The English translation of Yehudah Amichai's 1998 book of poetry. This is a magnum opus. A poet would be needed to describe the genius of his words. I never "get" poetry. It doesn't work for me. But then I read a poem by Yehudah Amichai and it made sense. Then I went to hear him at a reading at NYU several years ago, and it clicked. One wants to fall in love for the sole reason that one could then use one of his poems. Then I read an excerpt from this book last Fall in "The Forward," and for the past 6 months I have been anxious for this book's release. I bought this book and I consumed it. Reading his poems is like praying, like meditating. Here is one tiny excerpt that is reprinted with permission. If it clicks for you, get the book. "Tova's brother, whom I carried wounded from the battle at Tel Gath, / recovered and was forgotten because he recovered, and died / a few years later in a car crash, and was forgotten / because he died. And even if my bloodied hands / had been prophets then, my eyes saw not / and my feet knew not what the grain in the field knows, / that green wheat ripens yellow. / That's the life prophecy of a field of wheat."