GIỚI THIỆU TÁC GIẢ MỚI: Meitar Hillel Kurman, đến từ ISRAEL

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.

 

---------------------------------

 

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 14^th 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.