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 Sonnet: Against Making Blood Speak Out
 Meir Wieseltier, Israel
 April 15, 2002
If I die one day from the bullet of a young killeró
a Palestinian who crosses the northern borderó
or from the blast of a hand grenade he throws,
or in a bomb explosion while Iím checking the price
of cucumbers in the market, donít dare say
that my blood permits you to justify your wrongsó
that my torn eyes support your blindnessó
that my spilled guts prove itís impossible
to talk about an arrangement with them
óthat itís only possible
to talk with guns, interrogation cells, curfew, prison,
expulsion, confiscation of land, wisecracks, iron fists, a steel heart
that thinks itís driving out the Amorites and destroying the Amalekites.
Let the blood seep into the dust: blood is blood, not words.
Terribleóthe illusion of the Kingdom in obtuse hearts.

Translated from the Hebrew by Shirley Kaufman.

One of Israel's major poets and a recipient of The Israel Prize, Meir Wieseltier is a poet in residence at the University of Haifa.

From The Nation, April 15, 2002.