Friday, January 30, 2009

The Parable of the Old Man and the Young / Wilfred Owen

I recently visited Jerusalem, and among other things, enjoyed a great view from the Armon ha-Natsiv Promenade. The guide spoke of the (near) sacrifice of Isaac, which is said to have occured at the very spot on the Moriah mountain on which later stood the Jewish Temple, then the Muslims built their Dome of the Rock.

Wilfred Owen, of whose Anthem for Doomed Youth I had already written, thought about Isaac's sacrifice too, but used it to speak of his own time and doom.


So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps
and builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him, thy son.
Behold! Caught in a thicket by its horns,
A Ram. Offer the Ram of Pride instead.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.
(Owen)


Was Owen's war - World War I just about personal pride? I don't think so. But this poem rings especially true when one thinks of the sins of pride of each of us individually:


Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus,
that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.
Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades,
and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures,
for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the day
on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles,
first fell out with one another.
(Homer, Iliad, I)

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

On the Path towards the Pools / Yoram Taharlev, Alona Tural, Chava Alberstein

Israeli mourning songs are a distinct thematic genre, which may be characterized by extreme melancholy and idealization of the innocent past as opposed to the bereaved present. Stylistically the sad content is counterpointed by beautiful melodies and eloquent lyrics. Such is this wonderful song, which has been on my mind lately (*). It is called 'On the Path towards the Pools' by Yoram Taharlev.

(*) I disdain from politics. However, I feel obliged to remark that my sorrow is not due to recent events of national significance. Foes of Israel should all drop dead before they make me sad — gladly the IDF is there to help them in this undertaking.

בשביל אל הבריכות פסעו שלובי ידים
וכוכבים נשרו למים עם הטל
ותן בודד צחק הרחק בתוך הליל
והיא אמרה: אתה כל כך יפה חיל


And on the path towards the pools they paced, entwined,
While stars have fallen in the water with the dew,
Amidst the dark, a distant jackal whined,
"You're so fair" — she said — "my soldier, look at you!"

(Tr. mine. I hope to complete it one day)

Note the scat refrain between the verses - generally scat is not very typical of Israeli music; it was probably added to add spice to the verses that are otherwise very even. The refrain between the penultimate verse and the final one is more elaborate than the rest. It is longer - with a change of scales (note the emotional coloring of this section!) - and an instrumental counterpoint to the scat. Overall, the base is very prominent in this performance and gives creates a sense of a rapid and irreversible procession of events (cf. for instance with the contemporary "Flowers in the muzzle" - "פרחים בקנה").

The Hebrew lyrics are precise and meaningful - Yoram Taharlev is remarkable for his storytelling. The music and Chava Albertein's naïve recitation of the narrative reach straight into my heart —

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Dialogue - He / Leah Goldberg


בשתיקתך, שקע כבמצולה
דברי המר, אהבתי קשבת -
ממרחקים, אין - הד אלי נושבת
שלות בשרך בלי חסד וחמלה

גופך היה לי נכר וגולה
ממבטך כמאגם חוזרת
תמיד אלי דמותי המתאכזרת
מצלילותך - נפשי האפלה.

אביונותי - משפע ותפארת
את לי הדרך, לבדידות כפולה.



Your silence swallowed up as an abyss
My bitter words. My love now hears you whole —
And from the stretching silence blows,
With neither grace nor mercy, a calm peace

Your body turned an exile overseas
In your two eyes, as in a lake's cool glass
At me my cruelty must pass,
Your clarity reflects my soul amiss,

My destitution - from all the wealth and splendour
To twice the loneliness for me your road proceeds.

Translated by yours truly, Jan. 2009.