תפילה עד אור הבוקר

המקור: תפילה עד אור הבוקר, ספר השיריים 1947-1970
 

Pinchas Sadeh: Prayer till the Light of Dawn

1.

Night of cruel drunken spree, why dost thou stare at me? Evil eye in the flesh, bad omen in the sky for my glee.

Hah, you, saint liqueur’s night! Your hands, so cold, hug my throat…Will you stroke or strangle? You thrust your claws and hold them in cold threat on my groan.

2.

Hah, night of many thirsts, lead me to the outskirts. Now two the bells do chime, two o’clock. Now the tombs do burst: it is ghosts’ hustling time.

3.

It is three past midnight, so the bells do say. Town surrounded by hills…town in which the tombs hold sway…not the crypts of Shushan. Not Egypt’s No Amon: not Thebei. Town bristling like emerald of the copper crosses’ finished light. This is the town eternal, stormed, praised and erased by Jeremiah and Nebuchadnezzar.

4.

Four o’clock. How deep you hid your head in the vein, clown of wine, butt of brew. I doze off and awake, I awake and doze anew.

What are you, who and what – sly wine-clown, you wine-fad! You are the chuckling, you are the muffled mat, branch of disguise to my staff of wrath.

More! And still more! Stay with me here put, my lover and soothe, my comfort. I see brands of fire in your eyes and hear flutes in my blood.

Choirs sing in my sky! Choirs cry out of my chasms and gaps. – This is the forewarning of the deaths of the Gods – or Satan’s – or what?

5.

Five o’clock. It’s dawn. Blessed art thou, my night, ere you’re gone. Your fingers on my throat soften now, dropping myrrh…Slim they are, red and white, wreathed mirth.

All this night they writhed, spelled out my woe and ill. Take them now off my lids, my deep night of spirits, pillory, bitter pill.

The dew’s scent, sweet and fresh, the dew’s scent thrills my flesh. There the stars fall, wane away…The full light (of the day) will hold them in its mesh all the day.

The night goes and hides in the caves on the mounts. And dew drops, and it drops on the barns, on the thresh, on the boughs, on the ground.

How dainty, beautiful are the feet of the dew, swift like flash. When they dance on the hills even the feet of the does will blush.

All the meadow’s new shoots send their green arms yearning, closing  its eyes out of breath lies the primrose of evening. Who will die and who will live till the rise of the morning, reawakened and reborn by the dew’s solace returning.

6.

The bells ring: it’s three times two: like a maid, (or a roe), full of grace, the morning-star is risen. The mountains now lace their hue, the horizon is ablaze and burns from red to blue.

To the dew’s horns’ breath larks answer in delight.  In her hut  the young maid  presses her mellow breasts to the blithe pillow light.

Who is that awakes me, the lips of whom kiss my eyes? Who has dispersed the gloom? The Morning-King shines. I fall asleep, droop in swoon.

7.

Morning’s glory! Let me too

Come through the gates of light

To worlds nameless.

On the narrow path

Replenished by the dew of dawn

I’ll go by quiet.

King, oh king and sovereign! At the outer gate

Appointed to the whores and bitches

To the drunken and to your menial workers –

Let it be given to me to pass,

Even to me, your slave, the songster.

(Translated by Moshe Ganan)