One of the most profound cultural experiences a life can entail happens when somebody starts discovering the intimate poetry of a language new to them, and achieve that certain point in which they are at the same time illuminated and poetically drunk.
This is a translation of a beautiful song by Zohar Argov, corrected (probably poorly) by me. Argov was a singer of Yemenite origin who died prematurely in 1987, but before that he opened the doors of the Israeli middle class to Mizrahi music, the music of the millions of non-European Jews who arrived in the country from all around the Arab world, escaping from popular and state-sponsored antisemitism since the decade of 1930. The translation, as always, offers only a pale idea of the inner beauty of the poem, originally composed in a language that is deep, plastic and plenty of powerful metaphors.
Tales are weaved in the nights,
birds are already sleeping and dreaming.
The night is quiet and dark,
the stars ask from above:
What happens, girl?
What happens, little one?
What are you dreaming about?
I dream too.
We will tell stories during the nights,
I will caress your hair with my both hands,
you are my home, you are mine, I will not forget you.
I have a little mother and I have you.
Tales are weaved during the nights,
the owl still breaks the silence,
The night is quiet and dark,
the stars ask from above:
What happens, girl?...
