Canticle for Babylon
XLI
Whosoever shall remain in this city,
Shall die by the sword, and by famine, and by pestilence:
But he that shall go forth to the Chaldeans, shall live,
And his life shall be safe, and he shall live.
Pure, it was said, is the land of Chaldea, the prophets by praying
Sanctified lands Aramea beyond, for the tower’s construction
Deep in the past was no obstacle; dogs in the streets with their baying
Signaled displeasure, their hunger abated with supples’ abduction
Running between carts, carrying weights in the capital clamor
Guided to nourish the city of great leagues populants-riddled
Shouting and running and panting and banging on things with a hammer,
This is the melody made for the idol, its caterwauls rippled
Wanting for service, the beckoning candor on which it is modeled,
Gnashing of teeth from the depths of Gehenna, its captives, their stations,
Captors and worm are among the statues lazuli-enswaddled
Facing the gates, and the city is called but a harlot of nations,
Selling itself to the crowd of the peopling continents manic,
Though inasmuch as it sells of itself, it is pitif’ly lonely
Splain on the plains and in delicate marsh isolations and tanic
Waiting in poses of cheap-bought fabrics, ivoric and boney
(What can be purchased is always a cheap thing) eagerly waiting,
Cursed, for the cursed are a thing watched, made for another’s perusal,
This is the likeness of holy, the separate sensual sating
Wherefore the harlot and temple apart are for purposes rueful,
Babylon also contains in itself this seed of its master
Built on the skins of its previous adorers and ruled by its parchments,
Founded on bark-skinned men who admired the shade alabaster
Roused from the earth a design, a disaster of roads and apartments
Making a lab’rinth of plaintive distress, to its maker a mirror
Showing the soul of humanity; none slaves see manumission,
Even if one were released, for he goes as no heavenly-fearer,
Given the city remains at disposal for hapless incision,
One more hand on its harlotous stones, but the Name is the potter,
Choosing the fate of all, even the wicked, so nothing so regal
Ever escapes His attention, for Babylon, raised by the water
Twinned to its rivers is bound to the Hand who exacts from it legal,
Thus by returning and following rivers, I follow tradition,
Seeking in exile comfort with Babylon, always conducting,
Strumpet of human concoction, the realm of the liber-magician
Practicing freely, I spy him among men, focus-abducting;
None as I walk in the mud-strewn streets are for offering greeting,
People devoting their noise to their personal cares, as for sobbing,
Shouting or laughing, arranged by the road with no purposeful seating,
Never in peace, for all fear a reproach or a ploy or a robbing,
Trust is no match for proximity — though I was forced to do trusting,
Since I, bereft of supplies, had a need to continue my travel
Taking myself food, water, and means to remain undisgusting,
Though I had brought with me little, no funds for a mode with an axel,
Wherefore I set to procure a donkey, and after a searching
Heard strained brayings, and thence I was privy to sev’ral for browsing,
Looking for one in my budget, without mange, constantly lurching,
Bellicose eyes or infection, and found in an irony rousing
One with but one ear, otherwise lacking in nothing but blemish,
Made it an easy decision, but given my weakness at present,
Here I was shamefully charged amount too high to replenish,
(Quickly at least), but I needed the donkey, however unpleasant;
Then I conceded as noon left not to determine us onward,
Since in the eve I no further could travel, as Sabbath-arrested,
Thus for my lodgings I took to a flat-wall leaning and pondered,
Keeping my sword in my hand and my donkey in whom I invested
Facing the road, the extension of gravel and soil’s profusion
Making for poor, crude respite, the heat from my body consuming,
Though I am used to it now, not swayed by a wishful illusion
Wanting a mat or a breeze, for the safety is wellful perfuming,
Where I admit it is stronger by little to beastly aroma;
There I permitted a night in the town in a state of awareness,
Keeping awake by a half, till dawn had redonned its corona,
Raising the early arousal of beasts — in a spirit of fairness,
Here I was forced to inquire a synagogue meet to my credit,
Thence I had traveled by foot for a stadia slightly exceeded —
Headed for where I could hear God’s Word; found a decrepit,
Shoddily dressed place lacking all light, but soon was stampeded
Gathering Jews of all nations within, as if keeping a royal,
Thus I restrained that donkey I purchased and, mentally dual,
Keeping my eye to my property, entered the rear of it joyful,
Staying apart from the others, my state of existence was cruel
Might I impose it on others with stench or with sight or for pity;
After the reading of Torah, the warning on Israel’s daring,
One of the rabbis arose to discuss it, and said, in our city,
Safety is seldom in question, but now as we strangers in faring,
Strayed from a home-land laid to its ruins in sure separation,
Now we are asked to portend of its meaning, for what is exilic?
What is an exile, friends? I should ask of a fled congregation
What could be missing from each of us men to deny the idyllic,
Made and condemned, so it seems, for the Name who has raised up, to bury,
Also dispenses His Life in His mercy, for Jews are a target,
Yea, we are chosen, but wherefore should Judah be merry?
Maybe a man for himself can be said to be glad to regard it,
Which for us cause us to sing psalms, once wrote David the bravest,
Joy and perfection in holiness, men’s souls trembled and smarted,
Which for today, we have many in sorrows for matters the gravest,
Mourning the losses of kin and of temple to heathens uncharted
Scattering men to the winds as if sand, and I speak as a granule
Calling on Jews who are faithful to, lest foot-falls go unmeasured,
Act as the men we were made to become by worshipping manu’l,
Honoring God by the Law, for the Law for so long is untreasured
Which is the reason the Lord would return us a glowered expression,
Giving us over to evils and death and distresses and perils,
Which for us bring new minds, for the perils, on further reflection,
Serve us to foster repentance, and might we observe th’m as heralds,
Mercy is nigh; but mistake not, Jews are no pamphlet of theses,
This is no matter of bitter deceit or a sly obfuscation,
Jews are the emmisars sharing the Word in the form and the species
Given by God for the sake of the world with no great alteration,
This is the sign of the prophet, remember him? for Jonah’s defiance,
Passing to death and returning to speak on the nations’ conviction
Signals the means of transmission, we turn to the Lord for reliance
Praying for both Jews exiled, slain to deny us practician;
Know it yourselves, friends, suffering now is the price for perfection,
God in His work on your souls is permitting external chastisement
That by the progress in fire we find Him for holy protection,
Guiding our hearts and our minds with His lone Hand towards advisement,
Having us turn to interior matters, we excellent vessels,
Such as we might find what He intends for our lawful retraction,
Giving Him way for the Spirit with whom old Israel wrestles
Seeking the Name of all Names, if we find It to hearts’ satisfaction
What could be done, friends, save for the crime of felicitous weeping?
God is abiding and stead-fast, feeding us fresh revelation
Whether by speech or by breath we are vividly visited sleeping
When He approaches our beds with a message, a dream’s adumbration,
Whether asleep as in literal word or in horrid diseases,
Sleeping in darkness o holiest terror of darkness convection!
God is awakened and drags to His rest the the celestial breezes
Carrying stars on their courses as if each were a dastardly weapon:
Better the stars are to fall from the sky than killing a brother,
Such is the question of Cain to the Lord, for my kin would behoove me,
Where is the man of my blood? is he merely a man, an ‘another’,
Rather, a neighbor is more, we are members of Israel, loosely,
Blessing and cursing, and lest it were called but a scribe’s retrojection
Israel says to Laban in a term we can call esoteric
What it is meant for our wages to change, if we treat with suspection
What it is Jacob has said to Laban as a prophet choleric,
Then in their armistice, named by themselves the collection of stacked stone
Marking the bound’ries agreed, and their testament came with a vision:
One for the other, Laban; and for Jacob, the night he attacked ‘lone,
Injuring hip from its socket and finding by angel his mission
Meeting his brother estranged with a gift, unbeknownst in his leering
Meeting a friend who forgave him his wrongs, to no sword he would brandish
Toward his kin, and we children depart from his ways as if veering,
Struggle to see it so! that the exilic is. pardon, outlandish;
Lest we ascribe it to God in His nature — impossible, seen right,
Since He is harbor to Israel, might He be safety and lack it?
Cause to effect, like makes like what it is, though it could seem trite,
Need it be said twice? Then for the evils we caused with our racket
God has consumed us in mire, and now we shall gaze at our portrait
Ugly and proud, indistinct from the nations, but ought we be bitter?
Never, I wager, for God has chastised the wicked as corp’rate
Even with righteous, so righteous shall suffer the wicked! consider,
Ruin descends on us equally, those God governs and cares for,
Those He disdains and has hated: the earth splits, waterways boil,
Swallowing men irrespective of merits, and Israel therefore
Owes it to each man burial, whether a bastard or royal;
Now is the right time, here is the right place, men, to be thorough,
Let us begin with the grief of the fallen and in mourning our tasking
That we remember the dead, who we bury ourselves in their furrow,
Since we may also have joined their repose with no works for our basking,
Man is erased from his pride, liberation has dawned on the whole race,
Even in exile, this was his word to the whole congregation,
Which would surprise those that find synagogues make for a droll place,
Here was the opposite, people in tears and with great consternation
Beating their breast, or replying with plaintive and anxious agreement
Much as could seem them meet, but I held to my peace in the background
Nodding at places and finding at others a spurious treatment,
Though I belonged to a quiet minority, others were wrapped ’round,
Such as is proverbed, the finger the rabbi was wagging and waving
Spoke for himself, and for not the enrichment of men who could listen,
Rather, the rabbi was sweet to their ears; to provoke, he was chasing,
Here he was gifted with each speculation, and each definition
Brought up about great swaths of our kindred in undulant surging
Further excited by each fresh sentiment, scripture and parlance,
Whence I departed the synagogue minding my dignity’s purging,
Not with the mind of my pride but a distaste for his rhetoric’s garlands,
Nay, I was far from an orator; thus I, content on my resting
Rose on the eve of the dusk as the market was clearing and carted,
Purchasing loaves, wine, parched grain, raisins and figs; my investing,
Freeing my purse of its load, was in service to thence I had started:
Onward to see to my task with the donkey and burdens on-laying,
Stocked for the way there only, and see it my countenance feeble
Made us a target, except for the sword, and the guttural braying
Such was expected of donkeys, dissuading unscrupulous people
Posing their trouble on men in unlawful and spontanate grasping,
These were my weapons, as men of my state were but capable running;
Thereof I strode in the markets amid high criers and gasping
Finding me less than appealing, and others in confident sunning
Made to me nothing but eyes and contented their hands as were folded
Shewed me respect of enough sad knowledge, expressively shared me
Something of pity — a Jew was enough, but for God to have molded,
Even so, lame, half-blind! — I determined the donkey would bear me
Out of the streets, and for what I would aver against the location
Where I had spent this Sabbath, I better prefer it to others,
More ostentatious, enriched in their exile — shrewd generation!
Men who have stayed in the East, all the currency-lovers
Made for themselves safe conclaves and houses in Babylon’s bosom —
Yea, I am poor and abandoned, but exile ought to be terror,
Might I be wrong, if my rebukes be but loathed, and my sentiments fulsome,
This is my own indignation if men found Babylon fairer,
Hence I have naught but intent on departure with suitable gladness
Walking along with a beast of my burdens, his work elevation,
Toward my own destination, the site of no temple or palace,
Rather to find what reason, and God in His sly adumbration
Bids me to find, but no haunt am I seeking with wizards or mystics,
Nay, I have known it the place of a dwelling, a faraway village
Known to me dimly but know to me still, for a diffident sickness
Clouds up my memory like it were furrowed by amateur tillage
Casting the soil of past things carelessly ’round the allotment
Muddying sight for the man, for he never exceeds his perspective,
Man is but locked to his gaze; and to wit we have endlessly sought it,
Never ailing ourselves of it, trying to build a corrective,
That of a tower to God in His heaven, usurping the prefects
Governing nations by making the light of the angels intrinsic
(Might such things be so possible), man unaware of his defects
Making him only a passable creature and function’ly linguic
Finds in the world this image — but now came thundering crashing
Followed by hooting and shouts, and my donkey surprised by the clatter
Hawed and refused to proceed, and descended on us meaning a thrashing
Six men armed with their hungering iron emerged from their scatter,
Rising from foliage, guised by a hill, stone blocking my seeing,
Whereof before any spoke I retrieved from the donkey my weapon
Swinging it swiftly, unfazed by the fact of their banditrous gleeing,
Shouting at them I am worried but mine own soul! (no deception),
That I be damned for the death of a man who attempted a last flight,
Not for potential a death of my own, and their japing and jeering
Came to an end with the harsh cuts seemed to impress of a fast fight
Might I be tempted to fight for the burdens my donkey was rearing;
Each had a small hesitation, for though I was surely outnumbered,
Easier targets could pass than a man with no cause to his own life,
Wherefore my sword was reshouldered and leaving the ambush unplundered
Thence I continued a mile, as the sun was no longer the lone light,
Joined by the stars and the moon, and the sun disappeared in the evening
Casting dispersed lights toward a village and one who in trial
Shewed me a kindness I gave to him first, and considered the meaning
That he had come to the haunches of Babylon’s widest defile
After his senseless captivity, that he was tempted to languish,
Now he had come to a place as a stranger and pauper and bastard,
Even pursued by a man who with frettable int’rest and anguish
Looks past Babylon’s palpable walls for the thing in it plastered
Blistered by heat in the sands and the marshes and riveries rosal
Seeking a thread laid down at the fortress of lost information
Which I consider all needful, my reason affords the proposal
That I could mentally order it round with a fair alteration
Which at the same time offers reciprocal order and ballast
Buoying mind past senses, for man, if in soul he is decent
Raises his eyes to the cloud he may climb to the heavenly palace
Not for the rain or the treasures alleged, but the treasures of reason
Governs my walk, for my travel is needed, my time is decided
That I be given to what I could never by slow contemplation
Even approach, and to this I have something remorsed and delighted
Knowing I walk as a specter, a shade to a new destination.
buying a donkey • honoring the Sabbath
needing supplies • departing Babylon
attempted banditry • to a village