05-07-2016, 08:36 PM
SOLOMON IN THE GARDEN OF ASTERS; The third section being taken from the King James and English Standard Versions of Song of Solomon, chapter five
1
God gave gifts
to his beasts --
wings, claws, beaks.
He gave me
wisdom,
opened
my third eye
with his hand --
I tell you, his hand
feels softer
than silk, sweeter
than sex.
Why should the other two
open again?
2
Father sowed
the garden --
I built
the house.
And as flowers wither
like stone bricks never do,
as stolen looks
murder,
I ask myself:
what is my father to me?
Am I not both hand and cheek,
son of David,
son of Bathsheba?
Bound to be
the lion and the lamb,
the hand of God
and the cheek
of his foolish people.
3
As the daisies
open in the days of angels,
so do I open
before my beloved.
Daughter of Pharoah,
who is chiefest
among ten thousand?
Whose head is as
the most fine gold?
Whose locks are bushy,
are black as a raven?
Whose eyes are as doves
beside streams of water,
bathing in milk
and fitly set?
Whose cheeks are as beds of spice,
as sweet flowers -- lips like lilies,
like lily-bowls dropping myrrh --
whose hands are golden rods,
easily bent, crusted with the beryl,
not the diamond. Whose belly
is polished ivory, naked teeth
stained blue by lapis lazuli,
glorified pebbles. Whose legs
are alabaster -- not marble,
not as old, not as strong.
Whose countenance is as Lebanon,
as her cedars -- now conquered,
now chopped down for the house
of a foreign king. Whose mouth
is most sweet -- sickly so,
desirable only to fools.
4
The essence of wisdom
is grief.
Deprived of love,
the worthiest gift,
I stumble
upon the bushes before me.
And now the lids
are glued shut,
all force
atrophied.
1
God gave gifts
to his beasts --
wings, claws, beaks.
He gave me
wisdom,
opened
my third eye
with his hand --
I tell you, his hand
feels softer
than silk, sweeter
than sex.
Why should the other two
open again?
2
Father sowed
the garden --
I built
the house.
And as flowers wither
like stone bricks never do,
as stolen looks
murder,
I ask myself:
what is my father to me?
Am I not both hand and cheek,
son of David,
son of Bathsheba?
Bound to be
the lion and the lamb,
the hand of God
and the cheek
of his foolish people.
3
As the daisies
open in the days of angels,
so do I open
before my beloved.
Daughter of Pharoah,
who is chiefest
among ten thousand?
Whose head is as
the most fine gold?
Whose locks are bushy,
are black as a raven?
Whose eyes are as doves
beside streams of water,
bathing in milk
and fitly set?
Whose cheeks are as beds of spice,
as sweet flowers -- lips like lilies,
like lily-bowls dropping myrrh --
whose hands are golden rods,
easily bent, crusted with the beryl,
not the diamond. Whose belly
is polished ivory, naked teeth
stained blue by lapis lazuli,
glorified pebbles. Whose legs
are alabaster -- not marble,
not as old, not as strong.
Whose countenance is as Lebanon,
as her cedars -- now conquered,
now chopped down for the house
of a foreign king. Whose mouth
is most sweet -- sickly so,
desirable only to fools.
4
The essence of wisdom
is grief.
Deprived of love,
the worthiest gift,
I stumble
upon the bushes before me.
And now the lids
are glued shut,
all force
atrophied.