The doves in the trees are moaning

Judah Ibn Ghiyath

Mid-12th Century

The doves in the trees are moaning, as I am.

What makes your speech bitter?¹ Is it due to my anguish?

If crying from the pain of spirit and heart can help,

then, O ye jackals and ostriches, come to help me!

Lo, my tears answer me before I call out.

They give response when I have not yet asked.

They appear like pearls, or perhaps like the blood of innocents,

upon my cheeks, so burdensome are they, when I cry.

Like burning hot coals, they blaze, aflame,

for they have been ignited by the flame of my ribs, my body.

My heart’s fire burns wondrously, like the wonder of the [burning] bush.

It does not consume me, nor is it extinguished by my tears.

Its burning dominates my ribs, making

my heart like blackness, and my locks like snow!

I cry for my youth, which has gone away, and I nod my head² at Time,

which has stolen my sleep, when it stole my boyhood.

My years of being a lad are over, and they have now made my sweet honeycomb bitter.

They have put wormwood and gall in my food.

What can I hope for now? What indeed,

now that old age’s legions have attacked the army of my early years, my boyhood?

I forgive the days, although they have plotted ill against me,

when they exchanged the night of my dark locks for the bright daylight of my [white] hair.

My hair was like lines of writing, filled with my youthful sins, in black ink,

and now they have all been erased, in my white hair.

My dark locks would grab my neck with their hand, choking me,

until the javelin of white hair shot forth to avenge me.

And on the night when they [the dark hair]

departed, which lasted so long and made my heart ill,

its [white hair’s] mornings came and brought me my healing.

The cloud of hair covered my cheeks like night,

and the arrow of white hair broke through my darkness, like lightning.

My friends, I am the ransom for the days of my old age.³

Like the snow of Mount Senir, they have whitened the stains of my folly.

They have purified the heart, so polluted by the blood of youth,

and brought to light my hidden sins and mistakes.

My youth shut my eyes, so that they could not see,

and closed my ears and my understanding, so I could not listen to the truth. [ . . . ]

I will cherish the stones [of your house] and favor its dust,

and moisten its ruins with the tears of my yearning.

Perhaps I will seek, for my soul, the one whom it loves,

and there I will give him the secrets of my affection and my heart.

Perhaps I will seek the place where Judah lives,⁴

and there I will break the utensils of my transient, exiled camp.⁵

His love will make me mighty, his delights will give me pleasure,

and the dew of his mouth will extinguish the burning thirst of my desire.

Who is it, coming from Edom,⁶ with the thoughts of [my] dream,

who has robbed my sleep and taken my token?

He is more beloved than a bag of silver and flowing myrrh.

He is my beloved and the one whom I praise!

He spreads his light like the morning star from the corner of its dawn,

and he uncovers the veils of my black cloud and my darkness.

He adds his name to his reputation,

with his wisdom, which amazes my sages, and is amazing beyond my comprehension.

From the day when the winds blew his scents,

his dwelling [megurim] has been in my heart, and my concern [megura] is for his life.

If even the edge of what my heart conceals would speak for me,

then it would come [to speak of] his lovely qualities, and my yearning!

He embroiders his writing, and it comes with love hidden in it throughout.

My soul, when compensating⁷ him in turn, is quite small.

His face is like his cheeks; the kohl of his lines [of poetry] is like the heart of his admirers.

His words are unadulterated like gold, pure like my love.

The emeralds of his writing, the honey of his words,

and the winds, with flowing myrrh, blew his lines to my soul.

My heart grows mighty and joyous through them, as I am astounded.

They are my delights; all my song is about them.

With song, his wonders resurrected my defunct joy,

and they brought up my soul from the clods of dirt of my grave.

I quaff the goblet of spiced wine, hearing the voice of the turtledove and crane

from his spiced wine—not from the wine of my twigs.⁸

His balm heals my soul’s pain from wandering;

Are both my wound and my cure from him?!

O messenger, who announces the arrival of his right hand’s gorgeous writing,

here is an announcement for you: my very heart, not my replacement.

The sweet mention of you firmly planted trees of love in my heart—

take of their fruit, my gift, my produce.

Before you saw the shelter of my heart’s walls as the place for your dwelling,

not the walls of my lintel and beams,

he swore that no other would dwell in your place.

But if you have not answered him, he is clean of my oath.

Translated by Gabriel Wasserman.

Notes

[The expression is taken from Job 23:2, where the word meri has its usual meaning of “defiant” or “rebellious.” Here the poet seems to be using it in a different connotation, based on the phonetically similar word mar, “bitter.”—Trans.]

[Meaning of Hebrew uncertain. The verb nud can mean “to wander,” “to turn aside,” and “to nod one’s head”; it means the last of these in Job 2:11, when Job’s friends come to react to his tragedies. The related verb nadad can refer to insomnia, when one’s sleep “wanders” (see Esther 6:1).—Trans.]

[I.e., instead of coming to an early death, he has become an old man, and his life as an old man is his ransom. The Hebrew word for ransom is kofer; homonyms of this word mean “black pitch” and “henna,” and the poet may be punning on them.—Trans.]

[Literally: “the dwelling-places of Judah”; this is a pun based on the biblical name for the land of Judah, the part of the Holy Land where the tribe of Judah dwelled. The previous stanza is based on Psalms 102:15, where the Psalmist expresses love for Zion. Our poet is adapting this pious language to describe his love for “Judah”: not the country, but his friend of this name, Judah ha-Levi.—Trans.]

[See Jeremiah 46:19. “Utensils of exile” are what one prepares before one needs to leave one’s home, portable tools for the road. When our poet meets up with his friend, he will be ready to settle down.—Trans.]

[See Isaiah 63:1. Edom is the medieval Jewish term for Christendom. Although he also lived in Islamic areas, Judah ha-Levi was born in Castile and spent significant parts of his life there. He is thus “coming from Edom.”—Trans.]

[Meaning of Hebrew uncertain. In scripture, when the verb gamal, “to compensate,” is used together with the noun nefesh, “soul,” the soul is always the recipient of the compensation. Here, context would suggest that the poet’s soul is the subject, compensating the poet for his beautiful writing by sending back writing of his own.—Trans.]

[Judah ha-Levi’s poetry is like sophisticated spiced wine, whereas this author’s poetry is like wine made from mere twigs. There may also be a pun here, in that the noun zemora, “twig,” comes from a root homonymous with that of zemer, “song.”—Trans.]

Published in: The Posen Library of Jewish Culture and Civilization, vol. 3: Encountering Christianity and Islam.

The doves in the trees are moaning

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