Transparent Words - Poetry



5 Poems by Tammara Or Slilat







I bought cherries in the marketplace, "Only fifteen shekels a kilogram,

and Shabat Shalom, I'm going home". I sorted, washed and piled

them in a bowl: glowing red, velvety crimson and sunset orange,

they are the pink cheeked boys of Caravaggio, lying gracefully

on my plate, giving me their innocent look. You're goners,

I sigh and bite, I've paid the ransom with my gold, now

you're mine, love boys, for a quick one time pleasure.







Endangered whales roam

the gap between my inner and outer skin,

the one that pleases the world

with its silky perfection. But

sometimes the peel of the ocean breaks

and a whale emerges, flying through the air

and although we wait

for the fall, and although,

it's inevitable, that moment of

















                                                                                                                             is worth it all






The Tiger



I dreamt of a man who was angry with a tiger.

I'll say louder:  a tiger.

He put his hand, his bare hand, right into the mouth

of the astonished beast, then his head,

wearing the tiger's jaws like a tight shirt.

Undressing from the choking tiger he pulled

out a sandwich, snatched from him before,

and started chewing peacefully.

I realized I was still afraid

of tigers, but of this one

not anymore.      






I saw geese flying

backwards, first

thumping their wings on the water,

quaking the joy of a successful landing,

then drawn upwards to become

a small black arrow in the empty sky.

I curled my neck and sang

the deep longing of the abandoned heart.

My white wings flapped and stretched

from here to there to

the end of the fine line

between the erased space and the remaining sign   







Still Life with Pomegranates 



Be still, watch:

Crimson and cadmium red

pomegranates set against

cascading ivory cloth, an old bottle

of wine in phtalocynine emerald green

and a leafy bough to bring the diagonal

uplifting energy to the composition. 

We're so used to seeing that we've stopped

looking. This is what I want you to do:

forget everything you know, everything

you believe to be true.

                                                                            Knowing depends

                                                                            on the point of  Perception:

change that and

you've changed the world. 

When you put your brush to the canvas

                                                                           focus not on what is

                                                                           there, but rather on what is not.

Objects are defined by the empty space

around them, just as people

are remembered not only

by their deeds, but also by what

they neglected, or forgot 



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