Translation of a poem by Yehuda Amichai

The precision of pain and the haze of joy. I think
About the precision with which people describe what hurts in doctors’ offices.
Even those who never learned to read and write can pinpoint their pain:
Here it pinches, here it’s sharp, here it’s blunt. It hurts here. Right here.
Yes. Joy blurs everything. I have heard it said,
After wild nights of making love and merry: It was great, amazing,
I felt like I was flying. Even the astronaut hovering
In space can only say: Amazing! Awesome! I’m speechless!
The precision of pain and the haze of joy.
I want to describe the blur of ecstasy and rapture
With the precision of a sharp pang.
I’ve learned to speak from those in pain.

(Translated for SWR, 4.7.12)

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