ISRAEL
MOBEN@BARAK-ONLINE.NET
| Moshe Benarroch was born in 1959 in Tetuan/Morocco, between Tangier and Gibraltar. He grew up in a mixture of cultures and languages, Spanish being his mother tongue, attending a French school, hearing the Arabic of the streets and praying in Hebrew. In 1972 He emigrated to Israel and lives since then in Jerusalem. Published books in Hebrew: The Immigrant's Lament (poetry) 1994. The Coming Book (prose) 1997. The Bread And The Dream (poetry) 1998, The Poetry Of The End Of The World (poetry), 1999. "Keys To Tetuan" (a novel), 1999. His poems and prose have been published in numerous publications in Israeli literary magazines, and international magazines, recently in: Ygdrasil, Ashville Poetry Review, Perihelion, Miller's Pond, Revue Europe, Etcetera, Jewish Currents, Emotions, Xero, The Poet's Guild Quarterly, Poetrymagazine.com . His works have been published in Hebrew, Spanish, French, Chinese and English He writes in Hebrew, Spanish and English. He is contributing editor in Ygdrasil (http://www.synapse.net/~kgerken/). Esquio has published his first book of poetry in Spanish in April 2000. |
The Good Intentions And The Bad Milk
They steal your memory with good intentions Then they tell you you have no history that you are primitive
they want their past to be yours so they can impose you a present you don't understand
when you start remembering they try to help you they tell you you are crazy until you are no longer sure whether it is memory or imagination events or television
they don't know, either
but they are afraid your memories are the proof of their discrimination.
Need
Please Tell me that I am right please tell me that I am not dreaming that the mountains I see are not uncanny that the memories are not inventions tell me that all this never ending trip has some meaning Please even if it is lie tell me that my native home is still in the same street tell me that nobody has knocked it down please convince me I am not an elephant and that my memory makes sense. Please I have to hear these words many many times.
The Swallows
My mother said that they were going to return the dark swallows but I never saw them returning I didn't see them leaving and if I did I don't believe I could differentiate a swallow from another bird but my mother and my father promised So I thought it was a very important matter and the truth is that the I believed them just as they told me We were returning to our homeland the holy land and I wondered how we could return I don't remember ever leaving but still I believed. Today I see the swallows are not dark and I see they have not returned And that the only homeland left for me is the land of poetry.
IS
Spain is a song by Serrat sung in Castellano a summer night full moon in front of the sea the girls dancing to the rhythm of Los Bravos. And, you, contemplating them so young, not courageous enough to say the word breast.
The Serene Face Of Death
There is this incredible smell of death in their rooms the smell of rotten bodies or, maybe cells trying to live in this killing world it's the smell of all the pollution of all the drugs the bad food the bad water that we're drinking and all our thoughts of jealousy and greediness and out of all this mess and all the family waiting for this man or woman to die and killing him or her in their way with their fears out of all this mess, a few days before death you see suddenly this calm face coming out of nowhere this serene face of death, this incredibly beautiful look in their faces like you've never seen before and you are puzzled to death, what the hell does this serene face of death means?
Waitress
I don't stare at you like I used to. Ships interposed between our eyes I watch the waitress young and eager to give think of you when you were a waitress and didn't return my love coming with another girl to make you jealous without success staring at you like I stare at the waitress today thousands of waves have covered our sands the foam is white our hands are green and you say "can you please look at me" and now everything is clear, I notice I have been dreaming away from our Titanic, everything is tumbling down I have forgotten your name, your secret name written on your front that only I could see you have forgotten to show it to me you are hiding and you don't know it and I watch you staring at me staring at the waitress behind your back and you can't see her she's the waitress you were. Now here I am an a thousand years old poet reminiscing about the days you were young I was never young.
31.12.99
© All Copyright, Moshe Benarroch.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.