My Book of Poems, by Rachel

"My Book of Poems" is a poem by the poet Rachel. I remembered learning it decades ago in Hebrew College's Prozdor. The Israeli teacher copied it out for us.

From סֵפֶר שִׁירַי / רחל בלובשטיין - פרויקט בן־יהודה (benyehuda.org)

סֵפֶר שִׁירַי

רחל בלובשטיין

צְרִיחוֹת שֶׁצָּרַחְתִּי נוֹאֶשֶׁת, כּוֹאֶבֶת

בִּשְׁעוֹת מְצוּקָה וְאָבְדָן,

הָיוּ לְמַחֲרֹזֶת מִלִּים מְלַבֶּבֶת,

לְסֵפֶר שִׁירַי הַלָּבָן.

נִגְלוּ חֶבְיוֹנוֹת לֹא גִלִּיתִי לְרֵעַ,

נֶחְשַׂף הֶחָתוּם בִּי בְּאֵשׁ,

וְאֶת תּוּגָתוֹ שֶׁל הַלֵּב הַכּוֹרֵעַ

יַד כֹּל בִּמְנוּחָה תְּמַשֵּׁשׁ.

We learned the Hebrew verb תְּמַשֵּׁשׁ as in

 יַד כֹּל בִּמְנוּחָה תְּמַשֵּׁשׁ

I don't think there's a single English word for that. It means that thing you do when you're testing fabric between your thumb and index finger.

So here is my rough translation of the poem.

My book of Poems

Screams that I screamed of pain and despair
In hours of sorrow and loss,
Became phrases to warm the heart
In my book of poems bleached white.

I revealed what I'd never told to a friend,
My heart's secret yearnings, buried, sealed with flame,
It's all now cloth for casual shoppers
To twist between their fingers.

-- Rachel Bluwstein, 1890-1931