The LORD is Just

Updated: Aug 20, 2021

From high above,

he sent fire on my bones

and schooled me up real bright;

he spread a net underfoot,

whipped me ‘round

butt-wards to frontwards;

put me in my place,

abandoned, all day, worn out, with sorrow.

He worked till the crack of dawn-- a yoke of my crimes.

In his hand they were twisted and woven

and rolled across the ache of my neck.

My virtue is only lingering

fatigue--confounded and refuted.

My Master handed me over: I will never be able to rise.

Killed all the stout men among us-- my master did it--

summoned against me a season

to while away my favorites.

He tread the press-- my master did it--

for the maiden daughter of Judah.

OF COURSE I am sobbing,

my eyes dripping, dropping, streaming silence--

SINCE my comforter is drawn out of reach--

wheeling my spirit around for nothing.

My sons are destroyed,

BECAUSE the enemy has prevailed

Zion spreads out her hands--

Jacob had God’s attention--

in his bolthole, his enemy.

Jerusalem is done, like that woman

spotted skirts and trickled thigh.

The Lord is just.

I provoked his furious command.

All peoples, I beg you-- listen to him

and see my despair:

my maidens and young men

are off out into captivity.

Lamentations 1/13>18 vlgt/bti


This poetry is re-raveled from the Book of Lamentations, poetry written after the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem and the Davidic dynasty @586 BC.

But not straight from Lamentations-- the translation started from the Latin Vulgate version. There are textual variations compared with the available Hebrew text, and Latin peculiarities.

And not just sideways from Hebrew to Latin to English-- the poetry attempts the visceral and rhetorical texture of the original. Given the grief, gaudiness and gore, that get's odd.

Even a straight translation is only accurate like an old-fashioned arrow-- building in the bend around the bow for any bull's eye. Not straight, a howling maybe harmony.