What Did I Learn in the Wars?
by Yehuda Amichai
What did I learn in the wars:
To march in time to swinging arms and legs
Like pumps pumping an empty well.
To march in a row and be alone in the middle,
To dig into pillows, featherbeds, the body of a beloved woman,
And to yell “Mama,” when she cannot hear,
And to yell “God,” when I don’t believe in Him,
And even if I did believe in Him
I wouldn’t have told him about the war
As you don’t tell a child about grown-ups’ horrors.
What else did I learn. I learned to reserve a path for retreat.
In foreign lands I rent a room in a hotel
Near the airport or railroad station.
And even in wedding halls
Always to watch the little door
With the “Exit” sign in red letters.
A battle too begins
Like rhythmical drums for dancing and ends
With a “retreat at dawn.” Forbidden love
And battle, the two of them sometimes end like this.
But above all I learned the wisdom of camouflage,
Not to stand out, not to be recognized,
Not to be apart from what’s around me,
Even not from my beloved.
Let them think I am a bush or a lamb
A tree, a shadow of a tree,
A doubt, a shadow of a doubt,
A living hedge, a dead stone,
A house, a corner of a house.
If I were a prophet I would have dimmed the glow of the vision
And darkened my faith with black paper
And covered the magic with nets.
And when my time comes, I shall don the camouflage garb of my end:
The white of clouds and a lot of sky blue
And stars that have no end.
by Yehuda Amichai
What did I learn in the wars:
To march in time to swinging arms and legs
Like pumps pumping an empty well.
To march in a row and be alone in the middle,
To dig into pillows, featherbeds, the body of a beloved woman,
And to yell “Mama,” when she cannot hear,
And to yell “God,” when I don’t believe in Him,
And even if I did believe in Him
I wouldn’t have told him about the war
As you don’t tell a child about grown-ups’ horrors.
What else did I learn. I learned to reserve a path for retreat.
In foreign lands I rent a room in a hotel
Near the airport or railroad station.
And even in wedding halls
Always to watch the little door
With the “Exit” sign in red letters.
A battle too begins
Like rhythmical drums for dancing and ends
With a “retreat at dawn.” Forbidden love
And battle, the two of them sometimes end like this.
But above all I learned the wisdom of camouflage,
Not to stand out, not to be recognized,
Not to be apart from what’s around me,
Even not from my beloved.
Let them think I am a bush or a lamb
A tree, a shadow of a tree,
A doubt, a shadow of a doubt,
A living hedge, a dead stone,
A house, a corner of a house.
If I were a prophet I would have dimmed the glow of the vision
And darkened my faith with black paper
And covered the magic with nets.
And when my time comes, I shall don the camouflage garb of my end:
The white of clouds and a lot of sky blue
And stars that have no end.