Shoshana Vegh (Israel)

Shoshana Vegh
(World Poetry Curated by Agron Shele)

Shoshana Vegh was born in Israel in 1957. She wrote poetry and diaries from an early age. Still, destiny meant writing to her in the wake of bereavement, and she started writing when her brother Tuvia was killed in 1974 in an accident at his military service. She graduate B.A and M.A in Hebrew literature. Her poems were published in an anthology in 1980. In 2000, she published her first novel, about the infatuation of a married woman on the Internet. In 2002 her second novel was published, and later poetry and children’s books were published over the years. In 2009, she founded a publishing house called “Pyutit” that specializes in publishing poetry books. She wrote 17 books herself and edited over 140  books, poetry, and prose.



1-    Your angel


You are the martyred saint

And I am the angel of Christ

Take your Christ’s mare

And look for the place of birth in Bethlehem

Maybe the Church of the Holy Sepulcher

Look for the hiding rooms


I'm coming down from this cross

My love fades

The words are so sacred

And you're like a priest

At the Church of the Nativity


I cannot touch

Not even in the seal ring on a finger

In the end it will pass

And another angel shall ride upon you


Meanwhile I am

Playing in the wordplay

Between the worlds

And you know

That I am not a life prisoner

But for a moment,

I am just an angel


2-    Avishag’s father


‏ For my father also exists Shunammite Avishag

‏ Like the personal servant of King David at the end of his days.

‏ He’s like a king asking for all the sweetness

‏ That life can still bestow upon him

‏ When he gets to the cafe

‏ He shouts that Avishag will also hear

‏ “Ice cream, why don’t you bring me ice cream”

‏ My father is like a king

‏ Waiting for everything to be done by his maid,

‏ And even a kiss she knows how to give when he needs to,

‏ And Nir my brother and I are not like David’s children

‏ We are proud to have a little more Dad

‏ Hugging and loving



3-    My Hemingway


You want to know everything

And I do not write to you

All the fragments

You can see the cracks

I expose the skin of the body

The soul

I would like to show you

When you hold my hand

And I will cry

My Hemingway

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