Desktopia

Today is administrative professionals' day. In honor of all secretaries and clerks, the scapegoats of the bureaucratic age, who have to absorb the indignant frustration of so many impatient people fuming with a sense of entitlement, a poem by Sigal Ben-Yair, from her book Unrefined, which came out in 2011.

Secretary

I am a double-desked secretary, you've never seen

a double-desked secretary like me, a-leggish. Or in English

'legless'. Model 803, UPC 12985. I am always placed

at my desk. Look at me from door #1918, floor

minus three, all desk and circumferential limb-shelf, browsing

fast from the waist up. I, desk woman, with screwed on

pelvis, issuing commands of turning, bending, type,

print. Two copies please, 180 degrees of efficiency,

and behind me, they say, a splendid landscape. A clear lake

deer and sunset. At ten past five, at dark,

I grow back my legs, outstanding employee award.

Never, never have you seen my minuscule legs, as they elongate

fading, in the first fluorescent light of dawn.

Luc Tuymans - The Leg, 1994

מַזְכִּירָה

אֲנִי מַזְכִּירָה דּוּ-שֻׁלְחָנִית, מֵעוֹלָם לֹא רְאִיתֶם
מַזְכִּירָה דּוּ-שֻׁלְחָנִית כָּמוֹנִי, אַ-רַגְלִית. אוֹ בְּאַנְגְּלִית
לֶגְלֶס. דֶּגֶם 803 מק"ט 12985. מֵעוֹלָם לֹא קַמְתִּי
מִן הַמִּכְתָּבָה. הַבִּיטוּ עָלַי מִדֶּלֶת מס' 1918, קוֹמָה
מִינוּס שָׁלוֹשׁ, כֻּלִּי שֻׁלְחָן וְגַף-מַדָּף הֶקֵּפִי מְדַפְדֶּפֶת
בִּמְהִירוּת מִמָּתְנַי וָמַעְלָה. אֲנִי, אִשָּׁה-שֻׁלְחָן, יֵשׁ לִי אַגָּן
מֻבְרָג, כִּידוֹן וּמִמֶּנּוּ מָעֳבָרוֹת פְּקֻדּוֹת סִיבוּב כִּיפוּף הַקְלֵד
הַדְפֵּס. בִּשְׁנֵי עֳתָקִים בְּבַקָּשָׁה, 180 מַעֲלוֹת שֶׁל יְעִילוּת
וּמֵאֲחוֹרַי כָּךְ מְסַפְּרִים, תְּמוּנַת נוֹף נִפְלָאָה. אֲגַם צָלוּל
צְבִי וּשְׁקִיעָה. בְּשָׁעָה חָמֵשׁ וַעֲשָׂרָה, בַּחֲשֵׁכָה,
אֲנִי מַצְמִיחָה אֶת רַגְלַי מֵחָדָשׁ, פְּרָס לָעוֹבֵד הַמִּצְטַיֵּן.
מֵעוֹלָם, מֵעוֹלָם לֹא רְאִיתֶם אֶת רַגְלַי הַקְּטַנּוֹת, הַמִּתְאָרְכוֹת
נְמוֹגוֹת, עִם אוֹר פְלוֹרוֹסֶנְט רִאשׁוֹן שֶׁל בֹּקֶר

Thanks to Andrew and Naama for help with the translation.

Fleating

First translation of the work of Hezy Leskly (1952 -- 1994). This poem was not intended for publication, and was published only posthumously in his collected poems (edited by Wieseltier). According to the collection, the poem appeared in a red notebook entitled "Soup: unripe poems 1968-70". (מרק: שירי בוסר)

Here is a link to the full version of Yakantalisa, Yair Lev's documentary about Leskly, with English subtitles and a fantastic clip of Leskly reading his poem that gave this blog its name (translated there by Aura Hammer, Oded Peled and Peter Cole).

Yves Klein: Leap into the Void (1960)

Der Tod der Flohzirkusdirektors

When, the cropdust-

ing plane

had killed by

mistake

the fleas 

that belonged to 

Herr Weiss

Herr Weiss was 

facing

the nothing.

Inside the nothing he went on living and even

creating

but already then he was

facing

one possibility

only and later on he chose 

it.

Der Tod der Flohzirkusdirektors

כּשְ, מְטוס הָ

רִסוס

הרג בְּ

טעות 

את הַ

פרעושים של 

הֶר וַיְיס

נִצַב

הֶר וַיְיס בִּפְני

הכּלום.

בתוך הכלום המשיך לחיות וַאפילו 

ליצֹר

אבל כבר אז

נִצְבה

בפניו אפשרות אחת

ויחידה ומאֻחר יותר הוא בחר

בה.