poem by Aharon Shabtai

Easter today, and a poem by Israeli poet Aharon Shabtai, from his collection J'Accuse:

Rosh Hashanah

Even after the murder
of the child Muhammad on Rosh HaShana
the paper didn't go black.
In the same water in which the snipers
wash their uniforms
I prepare my pasta,
and over it pour
olive oil in which I've browned
pine nuts,
which I cooked for two minutes with dried tomatoes,
crushed garlic, and a tablespoon of basil.
As I eat, the learned minister of foreign afairs
and public security
appears on the screen,
and when he's done
I write this poem.
For that's how it's always been -
the murderers murder,
the intellectuals make it palatable,
and the poet sings.


translation by Peter Cole, from the Hebrew