*The Song of Songs
The Song of Songs -translated by Chana Bloch and Ariel Bloch
How wonderful you are, O Love,
how much sweeter
than all other pleasures!
But to try to quote from the Song is like hunting for a rabbit’s foot. Or trying to cook only a spoonful of soup. The lovers are stoked with the such desperate passion, that no matter the circumstance, the politic, or the law, they bestow on themselves and, now, thanks to the translation, on us, a profound innocence. In that split moment before tears begin to well. Before pain is translated into reaction. Or desire hits the brain. No wonder the Song flaunts such a pure animal presence. The lovers living between the heartbeats. I can see the Shulamite stealthing around the city at night. Silent, almost rolling, footsteps. The lovers collision always in the softlight of dawn. The air cold.
Hurry, my love! Run away,
my gazelle, my wild stag
on the hills of cinnamon.
How wonderful you are, O Love,
how much sweeter
than all other pleasures!
But to try to quote from the Song is like hunting for a rabbit’s foot. Or trying to cook only a spoonful of soup. The lovers are stoked with the such desperate passion, that no matter the circumstance, the politic, or the law, they bestow on themselves and, now, thanks to the translation, on us, a profound innocence. In that split moment before tears begin to well. Before pain is translated into reaction. Or desire hits the brain. No wonder the Song flaunts such a pure animal presence. The lovers living between the heartbeats. I can see the Shulamite stealthing around the city at night. Silent, almost rolling, footsteps. The lovers collision always in the softlight of dawn. The air cold.
Hurry, my love! Run away,
my gazelle, my wild stag
on the hills of cinnamon.
posted by JohnWashington at 4:06 PM
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