 2018 Rachel Negev Prize for the encouragement of young poetry, and the 2022 Tu Be'Av poetry award by the Israeli Writers' Association. Co-Founder of Bet Sofit, the writing class of the Israeli Writers' Association. Co-managed several poetry lines in Tel Aviv, including "Du-Et" and "Junior". Published poems and translations in various Israeli journals, including: 'Haaretz', 'Ho!', 'Mashiv HaRuach', 'Newspaper 77', 'Carmel', 'Moznaim' and 'Al Ha'Sfataim'. At present He lives in Tel Aviv, Israel. Here are 10 poems anh Volume of Gaza Paris Jerusalem written by him that translated into your language. Readers can translate themselves or access the pages of this website to read in other languages and reap the unique values from poems created by Poet Meitar Hillel Kurman:
1- Peace
It's surely not the walls that make the place a home
only the yearning to be missed, the touch that binds
and it's surely not mistakes that turn bridges into barriers
only trenches of grief dug out of one's mind
and words surely can't create out of nothing
but only give the means
and sorcery surely won't make hands shake each other
after all, the magic is performed by human beings.
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2- The Other Hand
Ideals have dried up, have the brave given up?
(Hama Tuma, Lament)
"When it rains bullets it pours"
he said and leaned back, breathing heavily
picked up a lighter which had fallen
and after sitting up straight
looked at me and said:
"Want one?" he lit a cigarette
"I'll pass, it's bad for your health"
we heard gunfire in the distance
so he stopped
staring at me and said
"long live the revolution, it is good to die for our country"
he lied to me and to himself
scraped shit off his army boot
and at the sound of a blast
covered his ears, looked at me and yelled:
"duck down so you don't fly away"
I'm not gonna scrape you off the floor
I've had enough with this shit"
we heard another burst
a bullet found the center of his chest
(in their childhood the enemy would play darts)
he lay on the floor stunned
vomited the words "it pours"
I took away his cigarette
it's bad for your health
and shot him
so he'd calm down.
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3- Hand Extended
Here, the hand is extended
and the boat is spinning in place
the pool is empty, the water subsided,
the fish are gone.
The fishing rod is worn out too
from lack of use.
The ever-absent feels his way
an ever-baby is born to a prison
between fetters
he pretends to be a chameleon
the invisible kid is blind, can't see
and can't be seen
and can't exist until
he is gone.
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4- On the Bus to Kosovo We Spoke of War
There's no end to the waste
of blood and time
we possess eternity
no wonder people are sent off
to gather
bits and pieces of other people
into heaps and graves
looking back, perhaps
we should have looked ahead.
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5- Bird Song
A bird song sounds like a bullet's whistle
fired from the maw of a revolver
ducks run like soldiers at a shooting range
where do they all fly when the lake freezes over?
A few more heavy breaths and the medic will be here
a few more hours and there'll be nothing left to mend
it's so damn awful to leap into the maw
a bird song sounds like a lovely end.
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6- In the End It Will Come
Look out into the horizon and picture a mountain
over there
right there, a mountain
green in bloom and white with snow
wrapped in desert sand
quite elusive, I know
what isn't elusive these days?
Maybe these are just bloated words
but you're not hallucinating, I mean
it's there, the mountain – right there, see?
Gently dipped in mist
head bathing in a cloud
clean
now it's here
now over there
right there, see?
Now look out into the horizon
and picture peace
(in the end it will come to the mountain).
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7- Separation from Anxiety
Abandoned
in the middle of the bed
suddenly, a knock on the door
"it's open!"
I yell, I lie
and no one comes.
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8- Running in a Thorn Field
Souel, 2016
Running in a thorn field
body thrust by the wind, blood smeared – a thistle's touch.
A space full of air stretched from ear to head
a world full of sound yet nowhere to be found.
The voice of a creek, a leap – feather-light
but slow and steady landing, while the wind is prowling
the hair succumbing to a dance
and in the heart of the field
a fence.
Running in a thorn field
destination already known
blowing songs of forgiveness on every fear.
A space full of air
stretched between delivery room and morgue
and everything that has ever come out – exists.
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9- Louis the 14th Bites the Hand
A deep gaze at the body
a shaft of light pierces through
I am the flesh.
Raining down
on yesterday's targets
the arrows ran dry
we're left hanging on to the bows.
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10- Marseille
I turn left into a small alley
to go around the museum in Marseille.
A few steps and the world opens up:
a vast sea
embraces all whose lungs welcome air.
Everything shut inside a zealous urban cage
inside a propaganda of chores – is forgotten.
Nothing ties me down
the sea whispers
take – infinity – escape
come back whenever, or never.
Pleasure cruises sail out of the port
slowly
watching out for boat rowers
who paddle backward
out of choice –
to each their own eternity.
Is there a wave that could hit me
so hard I couldn't escape my shadow?
I won't know until I stop being rescued.
To inhale and exhale – to crack the formula
how to survive without living by the sword how to feast without filling up on bitterness
how to capture a thought and keep it free
in this wild air
welcomed by a port city
and soaring seagulls' lungs.
Đọc thêm tác phẩm của Meitar Hillel Kurman tại đây.
