The Larkin Suite, and: The Explosion

Abstract

The Larkin Suite, and: The Explosion Atar Hadari (bio) The Larkin Suite The Larkin suite is permanently vacant, A bachelor pad with an adjoining room For overnight guests, independent kitchen, use of all accoutrements. A dedicated maid service With appropriate attire will attend. High windows overlook Nothing and give a view to something Of the sea. The herring boats Do not disturb the occupant Who will awake at night and brood Before dawn clerks rise to pad and pant To breakfast and shake tablecloths Like painters’ shrouds Over the banquet table flatbeds Where all guests will find their eggs laid out like pills. There is nobody in the lift. The mirrors show every detail: What you hoped, what finally failed. And open doors by the indoor fountain With no fish, of any persuasion, Closing often but always unfolding With a ding, no matter how frequent Your call to room service to say nobody’s staying. [End Page 46] The Explosion In the early twilight or late teatime They left the clinic. He had his coat on. He stopped on Jerusalem high road And bought two strudels in a carton. They went to the new cafe, A father, his daughter, her best friend Who was going to hold the bride’s bouquet And put her make-up on the next day. They squeezed in past the guard Who was Russian and didn’t speak Hebrew, Went up to a table with a hoard Of sugar lumps and cups white as a swallow. As he was ordering two lattes, one black tea, He heard the Russian shout something: A man in a heavy woolen coat Put his hands to the windowpane And pushed through in a cascade of smithereens To pull something inside his blouson And the cafe went up, you could hear a mile off. As if a paper lantern rose into the air to float away And cross the sky over a wedding feast. Merciful father who dwells on highFurnish a rest befittingUnder the wings of the divine presenceFor those who die innocent of trespass— The nurse at the clinic called and called And called his mobile. Next day the guests were told One by one, not to come for the nuptial. But all reported at twilight [End Page 47] Seeing walking along the pavement As if underneath their feet The sun had beat a golden raiment One old man, a girl, another girl, all in white satin And in the old man’s hand a box, immeasurably comforting And tied with ribbons and not crushed, Under their feet gold flashed without saying anything. [End Page 48] Atar Hadari Atar Hadari’s Songs from Bialik: Selected Poems of H. N. Bialik (Syracuse up) was a finalist for the American Literary Translators’ Association Award and his debut collection, Rembrandt’s Bible, was published by Indigo Dreams. Lives of the Dead: Poems of Hanoch Levin was recently awarded a pen Translates 2016 grant and is forthcoming from Arc Publications. He contributes a monthly verse bible translation column to mosaic magazine. Copyright © 2017 University of Nebraska Press