Jerusalem broods her disaster days,
the wealthy duplicity that wafted like the radio—
when only soon after her people would
fall into hostile hands, no helper striding forward.
The enemy watched, the enemy saw, her, the worthlessness of her sabbaths.
Jerusalem sinned hard,
hardening to a fine, firm fickleness.
Her devotees then howled over the bitch:
All and each had eyed her rut stains.
She, but, she, whimpering, she, sobs, turned upon herself, face to butt
Her filth on her feet
not at all able to recall “after your fall . . .”
laid, aside, ardently
no soft hand feathered on the nape.
LORD, look, my torment— the enemy aroused and robust.
THE ENEMY sent his hand
after all her desirables.
SHE saw the nations,
her shrine penetrated.
YOU had even declared it: even your assembly, they are not to even enter.
Her whole people moaning and seeking bread
has offered treasured trinkets, each one for food
to chaff and kindle back a shallow breath.
LORD, look and chew on this,
since I am not even a tasteless half-mouthful myself to satisfy you.
Hey! All you passing on to anywhere else,
take a long look, and blink at the obvious:
is there any where, any fair, any despair like mine?
He has gathered grapes for the press-- ME!
“Thus saith the LORD” in the raving day of his fury.
Lamentations 1:7-12 vlg/bti
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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.