Ecology of Jerusalem, by Yehuda Amichai

Peter Cole’s “Palestine: A Sestina” has been making the rounds (go here; here; here; and here). I’m fine with it, but it fails to capture the fierce tenderness I associate with Israelis and Palestinians I have known over the years. I don’t think the land or the people who inhabit it can be captured except by a poem in Hebrew or Arabic, and a poet like Yehuda Amichai or Mahmoud Darwish.

Below the fold, a poem by Yehuda Amichai entitled Ecology of Jerusalem, in Hebrew and translation. Students of ancient Hebrew will be able to read it with the occasional help of an online dictionary.

 

אֶקוֹלוֹגְיָה שֶׁל יְרוּשָׁלַיִם

Ecology of Jerusalem

הָאֲוִיר מֵעַל לִירוּשָׁלַיִם רְוּוי תְּפִלּוֹת וַחֲלוֹמוֹת

כְּמוֹ הָאֲוִיר מֵעַל לְעָרֵי תַּעֲשִׂיָּה כְּבֵדָה.

קָשֶׁה לִנְשֹׁם.

The air over Jerusalem is saturated with prayers and dreams
like the air over cities with heavy industry.
It’s hard to breathe.

וּמִזְמַן לִזְמַן מַגִּיעַ מִשְׁלוֹחַ חָדָשׁ הִסְטוֹרְיָה

וְהַבָּתִּים וְהַמִּגְדָּלִים הֵם חָמְרֵי אֲרִיזָתָהּ,

שֶׁאַחַר כָּךְ מֻשְׁלָכִים וְהַנֶּעֱרָמִים בַּעֲרֵמוֹת.

And from time to time a new shipment of history arrives.
Houses and towers serve as packing materials
later thrown away and piled in heaps.

וְלִפְעָמִים בָּאִים נֵרוֹת בִּמְקוֹם בְּנֵי אָדָם,

אָז שֶׁקֶט.

וְלִפְעָמִים בָּאִים בְּנֵי אָדָם בִּמְקוֹם נֵרוֹת,

אָז רַעַשׁ.

Sometimes candles come in place of people.
Then it’s quiet.
Sometimes people come in place of candles.
Then there’s noise.

וּבְתוֹךְ גַּנִּים סְגוּרִים, בֵּין שִׂיחֵי יַסְמִין

מְלֵאֵי בֹּשֶׂם, קוֹנְסוֹלְיוֹת זָרוֹת,

כְּמוֹ כַּלוֹת רָעוֹת שֶׁנִּדְּחוּ,

אוֹרְבוֹת לִשְׁעָתָן.

Amid enclosed gardens, among jasmine bushes
replete with balsam, foreign consulates,
like wicked brides who were thrust aside
lie in wait for their moment.

Bibliography

Yehuda Amichai, Poems of Jerusalem and Love Poems. A Bilingual Edition (Riverdale-on-Hudson: The Sheep Meadow Press, 1992) 100-101

The translation I offer above owes a bunch to that of Chana Bloch reprinted in the bilingual edition, but, except for some common syntactical features which map poorly from Hebrew to English, I adhere more tenaciously to the diction of the original than she does.

שֶׁנִּדְּחוּ should be pointed with a dagesh in the dalet, against the text as printed in the bilingual edition.

Comments

[Alan Lenzi]

>>I don’t think the land or the people who inhabit it can be captured except by a poem in Hebrew or Arabic<<

Romantic nonsense. You know better than that.

[JohnFH]

Hi Alan,

One side of my brain says you are right. The other side says you are wrong. It is also true that I expressed myself in such a way as to invite misconstrual.

What I'm trying to say is that Peter Cole's poetry comes across as travelogue by a visitor from a foreign country, whereas the poetry of Amichai and Darwish comes across as native and far more gripping, which it is.

But you're right: in theory, a visitor might capture the essence of a land and people as well as, or even better, than native observers.

Alexis-Charles-Henri Clérel de Tocqueville's Democracy in America succeeded in doing that, many would agree.

But I can't think of a non-Israeli or non-Palestinian who writes convincingly, in either poetry or prose, about the situation there. Can you?

[Philip Metres]

Thanks for your blog. As one invested in language, I feel sympathy for your sense of how spatial meanings are embedded in language, and vice versa. But taken to the extreme, this position effectively excludes the possibility of real cross-cultural understanding, translation, and love. Cole's poem is about resonance of language more than an attempt to write about the place or the situation. How the word "Palestine" is, in some sense, both just a word, and much more--for historical, political, and spiritual reasons.

[JohnFH]

Philip,

And thank you for your investment in language and your commitment to translation, to people, and cross-cultural understanding. Interested readers are directed to:

http://www.philipmetres.com/