So, here's our hero on the road from Tiberias (Tiveria) to Khazaria (north of the Black Sea) and the year is about 1150 CE. To make his passage easier he and his wife Butkoel (a shortened form of Batsheva Kol Tov) try to become anonymous by taking on the role of shepherds.
This stage in their journey emulates the Kedusha, the third of the 18 blessings. In the Kedusha one reaches the pinnacle of holiness, elevated to angelic levels of awareness....
(A note on the format:
I have translated the poetry and converted it into prose to help the reader navigate my modified (dare I say, elevated) English. Thus, a prose paragraph in "old" English followed by the same text as poetry in metaEnglish.)
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The border on the Seljuk lands is like a desert nomad’s cloak -- ill kept and full of gapin’ holes. Seljuk Syria, that’s our goal. A two day haul thru dried out streams, wadis where branches of long dead oaks reach from their graves to pluck your eyes.
The border on the Seljouk lanz
Iz like a dezzert nomadz kloek --
Ill kept an fule a gapen hoel.
Seljouk Sureyah, thats ar goel.
A tu2 day hawl thru dry owt streemz,
Woddeez ware branchen a long ded oek
Reech frum thaer graven tu pluk yur iy.
And not two weeks after that, and we’ve acquired our kingly robes to seem the shepherds we must be. Hooded cloaks of felted wool -- like walking ovens in the sun; fur-skin boots packed with felt to ease the blistering rocky road -- a rancid stench soon reeked from them; each a staff to walk by the way and help convince hungry wolves to tear necks in other folds; and naturally a willow switch to help convince a head-strong goat to join his happy flock again.
An nor a tu2 week after that
An we akwiyerz ar keenglee robe
Tu seem the shepperz we mus be.
Houded kloeks a felted wool --
Like wokken uvvenz in the sun;
Fer-skin boots pakt with felt
Tu eez the blisterres rokkee rode --
A ransid stench soon reeken them;
Eech a staf tu wok by the way
An help kunvins the hungree woolv
Tu taren neks in uther foelz;
An nacherlee a willo swich
Tu help kunvins a hed-streng goet
Tu join iz happee flok aggen.
Soon enough we become like goats ourselves. We see the world thru a goat’s eyes: tufts of weeds and low-hung leaves direct their path, movin’ at the slowest pace of twelve distracted, hungry beasts. Any patch of dusty turf allures their dull and beasty eyes. Passin’ this rich and varied world our eyes serve only our yammerin’ guts; a berry here, a nut there, a dusty weed looks succulent; in a death-dry wadi, a puddle of mud now appears like a cup of wine.
Soon ennuf an we bekum
Like goet arselz. See the werl
Thru goetee iy: tufs a weed
An lo-hung leevz derrekter path,
Muven at the slowwes pase
Uv twelv distracken, hungree beests.
Ennee pach a dustee terf
Allorz thaer dul an beestee iy.
Passen this richen vareyes werl
Ar iyz serv nor ar yammerree guts;
A baree heer, a nut thaer,
A dustee weed louks sukyulen;
In a deth-dry woddee, a puddel a mud
Now appeern like a kup a wine.
Come to a village without a name. Just one dusty lane lined by walls; the mud plaster crumblin' in piles, or cracked and buckling from the mudbrick core. Behind the walls and at open gates dogs bark; children too. Comes a young mother, babe at breast, hardly a tooth in either mouth. Sees us and slams and bolts her gate. I hears her spit three times and croak, “Accurst, accurst, accurst, a jinn! This home be rid of satan and sin.” Weren’t sure if she meant us or her, but the goats got the message and scurried on, and we too scampered, goatfully.
Kum tu a villij withowten name,
Jes wun dustee lane liend by wawlz;
The mud plaster in krumbellee pielz
Or krakt an bukkelz frum the mudbrik kor.
Behien the wawlz an open gaet;
Dogz a bark, an childer too.
Kumz a yung muther, babe at bres,
Hardlee a toothen eether mow.
Seez us; slammen a boelter gate.
I heerz her spit three tiem an kroek,
“Akkerst, akkerst, akkerst; a jin!
“This hame be rid uv saten sin.”
Wernt shor if she meen us or her,
But the goets got the messij an skerree on
An we too skamperz goetfulee.
Passed a well along the road. Butkoel turns off to look in it; turns the handle, and disgusted says, “Broke and corroded all this place.”
Past a wel allong the roed.
Butkoel ternz of tu louks in it;
Ternz the handel, a disgusted say,
“Brake an kerroden in its plase.”
Passed some ruins in a rocky field. Didn’t notice till the goats all stopped to nibble clover by the rubble of a wall. Behind, on a patch of mosaic floor: a Roman caesar stands by his throne; his foot on the head of a local king. And this graffiti etched beside:“Zion, your abusers won’t endure. Their ruin will be swift to come, and sure."
Past sum ruwenz in a rokkee feel.
Didden notis til the goets awl stops
Tu nibbel klover by a rubbeld wawl.
Behien, on a pach uv mozayek flor:
A romen sezer stanz by iz throne.
A fout on the hed uv a lokel keeng.
An this graffetee echen besiedz:
“Ziyon, yur abyuzerz woen endor.
“Thaer ruwen iz swif tu kum on shor.”
*Stopped beside a church along the way. Well, we squatted on our heels and listened to them pray.* (*-* California Dreamin'.) Psalms and supplications, like sobbin’ wails, then a preacher’s voice like a crackin’ whip replacing the sobs with his pounding fist. “Our curse will resound as long as we live, against you, Zengi**, warlord and dog. Our mouths will spit, and our tongues will sneer, and our hands will lay snares in your fields and stumbling blocks in your blind ways, until you tremble and until you fall. And we will drive you out of our world. Cursed are you, Zengi dog.” (** The Zengi were local Turkic governors serving the Seljuks, soon to be overthrown from within by Saladin.)
*Stops besiedz a cherch allongen way.
Waal, we skwotten on ar heelz an lissen tu em pray.*
*-* Mommahz an Poppahz, “Kallaffornee Dreemen”
Salmen suplakkatenz, like sobben waelz,
Then a preechennes vois, like a krakken wip
Replasen a sobz with the pownded fist,
“Ar kers iz rezownd az long az ar livz
“Aggens yu, Zengee* wor-lorren dogz.
* Lokel Terkish govvannerz serven the Seljouks,
an soon tu be overthrone frum within
by Salladdin.
“Ar mowz ar spit an ar tung iz sneer
“An ar han iz lay a snare in yur feelz
“An a stumbellen blok in yur blienden wayz
“Until yur trembelz an until yur fawlz
“An we wil drive yu owten ar werl.
"Kerst ar yu, Zengee dog.”
Such a Kedusha is what we heard sittin’ in the shade and walking by the way. Inverted like Dante's climb thru hell, the World of Light reversed in our atoms, and we, once angels, now with animal eyes. There we wept, aware of ourselves.
Sech a Keddueshah* az we ar herd
* Therd blessen uv Shmonah Esray,
holenes uv the Lor az experen by Hem aenjelz
Sitten in the shade and wokken by the wayz,
Invertenz like Dontayz klime thru helz,
The werlz uv lite in Addom reverst,
An we, wuns aenjel, with annammel iyz.
Thaer we wept, awware uv arselz.
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