{"id":390,"date":"2009-01-08T22:32:49","date_gmt":"2009-01-08T22:32:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/?p=390"},"modified":"2009-01-08T22:32:49","modified_gmt":"2009-01-08T22:32:49","slug":"a-pinch-of-salt","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/?p=390","title":{"rendered":"A pinch of Salt"},"content":{"rendered":"

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n


\n\"Salt<\/p>\n

Home<\/span><\/a><\/span> | <\/span>Issue 1<\/span><\/a><\/span> | <\/span>
\n<\/span><\/h1>\n

http:\/\/www.saltpublishing.com\/saltmagazine\/issues\/01\/text\/Or_Amir.htm<\/a> <\/h2>\n


\nAmir Or:  <\/span>Plates from The Museum of Time<\/span><\/em> <\/span><\/span><\/font><\/font><\/h2>\n

Edited by John Kinsella<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\"We<\/p>\n

Amir Or was born in Tel Aviv, Israel in 1956. Among other occupations he has worked as a shepherd, a builder and a restauranteur. He studied philosophy and Comparative Religion in the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, where he later lectured on Ancient Greek Religion. He is the founder of Helicon Society for the Advancement of Poetry in Israel, and currently he is director and chief editor of Helicon<\/span><\/em> poetry Journal. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\n


\n\u05dc\u05d2\u05e8\u05e1\u05d4 \u05d4\u05e2\u05d1\u05e8\u05d9\u05ea \u05e9\u05dc \u05d4\u05e9\u05d9\u05e8\u05d9\u05dd \u05dc\u05d7\u05e6\u05d5 \u05e2\u05dc \u05db\u05d5\u05ea\u05e8\u05d5\u05ea\u05d9\u05d4\u05dd<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Shadow<\/font><\/span><\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n


\nLike the body in dream        it"s all too easy to forget.<\/span><\/strong>
\nIt grows bigger         as your light sets;<\/span><\/strong>
\nfirst it"s just a cub of darkness  — pulled out of your heart<\/span><\/strong>
\n                  licking your calves with its warm tongue. <\/span><\/strong>
\nAnd when you think of it     it"s almost endearing   <\/span><\/strong>
\nthe dead toss a white bone to it.  <\/span><\/strong>
\nBut in an hour     it"s as large as your step,           <\/span><\/strong>
\nbiting you with each step,      hungry to be.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

The more it darkens     the more you apprehend,       <\/span><\/strong>
\nyour footsteps slowing down on the bridge —<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

the night is a river       an elongating animal              <\/span><\/strong>
\na maw of darkness        a hundred snake teeth.<\/span><\/strong>
\nThe night is water and chill.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Now you"re scared        you appease it     <\/span><\/strong>
\nwith a bone, a hand    or another love —<\/span><\/strong>
\ndoesn"t matter.             <\/span><\/strong>
\nAt any rate     before long <\/span><\/strong>
\nyou"ll become        one. <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 
\n<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Stephen<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Artwork © Stephen Kinsella<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Art<\/font><\/span><\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n


\nThis was the eighth day of creation:<\/span><\/strong>
\nclouds absorbed burning brush-strokes<\/span><\/strong>
\nacross the bluish-grey width of the sky.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Our souls struggled towards the fire<\/span><\/strong>
\nlike beautiful insects<\/span><\/strong>
\nbut the plane — was all forwards, drawing out its line.<\/span><\/strong>
\nIndifferent to the heavenly cataclysm<\/span><\/strong>
\nit passed far above.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

At dawn under lampshades of clouds<\/span><\/strong>
\nthe being-artist dipped his brush in thin light<\/span><\/strong>
\nand peaceful autumn was silently drawn into the tops of the plane trees<\/span><\/strong>
\ngradually matching them with patches of roof <\/span><\/strong>
\namong waterfalls of Russian vine.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

The air’s clean of thoughts;<\/span><\/strong>
\nwhat can be seen — nameless, packed with dreams.<\/span><\/strong>
\nBetween patches of wandering worlds, the world’s<\/span><\/strong>
\nslowly rising<\/span><\/strong>
\nhere and there, in my eyes.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Sand and Time <\/font><\/span><\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n


\nTouch this with your eye. <\/span><\/strong>
\nDo you see it? <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Only a lonely crow <\/span><\/strong>
\nis piercing the morning with his uncanny urgency.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

The trees are still deep with night<\/span><\/strong>
\nenfolding dimensions in their foliage caves.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

My eyes take a morning walk, roam the half-light world <\/span><\/strong>
\nwhere dream and wakefulness <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

aren’t yet distinguished <\/span><\/strong>
\nfrom shadows and leaves. <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

A lazy sun’s rising in my lazy eyes <\/span><\/strong>
\na cool blue emerges from the east.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

I’m leaning against the sea <\/span><\/strong>
\nat the back of my heart: <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

to enter and be entered <\/span><\/strong>
\nis all we do.  <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Twilight<\/font><\/span><\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n


\nSpirits are wailing over the lake      pleading with you to open for them<\/span><\/strong>
\na heart, an eye, a body to feel once more through the animal of flesh<\/span><\/strong>
\nto bite, taste, take pleasure, smell.            <\/span><\/strong>
\nThey remember the bodily sensations      <\/span><\/strong>
\nof an animal, a tree or an object,<\/span><\/strong>
\n                        <\/span>rain heat movement weight.    <\/span><\/strong>
\nThey"ve been here before      aeons before us<\/span><\/strong>
\nas the shepherds of  bodies      among creatures of dream;<\/span><\/strong>
\nhaven"t left with the rest        to the lighter realms;<\/span><\/strong>
\nstayed behind         in forests and caves,  <\/span><\/strong>
\nin the margins of your eyes        and the desolation of night.<\/span><\/strong>
\nBut they"re not immortal       they wither and fade   <\/span><\/strong>
\nto a voiceless howl          a transparent hunger.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Even the shudder they brush onto your skin<\/span><\/strong>
\nis merely the craving touch         of  nothingness against the real.<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

        Home | Issue 1 |  http:\/\/www.saltpublishing.com\/saltmagazine\/issues\/01\/text\/Or_Amir.htm  Amir Or:  Plates from The Museum of Time Edited by John Kinsella   Amir Or was born in Tel Aviv, Israel in 1956. Among other occupations he has worked as a shepherd, a builder and a restauranteur. He studied philosophy and Comparative Religion in the …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3194,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[2],"tags":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/390"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3194"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=390"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/390\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=390"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=390"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bananot.co.il\/182\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=390"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}