by Shaul Tchernichowsky
Written in Tel Aviv (Israel) 19.Feb.1934
You are a vision of an agate, dear,
That brown agate…
And I don’t mind if the wise and the experts
Will look and say:
”Well, it’s merely a semi-precious gem”.
I cherish the sparkle of the
Serene glitter and glow,
The fractions of shine
And the warm deep light.
It makes thee the prettiest
Of all the chalcedony dynasty.
‘Cause my heart doesn’t yearn for the onyx -
The dark tenebrous onyx,
That moans in inanimate silence.
It reminds me of a monk’s cloak -
Stripes of white and black -
Which I loath.
Nor am I fond of the sardonyx
That looks like
A nouveau-riche bourgeois,
Adorned in his red-and-white
Lined jacket.
And, indeed, among her sister gems
With all their numerous hues,
Agate is the unembellished indigent one
That does not softly shine -
Like a diamond-dropping tear;
And does not burn
In an impudent red ruby flame;
Her colors do not melt into each other
Like the opal – the vicious stone;
And does not smile gloomily
Like the perfumed violet amethyst;
And does not have the greenish duckweed
Of a meadow-swamp at the end of summer
Like the verdant emerald;
And is not soaked with the burning Ethiopian sun
Like the sacred topaz;
And its inclusions are not moving clouds
Inside the weary, dreaming sapphire;
And it lacks all the golden stars
Set in the colored skies of the
Grayish-orangey ligure.
For me, my dear,
You are the vision of an agate,
Agate, the brown agate…