The First Rain

by Yehuda Amichai

 The First Rain 

The first rain reminds me

Of the rising summer dust.

The rain doesn't remember the rain of yesteryear.

A year is a trained beast with no memories.

Soon you will again wear your harnesses,

Beautiful and embroidered, to hold

Sheer stockings: you

Mare and harnesser in one body.

The white panic of soft flesh

In the panic of a sudden vision

Of ancient saints.

Once A Great Love 

Once a great love cut my life in two.

The first part goes on twisting

at some other place like a snake cut in two.

The passing years have calmed me

and brought healing to my heart and rest to my eyes.

And I'm like someone standing in the Judean desert, looking at a sign:

'Sea Level'

He cannot see the sea, but he knows.

Thus I remember your face everywhere

at your 'face Level.' 

Poem Without an End 

Inside the brand-new museum

there's an old synagogue.

Inside the synagogue

is me.

Inside me

my heart.

Inside my heart

a museum.

Inside the museum

a synagogue,

inside it

me,

inside me

my heart,

inside my heart

a museum .

Tourists 

Visits of condolence is all we get from them.

They squat at the Holocaust Memorial,

They put on grave faces at the Wailing Wall

And they laugh behind heavy curtains

In their hotels.

They have their pictures taken

Together with our famous dead

At Rachel's Tomb and Herzl's Tomb

And on Ammunition Hill.

They weep over our sweet boys

And lust after our tough girls

And hang up their underwear

To dry quickly

In cool, blue bathrooms.