תרגמתי לאנגלית את מחזור "פשיטת רגל" מתוך ספר השירה "מות הציפור" / רון דהן. שלושה מתוכם התפרסמו בגיליון Crisis של כתב העת Ilanot Review בנוסח להלן:
Don’t lose the shirt, father, don’t lose anything.
Maybe just your stinking shirt, take it off
in the evening, after work,
and sit on the sofa, father, shoes on the table.
Now you’re wandering, I know you,
raiding a plain in the desert like a horseman,
looking for the crevice to squeeze through,
your wolf soul is content.
If you see a burning bush, go there, father,
don’t hesitate for a second, don’t lose your shirt,
take off your shoes and go take a shower.
I remember you, father,
sitting on the sofa, your face buried in the palms of your hands,
the document in front of you.
So simple, so clear.
The wolves have been released
and they are on their way to you, father.
Why don’t you get up?
I see you, father. The sun is in pain within your forehead,
the summer trickles down from your closed eyelids.
It’s been ages since you cut your hair, father. You also haven’t shaved.
You look awful.
But there’s no time now.
The wolves are knocking on the door, they are hungry.
Get up, get up father.
You have to run away.
I’ll stay here.
The old piano, father,
that’s the only thing the wolf left us,
I guess you’re happy to hear that.
I was all alone in the house and I let him in,
I’m sorry, father.
He worked quickly and efficiently,
I restrained the dog so it wouldn’t bite him.
When mom came, the house was already empty,
the wolf just came up for one last round, he looked well built, father,
his muscles were shining because of the physical effort,
and he gave off a delicate scent of some masculine cologne.
Mom, who was following his dexterous maneuvers,
was somewhat disoriented for a moment,
but she came to her senses and waved the forms in his face and shouted
I’m divorced, I’m divorced.
But the wolf just smiled and handed her another form.
Take it with them, ma’am, he said and left.
Mom tossed the papers to the floor.
They echoed through the air like a stone thrown into a well.
Your father’s fucked up piano is the only thing he didn’t take, huh?
I caressed the stinking, rotten wooden keyboard cover.
It’s not fucked up, father.
It just needs to be tuned.