In a ceremony held today (Tuesday) as part of the Jerusalem Poetry Festival, poetry prizes were awarded to winners Ron Dahan for his book "Maghul" and Maya Weinberg for "From Hand to Mouth." This is the third year the prize has been awarded. This year, the jury included Prof. Yigal Schwartz, Rotem Atar, Yael Guri, Dr. Ketzia Alon and Anat Sharon Blais.
Dahan, whose fifth book is Maghul, deals with burning social issues in his works, but also with his private, intimate roles as a man and family man. Weinberg, who is in her third book, draws in many of her poems on landscape and nature images, connecting the outside and the inside in this way. In her book "From Hand to Mouth" she often deals with the issue of motherhood in an exposed and touching way.
Maya Weinberg, Photo: Yuval Barkai
"In these turbulent times, there is something almost sane about reading and hearing poetry," Ron Dahan told Israel Hayom. "Because poetry, for those who are willing to listen, most accurately articulates the social and personal moods. It has the ability to give voice to deep currents in society, in culture, in the soul of a person. In the Israel of 2023, divided as it may be, poetry is written and read by few, too few. It has fallen out of place as the voice of prophecy and the social litmus paper, and accordingly, poets are no longer considered a significant voice carried in the wind. Despite all this, excellent and important poetry is still being written these days."
I dance with the children in the living room / Ron Zahan
The boy asks me to spin him,
the girl asks me to see how she
moves her pelvis.
I dance with the children in the living room, I dance alone,
alone in the world.
I am swallowed by the whale,I spit in the face of the bank manager,I fall in love with Mary Lou,I am Mary Lou's wife,I
am many women.
Ni dances with the children in the living room, all the fathers all over the world dance
with their children in the living room
.
Dizzying head, flexible pelvis.
Parenting is a religion
, everything else is wild.
P.R.B.R.I.M. / Maya Weinberg
In cattle, the sacred coffee is poisonous in Meda.
All the stories we tell ourselves.
Arranged upon arranged
ones define us well
lest we deviate from desires, exaggerated in panic.
Before this year — grooves in the ceiling.
You can't lose
what you don't have—that, too, is for comfort. Q:
I turn up the volume of the speakers
to be heard.
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