Translating poetry is a complex task. Translating Hebrew poetry is even more challenging, since so many words and phrases embody linguistic penumbra from ancient biblical, rabbinic or liturgical texts.

 

Chaim Nachman Bialik, the father of Modern Hebrew poetry, once described the imperfection inherent in translation. He is quoted as saying, “It is like a man who kisses his bride through a veil.” (That’s what Wikipedia reports. Actually, in 1915, Bialik said, “it is like kissing your mother through a handkerchief.”) Either way, the metaphor captures the essential barrier that translation imposes between reader and text. Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Elizabeth Bishop offered a different but equally apt analogy: “Translating poetry is like trying to put your feet into gloves.” These quotes suggest that there are always trade-offs to be made, and true f idelity is not attainable.

 

Our translation seeks to be faithful to Alterman’s text, but it does not attempt to reproduce the rhyme or meter which grace most of his poems. That is admittedly a loss to the reader, while allowing us to convey the poet’s message more authentically. In the case of this part of Alterman’s oeuvre, we believe the message should take precedence over the music; the sense over the sound, the lexical over the lyrical. His words were debated at dinner tables not for their rhyme, but for their resonance.

 

That said, we do strive to retain a poetic sensibility. Our translations ref lect the tone of the original, even when they break from its form. We also seek to be faithful to the English-language reader: idioms are not translated literally, and footnotes clarify cultural and textual references. This approach also invites readers with some knowledge of Hebrew to appreciate what the original words mean.