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A Haunted Poet to the memory of Abba Kovner translated from the Hebrew by Tsipi Keler Years he smoked, burned, inhaled filthy butts that wrecked his lungs with tuberculosis: muscus, cough and pain. He didn't cry he didn't shout, he only groaned in private, and in whispers dictated notes to those bending over his bed. The sound of chimes and bells interrupted the silence of his last nights always alerting his heart's flight: He didn't save from the fires a loving mother chasing after him, clinging as he walks, as if he were a baby again, holding her ashes on his last day.
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