Poems by Tali Cohen Shabtai



Such a therapist 


I play games in my mind – behind papers never

Written about the tired person I am –


She’s trying to praise my grief

On papers gone to early retirement

On shelves of book stores

Where the bourgeois are the first clients to borrow

The fairy tale that’s posted in Friday’s edition of a

Leftist Magazine


She’s trying to decorate me with

A lower analogy of R.I.P. poets

Who produced the best comedies

Of their life

By blank papers and faked orgasm

And ending

As their own hangmen


But She, She must be warned! It’s a static position!


« A woman who gets lost,


In translation »

Will never be tested twice

Not in this scenario


My Doctor


I have

My own “Thousand”

Carrying your signture.


I wear them as an amulet–


Much like Umm Kulthum’s scarf amulet

The one she carried at every performance,

With a Thousand seeds of Parisian cocIne in it


I walk with them–


Like the thousand chemicals

In the poison that

Nietzsche carried permanently

In his pocket


But I don’t praise it–


So don’t ever try to train my brains

To be pleased

You know my heroes,

I was happy before I knew them


Before I barely knew

The difference between you and

A passer-by.


Dear poem 


I offered congratulations from this morning to tomorrow

even though I was corrected regarding the date of birth.

How do I explain that a person

has no idea when

he will end his life this time around?


I write to my mother my love for her

in the most unexpected moments

of tribute

how will I explain that perhaps it is the penultimate

greeting of a daughter to her mother before the present


the latter and not the resurrected midwife

from the year 80

the umbilical cord between me

and her placenta and not to give birth

to me again? but to kill.


I look at my father and cry for another

twenty years or so

that he will not be here

I was ahead of the artist to “grow and sanctify her great name”

in the Kaddish prayer in the twilight hour in Sacker Park.

I shed a tear.


If you live in consciousness as I wrote

“God does not pass over life from man, as he does not

pass over death.”


You are the most miserable person there is, with such insight

you do not enjoy a single piece of bread and no


You are dead.


3 Stars


There’s a whole world

waiting for you

around the darker

corner of life


in which

you are adept enough to sort clothes

of the same

ethnic group of

the black cloth

of your life.


If you hadn’t been a little better

than the decorations that would add



so as to decorate the rhetoric

of the black cloth of your life


I promise you that you would


to see

a star fall in the dark! 


Tali Cohen Shabtai, is a poet, she was born in Jerusalem, Israel.

Tali has written three poetry books:” Purple Diluted in a Black’s Thick“, (bilingual 2007), “Protest” (bilingual 2012) and “Nine Years  From You” (2018).

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