by Charles Reznikoff

    I

    New Year's

    The solid houses in the mist

    are thin as tissue paper；

    the water laps slowly at the rocks；

    and the ducks from the north are here

    at rest on the grey ripples¹.

    The company in which we went

    so free of care， so carelessly，

    has scattered². Good-bye，

    to you who lie behind in graves，

    to you who galloped³ proudly off！

    Pockets and heart are empty.

    This is the autumn and our harvest

    such as it is， such as it is

    the beginnings of the end， bare trees and barren ground；

    but for us only the beginning：

    let the wild goat's horn and the silver trumpet⁴ sound！

    Reason upon reason

    to be thankful：

    for the fruit of the earth，

    for the fruit of the tree，

    for the light of the fire，

    and to have come to this season.

    The work of our hearts is dust

    to be blown about in the winds

    by the God of our dead in the dust

    but our Lord delighting in life

    （let the wild goat's horn and the silver trumpet sound！）

    our God Who imprisons⁵ in coffin⁶ and grave

    and unbinds the bound.

    You have loved us greatly and given us

    Your laws

    for an inheritance，

    Your sabbaths， holidays， and seasons of gladness，

    distinguishing Israel

    from other nations

    distinguishing us

    above the shoals of men.

    And yet why should we be remembered

    if at all only for peace， if grief

    is also for all？ Our hopes，

    if they blossom， if they blossom at all， the petals⁷

    and fruit fall.

    You have given us the strength

    to serve You，

    but we may serve or not

    as we please；

    not for peace nor for prosperity，

    not even for length of life， have we merited

    remembrance； remember us

    as the servants

    You have inherited.

    II

    Day of Atonement

    The great Giver has ended His disposing；

    the long day

    is over and the gates are closing.

    How badly all that has been read

    was read by us，

    how poorly all that should be said.

    All wickedness shall go in smoke.

    It must， it must！

    The just shall see and be glad.

    The sentence is sweet and sustaining；

    for we， I suppose， are the just；

    and we， the remaining.

    If only I could write with four pens between five fingers

    and with each pen a different sentence at the same time

    but the rabbis say it is a lost art， a lost art.

    I well believe it. And at that of the first twenty sins that we confess，

    five are by speech alone；

    little wonder that I must ask the Lord to bless

    the words of my mouth and the meditations⁸ of my heart.

    Now， as from the dead， I revisit the earth and delight

    in the sky， and hear again

    the noise of the city and see

    earth's marvelous creatures men.

    Out of nothing I became a being，

    and from a being I shall be

    nothing but until then

    I rejoice， a mote⁹ in Your world，

    a spark in Your seeing.

    III

    Feast of Booths

    This was a season of our fathers' joy：

    not only when they gathered grapes and the fruit of trees

    in Israel， but when， locked in the dark and stony¹⁰ streets，

    they held symbols of a life from which they were banished¹¹

    but to which they would surely return

    the branches of palm trees and of willows¹²， the twigs¹³ of the myrtle，

    and the bright odorous citrons.

    This was the grove¹⁴ of palms with its deep well

    in the stony ghetto¹⁵ in the blaze of noon；

    this the living stream lined with willows；

    and this the thick-leaved myrtles and trees heavy with fruit

    in the barren ghetto a garden

    where the unjustly hated were justly safe at last.

    In booths this week of holiday

    as those who gathered grapes in Israel lived

    and also to remember we were cared for

    in the wilderness¹⁶

    I remember how frail¹⁷ my present dwelling¹⁸ is

    even if of stones and steel.

    I know this is the season of our joy：

    we have completed the readings of the Law

    and we begin again；

    but I remember how slowly I have learnt， how little，

    how fast the year went by， the years how few.

    IV

    Hanukkah

    The swollen¹⁹ dead fish float on the water；

    the dead birds lie in the dust trampled²⁰ to feathers；

    the lights have been out a long time and the quick gentle hands that lit them

    rosy²¹ in the yellow tapers²²' glow

    have long ago become merely nails and little bones，

    and of the mouths that said the blessing²³ and the minds that thought it

    only teeth are left and skulls²⁴， shards²⁵ of skulls.

    By all means， then， let us have psalms²⁶

    and days of dedication²⁷ anew to the old causes.

    Penniless， penniless， I have come with less and still less

    to this place of my need and the lack of this hour.

    That was a comforting word the prophet spoke²⁸：

    Not by might nor by power but by My spirit， said the Lord；

    comforting， indeed， for those who have neither might nor power

    for a blade of grass， for a reed.

    The miracle， of course， was not that the oil for the sacred light

    in a little cruse lasted as long as they say；

    but that the courage of the Maccabees lasted to this day：

    let that nourish my flickering²⁹ spirit.

    Go swiftly in your chariot， my fellow Jew，

    you who are blessed with horses；

    and I will follow as best I can afoot，

    bringing with me perhaps a word or two.

    Speak your learned and witty discourses

    and I will utter my word or two

    not by might not by power

    but by Your Spirit， Lord

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