California

Blossoms bloom here between stones and sand,
full breasts are borne by the awed earth;
Aromas of myrtles and date leaves abound.
It’s all as though a fairy tale had given birth.

The land of California was born with a silver spoon:
its earth a loving mother, giving freely with her hand.
Where’re you turn you hear her mother’s croon,
see shadowed leaves and wine grapes in her sand.

As though awakened from a magic dream,
springtime here bursts into green leaf on the run;
new beginning blooms out of an end that only seemed,
every garden filled with dew and sun.

A young rain falls
and, leaf by leaf, a blue tone calls.
Springtime parts its greenest lips
to kiss Shevat, the winter-month in shawls.

A blooming, shimmering expanse:
hills, like bright guardians, everywhere;
shadows marching, step-by-step, led by the sun;
wild weeds give off aromas to the air.

The little hummingbird here
with its fluttering drone:
its long, thin beak near
the nectar that the flower-seed has sown.

Day immersed itself in Sun’s rays,
Evening’s satin-soft hands caressed you.
Among the palms, Breeze went its way,
muddling Evening’s thoughts as it flew.

Impassioned whispering of young love
floats heedlessly and loving, without words.
While sunbeams frolic in a drop of dew,
trees speak in a cacophony of birds.

In your hilly and your valleyed places
your beauty shines and before God is flaunted.
Eternal summer illuminates your graces
Californialand — only dreams can be more vaunted.

Translation ©2012 Hershl Hartman