Dancing at my windowsill she calls,
black bottomless eyes and a jagged smile
tug me from sleep with a broken-glass laugh.
Beckoning, this pixie traces softly across my jaw--
fingertips so slightly ***** the skin.
Wordless but for laughter she pulls at me until
charmed I rise to follow where she leads.

Open evening air greets my night-dressed body
with cool wakening breezes and wild sounds.
Stumbling through rocks and over roots
I chase through the wood behind my manic guide.
Toes grip at undergrowth, slip, falling to arrive
on my knees
scraped and panting slightly
in a clearing otherworldly,
aglow with fey light.

A curious night-shine looms--yet Luna's face is hidden.
All attentions focus now on this central luminescence.
From its core jangles sweet, unearthly music
twisting its way into my heart
teasing at the edges of my fragile mind.
Compelled forward I follow sound--
my waker cannot outstrip me as we hurtle on.
Before our eyes the glow casts shadows
forming structure in this mystifying vision
eyes drink in your very first glimpse:
The Carnival.

Light and shadow compose sweeping tents
striped ebony and ivory, seeming strong as each
element yet smooth, sculpted by a master's hands.
Leaping black flames skip along their summits,
performing their nocturnal dance,
illuminating darkness, engulfing light.

Revelers' song soars and forms carouse,
                                                  lively­--but shadows only--to the eyes outside.

The air bears heady perfumes, enticing scents:            
rich, melting creams and toasting sugar
enveloping baked warmth and intoxicating spice.
Last, encircling all this wonder,
cries of mirth and sights to amaze:
an unadorned, unflinching iron fence.

Drunk with sound and smell and scene
wildly spinning through the breeze,
my rousing sprite whirls ahead
bound as if in a trance
her body flinging against
the forbidding blackened gates--
                                        her laughter only extinguished
                                                         as her delicate form dissolves into smoke
                                         holding momentarily the blue of night
                                                         her wasted shape, lost to the barrier.

But Curiosity will blind
eyes far more chaste than mine,
and Allure sings only such songs
that no heart suffers long.

Heedless mortal as I am, I grasp the solid frame
decay crumbles rough against my palms.
Bodies of other spirits caked by time
or the innocent work of oxidation
I do not pause to wonder,
merely vault myself over the fence
and brush from my hands
the black dust of portentous iron.

Inside the gate, vibrant figures flood my vision
ornately costumed in gowns of orange, violet, green
arrayed in shirts and trousers dazzling in spectrum.
These gorgeous apparitions loop around me
peddling beauty, selling fame.
They mesmerize  the eye with stunning wares:
an emerald beast to carry your heavy burdens
sapphire wine to cool your burning tongue
the music of a thousand crystal seas
kept in a bottle to drown your babbling mind.

                "What do they cost?"
                            "Not a dime, not a dime!
                              Just your Now, just a Moment,
                                                         ­                  only Passing Time."

Wandering deeper into the mysteries of night
a band of revelers swing beside and catch me
laughing, bear my bewildered form in arms
and deposit me into a large tent, wherein I find
a man at a canvas the size of a wall
before which are seven stone bowls.
He dashes his brush before the amazed,
and the canvas remains blank
until my companions urge me closer.
Couching myself upon a cushion shapes appear:
Here is a man who will paint your heart's desires
so vivid you can lose all you have
so intimate you fear to move,
lest any see the embers of your fire.

Spin and turn, the Revelers never stay long,
nor draw too near to any one spectacle,
but only joy for new tents, new delights.
No passion was left to grow cold,
no enchantment to lose its power.

Spin
See the girl of flawless grace,
her body painted like the stars--
                                                  the stars the carnival hid
painted like the stars and lithe as the air
ethereal in her arts,
ascending the pole, traversing the rope!
See her twine around stakes and over fire,
dive through hoops and drop
through that needle-loop in your eye.

Spin
Step up to the tent of glistening blue
the fountain that gushes without source.
Marvel at its lucent clarity, it's chilling foam!
Fill your goblet to the brim and drink!
Drink deep, imbibe sweet forgetfulness.
Long for nothing, cleanse your heart.

Spin
Take the carousel with its living beasts to ride.
Make merry with all on board and erase
any care your heart can hold.
Let the furious pace speed on from you
all that would trouble for a thought.

Spin
A honeyed apple pressed against your tongue.
                                         Just a taste! Just a bite!
See the glistening on the skin
made from the dreams of the greatest hearts
unrestrained and unrequited.
Fresh Desire--they're all the more enticing.

The apple glitters golden, its red flesh shines beneath.
Something familiar, a darker red, flecked across the finish.
I bite down and reel--
Something wondrous, but something queer.

Faithful attendants grab me quickly, dance me
into the mouth of a dark velvet tent.
It swallows me as I fall, waiting for the teeth---

        White mist surrounds with a shimmer
         and I have found the ground.
A Voice, deep as the sea enfolds me
gentle, heavy as with sleep--yet all aware.
It invites me closer, sit nearer
rest from the night's fantasies.
Lulled, I make for the figure hooded in brilliant gold.
He leads me to his table.

Heavy, strangely empty I seek sanctuary.
He offers instead a great promise--
power over my weariness, my desires met.
He offers joy unending,
pleasure without regret, without shame.
A haven promised here, mine alone, if only--
--if only I will stay.

But something tastes metallic in those words
promises that cannot be kept.
No tent could hold so much.
This voice, so warm and pleasing,
cannot mask well a lie,
and the gentle hand holds equally a threat.
                                                         ­                                                             run­
                Awake once more I fly from the shroud
bursting blind into the alley.

But back in the tent, left a piece of my heart
and my eye rolls away into a peddler's cup
blistered bits of my soul flake off, scorched
by fire-eaters food. What's left? Who am I?

                             What did it cost?
                               Not a dime, not a dime!
                                          Just a piece of your heart,
                                                                ­  just a piece of your mind.

Retching, the last of my still beating heart
squelches into my waiting hands.
I gag and sob out the gore, disbelieving
this small bit of flesh is all that is left
of all that I have been.

The blood draws the eyes of comrades
now changing from lovely to grotesque.
Ravenous, their teeth elongate
Eyes darken and colors fade
What was vibrant now decayed.
Sweet cream curdles in my mouth.
Rich meats, choice fruits turn sour--
the apple rots.

A hoard unrecognizable
of starved beasts and hideous beings
bears down for my final offering.

But I must know who I am
and what there was beyond this place!

Sprinting barefoot from the mob
clutching the vital treasure to my chest--
though to there it may not return--
I look now for mercy from the black gate.

Elegant porcelain fingers produce monstrous claws.
What once caressed my wondering skin
now sinks in for blood with crushing force.
A hopeless last attempt, a dead man's prayer:
I fling my body on the gate---


                                                       ­                                I am over. I am free--



Iron that once kept me out, now holds them fast within.

Bedclothes torn, all my purchased raiment turned to ash,
I limp, clutching a fragment heart.
Staggering from the Carnival's screams,
its dissonant music now all trick and terror.
Putrid garbage wafts from its walls.
Press onward, never looking back, through the wood.

So long ago--how long?--a little one led me here.
Her death was her own, but could have been
my salvation, a warning dearly paid.
Cheaply received.

My mind swims.
A body with its heart outside cannot last.
There are many things not of the Carnival
that would have my final scrap.

Faltering feet stumble and tripping find
a mere clear and still: a mirror for the moon.
And Luna's face does shine down
all her attendants watching on
as my naked form collapses beside its calm.
I cannot deserve this resting place,
could not discern a trap if one here lay.
All I can and have and am I offer up to Mercy,
and dip what's left of my broken life
into the cleansing pool.

Her skin looks pale,

White shedding brown,

like a golden brown velvet

strewn across a skeleton

made from Cleopatra’s frame.

There is nothing to it,

her sway is flawless

in her stilettos,

O’ God those stilettos.

She pave the roads with

blossoms of Primrose

and Calla Lilies, as the tip

of her heels stab the earth.



Her body melts cotton candies

in winter,

her curve bakes pastries

in snowy mountains,

It was an unbelievable sight,

like a sunrise, she climbs the edges

of the highest of peaks,

like the wind, she enters a heart by

the creaks; like a creep.

Perhaps nothing shall stop her,

Her footsteps continue to pierce

the soil, making a sound close to the

cracking of my knuckles.



She made people snivel and weep

when she enters the room

with her slender black dress.

She makes heads turn almost

to their full circle,

it would be death to steal a

peek, or glance, a peep.

She is the sun on earth:

hot and highly radiated

but too tempting to be left alone.

She is like the still waters:

calm, clean and serene

but too quiet to know the depth;

and still willingly jump in.

It is like believing again.

She is like believing again.



She is tiny as is her name,

It shall rhyme as the bell shines,

Her hair, her coiled twisted hair,

is much like herself: curled, twisted

bended.

Yet she is, perhaps, the twist in life,

the curl of wind on her bosoms, or

the bend of spines when eyes turn

to gaze at her splendor.

It is uncertain what she is,

but I know, vaguely.

She, like a Zinnia, shall be the

decoration of this planet.

She shall be, though exaggerated,

the reason for our existence.

She, corrupted and dangerous,

shall reclaim her spot in divinity

and shall forever more be

my source of inspiration.



Like a stream of clear water,

gushing down the torrent

ovately,

ornately,

creatively,

purposefully…

She shall see herself,

breathe herself and know that

only she is the one she could

deliberately fall…

…or fail.

The black sand shall be her dress,

the grey rocks shall be her stilettos,

that clear water be her conscience

as she takes on the world.

With her cursive eye shadows

she will see the funny side of

life; she will see it thoroughly.

She, regardless, will persist

and resist the failure

of herself, with the moist

creek on her seductive lips.



She is seduction.

She is temptation.

Like lucid dreams entrapped
  within a circlet ornately adorned
   A sweetest love conceived
   but can't be borne
    Trailing feathers
     billowing light as rain
       Starkness in ink
       blot reckless in heavy stain
     Strings strung taut
   attempting to keep all in place
  Dream catcher sways
by the window, free and chaste

Someone undeserving of my devotion,
ugly and beautiful,
whispers that scratch up all my dreams,
crazy glue,
a strutting rooster, cocking its vibrant scarlet head back and forth,
a wolf crooning into the night, only to eat me a minute later,
an ornately decorated box, containing a demon of possession,
a precious ******* up vinyl record,
an expensive bugatti that everyone wants but no one can get,
a snake, venomous, but protective of her eggs, really just scared,
a lamppost that's tired of it's job.

Obscured by this ornately designed day ****** covering
Is a damaged mind that's still recovering
A broken heart that's still recovering
Love, life, and friendship again
Behind this mask is a dead man that's been resurrected again

He is becoming a new
Without the mask he is no longer blue.
The old world behind him
His new world will find him
Without out this mask his light can shine through.....if you wanted to go that direction of like New life

Behind this mask memories pass straight through it's eyes
When you stare at it slowly your faith dies
The mask was the man's demise The mask is where the darkness will rise

I am a flute
ornately carved of rich wood
able to whistle a mighty melody.

My potential to toot
and my complex craftsmanship could
be the reason why I might break easily.

An apathetic Boot
or aging untouched could
be the death of me.

I am hollow inside
but with a gentle touch and a loving kiss
I could sing so sweetly.

on the crowded quai of inception
   gilded minutes ornately revolve
time is measured in tranches of soul
   transporting moments of his essence

never versed in the outside world
   an innocent daughter of imagination
boarding a train of transfixed reverie
   her departure held fast in sistine release

such a private exhibition on public display
   their affection left open to interpretation
a tearfully expressive and inspired farewell
   within a shrine devoted to the art of the muse

Tread the bourgeois carpet
of 5000 feet
caked in airmiles

Enter the ornately crafted
nondescript facade
passed the chap in the tall hat

Rank and file -
standard issue pleasantries

Sign the guestbook
of illegible memories

Acclimatise to the room
of temporary devotion

devoid of belonging
or emotion;

the ruthless economics
of designed practicality

The impending ideology:
that what you pay for
you dont get to keep

That nameless hotel
dressed in uniformed vulgarity
is the fourth to be welcomed
as Home this week

Temple Hymn 7: an Excerpt

to the Kesh Temple of Ninhursag
by Enheduanna (circa 2285-2250 BCE)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O, high-situated Kesh,
form-shifting summit,
inspiring fear like a venomous viper!

O, Lady of the Mountains,
Ninhursag’s house was constructed on a terrifying site!

O, Kesh, like holy Aratta: your womb dark and deep,
your walls high-towering and imposing!

O, great lion of the wildlands stalking the high plains! ...

Ninhursag was the goddess of nature and animals, both wild and tame. She was also the goddess of the womb and form-shaping. And she was the patron deity of Kesh.

This page contains modern English translations of a number of poems written by Enheduanna:

"The Exaltation of Inanna"
"Hymn to Inanna"
"Lament to the Spirit of War"
and several Temple Hymns

Enheduanna, the daughter of the famous King Sargon the Great of Akkad, is the first ancient writer whose name remains known today. She appears to be the first named poet in human history, the first known author of prayers and hymns, and the first librarian and anthologist. Enheduanna was an innovator, doing things that had never been done before, as she said herself:

These are my innovations,
O Mighty Queen, Inanna, that I made for You!
What I composed for You by the dark of night,
The cantor will chant by day.
—Enheduanna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Enheduanna, who lived circa 2285-2250 BCE, is also one of the first women we know by name. Far ahead of her time, Enheduanna reigned supreme as the greatest female poet until she (finally!) had serious competition with the births, more than 1500 years later, of poets like Sappho of ******, Erinna, Korinna (all three circa 600 BCE), Tzu Yeh, Sui Hui, Anyte of Tegea, Sulpicia, Zu Hui and Ono no Komachi.

"You have given wings to the storm, O Beloved of Enlil!"

Enheduanna was the entu (high priestess) of the goddess Inanna (Ishtar/Astarte/Aphrodite) and the moon god Nanna (Sin) in the Sumerian city-state of Ur. Enheduanna's composition Nin-me-šara ("The Exaltation of Inanna") details her expulsion from Ur, located in southern Iraq, along with her prayerful request to the goddess for reinstatement.

Beloved Lady of An and Uraš!
Hierodule of An, sun-adorned and bejeweled!
Heaven’s Mistress with the holy diadem,
Who loves the beautiful headdress befitting the office of her high priestess!
—Enheduanna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Enheduanna also composed 42 liturgical hymns addressed to temples across Sumer and Akkad. She was also the first editor of a poetry anthology, hymnal or songbook, and the first poet to write in the first person. Her Sumerian Temple Hymns was the first collection of its kind; indeed, Enheduanna so claimed in closing: "My king, something has been created that no one had created before." Today poems and songs are still being assembled via the model she established over 4,000 years ago! Enheduanna may also have been the first feminist, as I explain in the notes that follow my translations of her poems.—MRB



Lament to the Spirit of War
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You hack down everything you see, War God!

Rising on fearsome wings
you rush to destroy our land:
raging like thunderstorms,
howling like hurricanes,
screaming like tempests,
thundering, raging, ranting, drumming,
whiplashing whirlwinds!

Men falter at your approaching footsteps.

Tortured dirges scream on your lyre of despair.

Like a fiery Salamander you poison the land:
growling over the earth like thunder,
vegetation collapsing before you,
blood gushing down mountainsides.

Spirit of hatred, greed and vengeance!

******* of heaven and earth!

Your ferocious fire consumes our land.

Whipping your stallion
with furious commands,
you impose our fates.

You triumph over all human rites and prayers.

Who can explain your tirade,
why you carry on so?



Temple Hymn 15
to the Gishbanda Temple of Ningishzida
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Most ancient and terrible shrine,
set deep in the mountain,
dark like a mother's womb ...

Dark shrine,
like a mother's wounded breast,
blood-red and terrifying ...

Though approaching through a safe-seeming field,
our hair stands on end as we near you!

Gishbanda,
like a neck-stock,
like a fine-eyed fish net,
like a foot-shackled prisoner's manacles ...
your ramparts are massive,
like a trap!

But once we’re inside,
as the sun rises,
you yield widespread abundance!

Your prince
is the pure-handed priest of Inanna, heaven's Holy One,
Lord Ningishzida!

Oh, see how his thick, lustrous hair
cascades down his back!

Oh Gishbanda,
he has built this beautiful temple to house your radiance!
He has placed his throne upon your dais!

Ningishzida was a deity of the Netherworld: he was the chair-bearer who carried notable persons to their destination. The ancient Sumerians believed the Netherworld was set deep in the mountains, so a mountain shrine was perhaps a "natural" for Ningishzida.



The Exaltation of Inanna: Opening Lines and Excerpts
Nin-me-šara by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Lady of all divine powers!
Lady of the resplendent light!
Righteous Lady arrayed in heavenly radiance!

Beloved Lady of An and Uraš!
Hierodule of An, sun-adorned and bejeweled!
Heaven’s Mistress with the holy diadem,
Who loves the beautiful headdress befitting the office of her high priestess!

Powerful Mistress, seizer of the seven divine powers!
My Heavenly Lady, guardian of the seven divine powers!
You have seized the seven divine powers!
You hold the divine powers in your hand!
You have gathered together the seven divine powers!
You have clasped the divine powers to your breast!

You have flooded the valleys with venom, like a viper;
all vegetation vanishes when you thunder like Iškur!
You have caused the mountains to flood the valleys!
When you roar like that, nothing on earth can withstand you!

Like a flood descending on floodplains, O Powerful One, you will teach foreigners to fear Inanna!

You have given wings to the storm, O Beloved of Enlil!
The storms do your bidding, blasting unbelievers!

Foreign cities cower at the chaos You cause!
Entire countries cower in dread of Your deadly South Wind!
Men cower before you in their anguished implications,
raising their pitiful outcries,
weeping and wailing, beseeching Your benevolence with many wild lamentations!

But in the van of battle, everything falls before You, O Mighty Queen!

My Queen,
You are all-conquering, all-devouring!
You continue Your attacks like relentless storms!
You howl louder than the howling storms!
You thunder louder than Iškur!
You moan louder than the mournful winds!
Your feet never tire from trampling Your enemies!
You produce much wailing on the lyres of lamentations!

My Queen,
all the Anunna, the mightiest Gods,
fled before Your approach like fluttering bats!
They could not stand in Your awesome Presence
nor behold Your awesome Visage!

Who can soothe Your infuriated heart?
Your baleful heart is beyond being soothed!

Uncontrollable Wild Cow, elder daughter of Sin,
O Majestic Queen, greater than An,
who has ever paid You enough homage?

O Life-Giving Goddess, possessor of all powers,
Inanna the Exalted!

Merciful, Live-Giving Mother!
Inanna, the Radiant of Heart!
I have exalted You in accordance with Your power!
I have bowed before You in my holy garb,
I the En, I Enheduanna!

Carrying my masab-basket, I once entered and uttered my joyous chants ...

But now I no longer dwell in Your sanctuary.
The sun rose and scorched me.
Night fell and the South Wind overwhelmed me.
My laughter was stilled and my honey-sweet voice grew strident.
My joy became dust.

O Sin, King of Heaven, how bitter my fate!

To An, I declared: An will deliver me!
I declared it to An: He will deliver me!

But now the kingship of heaven has been seized by Inanna,
at Whose feet the floodplains lie.

Inanna the Exalted,
who has made me tremble together with all Ur!

Stay Her anger, or let Her heart be soothed by my supplications!
I, Enheduanna will offer my supplications to Inanna,
my tears flowing like sweet intoxicants!
Yes, I will proffer my tears and my prayers to the Holy Inanna,
I will greet Her in peace ...

O My Queen, I have exalted You,
Who alone are worthy to be exalted!
O My Queen, Beloved of An,
I have laid out Your daises,
set fire to the coals,
conducted the rites,
prepared Your nuptial chamber.
Now may Your heart embrace me!

These are my innovations,
O Mighty Queen, Inanna, that I made for You!
What I composed for You by the dark of night,
The cantor will chant by day.

Now Inanna’s heart has been restored,
and the day has become favorable to Her.
Clothed in beauty, radiant with joy,
she carries herself like the elegant moonlight.

Now to the Noble Hierodule,
to the Wrecker of foreign lands
presented by An with the seven divine powers,
and to my Queen garbed in the radiance of heaven ...

O Inanna, praise!

[Earlier Version]

Lady of all divine powers,
Lady of the all-resplendent light,
Righteous Lady clothed in heavenly radiance,
Beloved Lady of An and Uraš,
Mistress of heaven with the holy diadem,
Who loves the beautiful headdress befitting the office of her high priestess,
Powerful Mistress who has seized all seven divine powers,
My lady, you are the guardian of the seven divine powers!
You have seized the divine powers,
You hold the divine powers in your hand,
You have gathered up the divine powers,
You have clasped the divine powers to your breast!
Like a dragon you have spewed venom on foreign lands that know you not!
When you roar like Iškur at the earth, nothing can withstand you!
Like a flood descending on alien lands, O Powerful One of heaven and earth, you will teach them to fear Inanna!



Excerpt from “Hymn to Inanna” aka “Inanna C.”
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Great-hearted Mistress,
wild rambunctious Lady,
exalted among the Anuna,
exalted in all lands,
great Daughter of Nanna,
eminent among the Igigi gods,
magnificent Lady who gathers
the divine powers of heaven and earth,
who rivals even An,
mightiest among the great gods!
She who rules the gods
and makes their verdicts final
as the Anuna gods crawl before her,
fearing her perilous word.
She whose intentions confound even An,
yet he dare not countermand her.
She reverses course but no one knows when or why.
She perfects the great divine powers;
she seizes the shepherd's crook
and assumes command.
No one questions her magnificence, her preeminence.
Like a mighty shackle she constrains the gods.
Her splendor shrouds the mountains, makes crooked roads straight.
Her bellows fill lesser gods with fear.
Her howls make the Anuna gods tremble like reeds.
Hearing her roars, they hide together.
Without Inanna, An makes no decisions,
Enlil decrees no destinies.
Who questions a Queen who towers over mountains?
Wherever she speaks, cities become ruins and haunts for ghosts,
shrines become wastes.
When her wrath makes people tremble, the fever and distress they feel
are like a man caught in the coils of an ulu demon.



Temple Hymn 1: an Excerpt
to E-Abzu, the Temple of Enki in Eridu
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

House of the Ziggurat, sprouted from heaven and earth!
Great hall of Eridu, foundation of heaven and earth!
Deep-sea shrine built for your Lord, by the sacred canals!
Yours is the Ziggurat, the shrine that reaches heaven!
Lord Enki holds court in your House of subterranean waters,
takes his seat upon your throne!



Temple Hymn 2: an Excerpt
to E-Kur, the Temple of Enlil in Nippur
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Great House of the Mountain, shrine where destinies are determined.
Foundation of your high-raised Ziggurat, home of Enlil.
Your door beam is a mountaintop pinnacle, your pilasters summits.
Your base is rooted in heaven and earth, and serves them both.
Your lord, the great lord Enlil, the good lord, the lord of limitless heaven, the god who determines destinies, the Great Mountain Enlil, has erected his house in your holy court and taken his seat on your dais.



Temple Hymn 3
to E-Kiur, the Temple of Ninlil in Nippur
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

(Ninlil was Enlil’s consort and her shrine in Nippur was also called the House of Tummal.)

O Tummal, deemed exceedingly worthy by the divine powers, inspiring awe and dread! Formidable foundation, your radiance spans the abzu.
Ancient city, your marshlands remain green with mature reeds and new shoots.
Your interior, a mountain of plenteous abundance.
For your New Year’s feasts, you are wondrously adorned, as the great queen of Kiur stands as Enlil’s equal.
Your lady, mother Ninlil, beloved wife of Enlil, has erected her house in your holy court, O House of Tummal, and has taken her place upon your dais.



Temple Hymn 4: an Excerpt
to E-melem-huc, the Temple of Nuska in Nippur
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

(Nuska was Enlil’s servant and divine vizier.)

O house of furious radiance, wrapped in terrifying light.
Magnificent shrine, assigned the divine powers by heaven.
Treasury of Enlil, founded by the divine powers.
Worthy of nobility, your noble head exalted in princeship, counselor of E-kur.
Your rampart like a huge horn.
Your house, the platform of heaven.

In the River Ordeal, where great judgments are rendered and mighty suits settled, your verdicts allow the righteous to live but consign evil hearts to final darkness.

*

River Ordeal,
we require your wisdom.
Only you know, in your turbulent depths,
the heart of this maiden, or sorceress,
whether she is pure or full of mischief.
Thus we have bound her hands and feet.
Only you can free her, if she is innocent.
Surely the gods would not let us drown an innocent girl!
River Ordeal,
we require your wisdom.
—Michael R. Burch



Temple Hymn 7: an Excerpt
to the Kesh Temple of Ninhursag
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O, high-situated Kesh,
form-shifting summit,
inspiring fear like a venomous viper!

O, Lady of the Mountains,
Ninhursag’s house was constructed on a terrifying site!

O, Kesh, like holy Aratta: your womb dark and deep,
your walls high-towering and imposing!

O, great lion of the wildlands stalking the high plains! ...

NOTE: Ninhursag was the goddess of nature and animals, wild and tame. She was also the goddess of the womb and form-shaping. And she was the patron deity of Kesh.



Temple Hymn 17: an Excerpt
to the Badtibira Temple of Dumuzi
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O, house of jeweled lapis illuminating the radiant bed
in the peace-inducing palace of our Lady of the Steppe!



Temple Hymn 22: an Excerpt
to the Sirara Temple of Nanshe
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O, house, you wild cow!
Made to conjure signs of the Divine!
You arise, beautiful to behold,
bedecked for your Mistress!



Temple Hymn 26: an Excerpt
to the Zabalam Temple of Inanna
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O house illuminated by beams of bright light,
dressed in shimmering stone jewels,
awakening the world to awe!



Temple Hymn 42: an Excerpt
to the Eresh Temple of Nisaba
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O, house of brilliant stars
bright with lapis stones,
you illuminate all lands!

...

The person who put this tablet together
is Enheduanna.
My king: something never created before,
did she not give birth to it?



NOTES

The name En-hedu-anna, probably either a title or adopted, was apparently compiled from "En" (Chief Priest or Priestess), "hedu" (Ornament) and "Ana" (of Heaven). She was considered to be the Ornament of Heaven. Enheduanna was the first royal daughter known to have been given the title "En" in a line that would extend for five hundred years. Enheduanna would serve as En, or High Priestess, during the reigns of her father Sargon, her brother Rimush, and perhaps under his successors Manishtushu and Naram-Sin.

Sumerian literature is the earliest known human literature and the Sumerian language is the oldest language for which writing exists. Enheduanna is the first named Sumerian writer, and thus she is the first writer known by name in human history. She also read and wrote Akkadian. William Hallo called her the Shakespeare of her time.

Enheduanna may have been the first feminist, or at least the first feminist we know by name. In one of her poems the goddess Inanna kills An, the former chief deity in the Mesopotamian pantheon, and thus becomes the supreme leader of the gods. It seems Enheduanna may have "promoted" a local female deity to the Queen of Heaven. Might this be considered the first feminist poem? Was Enheduanna commenting on the male-dominated society in which she lived, and perhaps even "projecting" her wishes on male rivals, to some degree?

Enheduanna may have been something of a propagandist and self-promoter. Sargon the Great appears to have ruled over a larger empire and more people than anyone before him. Getting everyone to believe in the same supreme deity would have helped him consolidate his gains, since he ruled over a large, diverse and expanding empire. Also, by promoting her personal goddess to the position of chief deity, Enheduanna could have enhanced her own position, influence and power. To have been the high priestess of a goddess whom "nothing can withstand" and who "loves the beautiful headdress befitting the office of her high priestess" would have proved very convenient, indeed, in power struggles!

It is believed that Enheduanna's petitionary prayers influenced the psalms of the Hebrew Bible, the epics of Homer, and Christian hymns. Experts have noted that the Sumerian gods seemed more compassionate and more embracing of all people after Enheduanna, than before her ministrations.

Enheduanna organized and presided over Ur's temple complex, until an attempted coup by a Sumerian rebel named Lugal-Ane forced her into exile. According to William W. Hallo and J.J.A. van Dijk, a man named Lugalanne or Lugalanna "played a role" in the great revolt against Naram-Sin (the grandson of Sargon). In one of her poems Enheduanna prayed for An to "undo" her fate. (Was this before she wrote the poem in which Inanna killed An?) Apparently the prayer worked and Enheduanna was restored to her position as high priestess of Inanna. She served in that role for around 40 years. After her death, she became a minor deity herself.

Enheduanna is best known for her poems Inninsagurra, Ninmesarra and Inninmehusa, which translate as "The Great-Hearted Mistress," "The Exaltation of Inanna" and "The Goddess of the Fearsome Powers." All three are hymns to the goddess Inanna.

Inanna would later be associated with Ishtar, Astarte and Aphrodite. Inanna was the goddess of love, beauty, ***, desire, fertility, war, combat, justice and political power.

Amazingly, we have a depiction of the first poet/anthologist, because in 1927 the British archaeologist Sir Leonard Woolley found the now-famous Enheduanna calcite disc in his excavations of Ur. The disc is circular, perhaps mean to represent the moon. It shows four people entering the ziggurat of Ur. Inscriptions on the disc identify the four figures: Enheduanna, her estate manager Adda, her hair dresser Ilum Palilis, and her scribe Sagadu. The royal inscription on the disc reads: "Enheduanna, zirru-priestess, wife of the god Nanna, daughter of Sargon, king of the world, in the temple of the goddess Inanna." The figure of Enheduanna is placed prominently on the disc emphasizing her importance in relation to the others and, further, her position of great power and influence over the culture of her time. Enheduanna is larger and more ornately dressed than the men on the disc, speaking of her prominence. Her name is inscribed on the back of the disc.

Related pages: Sappho of ******, The Best Translations of Michael R. Burch, Poems for Poets

The HyperTexts




Keywords/Tags: Enheduanna, translation, Akkad, Sumer, Ur, Sumerian temple hymns, Ninhursag, Kesh, Aratta

the   view
                            stands beneath
the carousel efforts
to blast through
impregnancy aBLOOM!!!!
(w)ith feral legacies
aligned intimately ornately
     posthumous adulterer
awakens    in               need
       of
****** corrective agency
towards Fenitbow
           and Glightrovee  ab-surd as
qua as qua
asqua aqua qua
a^s is trite melody infer[no]
t a x i     yellowing  each pavement
by truth in yo ' fa ' ' lo ((lo))
    i by horns and turns
in plyable waves arrest
what justice      juices
      freel_y
                          oblig­atory
                                      antecedent
quai noyh thlume
                            ye
           HEaVY

It's dying you know.
In a scary dark dirge.
It's falling fast.

Was feeling mediocre.
Ages fly past.
From childhood to menopause.
Hell what a blast.
Some kind of supersonic speed.

Looking into the dark world of periods past.
Just took a breath.
Oops there went another.
One second closer.

Patella aches.
Legs are veined.
Decorated ornately.
Threads sewn.
Embroidered, but not by needles.
Hair has gone all funny.
Killed it with my dye.
This hormones it's falling out.
Really don't know why.

Guess I should age naturally.
But I don't know why I should.
(c) Olivia Kent 20/11/2013

You came in black.
Drenched in black,
encompassing the night into your every move.
Sun or moon for each eye,
stars twinkling your feet
so that you can slip quietly in,
black holes removing all evidence of breaking in.

You crept slowly, surely
grabbing everything you found,
every little
secret, scar, soul shine
into that bag you clung to,
clutching it so that it hung from your back.

You passed my fire place.
Empty, with nothing left but coal and dust.
The fire once there?
Now long extinguished.
You shivered,
and continued looking.

You glanced at the kitchen counter.
Strewn across it were spices
and ripped up shreds of pictures
of all those loved.
Mixed into remnants of
entrees, appetizers, desserts,
too good to be true,
gobbled up too fast,
gone.
You shudder,
continue.

Finally, you find what you're looking for.
In the basement, kept in a safe right by where I slept,
you found it.
You reached towards me,
slowly, silkily took the key I had around my neck
as I sighed at your touch and unconsciously let you take it.

You twisted the key,
opened the safe
and grabbed the
ornately scarred,
worn down wooden
box that was held inside.

You opened the box.
Inside lay a red thing.
It resembled a minuscule
mauled, mangled, mutilated
crimson heart.
You sighed with relief and tossed the box and it's hideous contents into the bag.

You grabbed everything else you found and put it inside your bag.
Some were lead heavy, others too light...
Memories kept too long,
some fading,
some still fresh,
others just too strong of a memory.

You crept quietly away,
but not before you heard me whisper your name.
You looked away
like the coward you are
and left the house.

As like when they were children
now they curtsy at the cross
Then all once they take their seats
and turn their gaze upon

The august priest in silken robes,
ornately trimmed and white
And urging them to prayer between the
readings and the rites

The man of god, his hands aloft
move practiced through the air
His winsome words bring ease upon
the crosses which they bear

His mirthful moans and dulcet tones
resounding through the chamber
By candlelight I then decide
To stay for the remainder

There was an old crab from the Andes
Who had claws in the place of the handies
She wasted her time
Chasing the sublime
Now she snips chickens in Nandy's


There was an old knight whose great sword
He'd swing so not to get bored
He ran through the Prince
But started to wince
When he saw the royal horribly gored


There was a dear ledger from Ryde
Who had Gods love at his side
He wrote bibles for pence
On an old picket fence
That loveable ledger from Ryde


There was an old fellow from Greece
Who always wore a golden fleece
He rode his horse far
Faster than any car
Because of the healing properties of the fleece


There was a camera man from Spain
Who always used to film in the rain
The water was wet
He'd always forget
Electrocutions caused him great pain


There was an old man whose bonnet
Was woven with pages of sonnet
For he was a poet
And didn't he know it
Pretentious old man with his bonnet


There was a young man whose cuticles
Were ornately fashioned in cubicles
He was so vain
To be pretty again
He funded big time pharmaceuticals


There was an old frigate from mars
Whose cannons sounded like guitars
This frightened the queen
Who vented her spleen
And shot the space frigate from cars


A cat and a mouse and a dog
Lived in a big giant frog
They always ate brie
For breakfast and tea
Now they all wear one sandal one clog


There was an old pear from Derry
Who was scarcely if ever so merry
He fell from a tree
Landing in a lee
Till farmer Giles turned him into perry


There was a young lady whose toliet
Was broken so plumber would oil it
The new seat would come
To comfort her ***
Until another breakage would spoil it!


There was an old dog with a dream
To build her own mighty trireme
She'd sail the sea
And be back home for tea
If only she had opposeable thumbs


There was an old butcher whose feet
Would every third sunday tread meat
He rolled in the blood
That came in a flood
From cuts in the **** so discrete


There was a young boy with three heads
Who slept in three seperate beds
Whenever he dreamt
He lost what it meant
(The downside of having three heads)


There was an old eagle who'd sing
About losing her old violin
She gave up the search
To perch in a birch
And starved herself horribly thin


There was an old priest by a tomb
Who curled up inside a stone womb
For so close to death
He cursed every breath
And waited the slow march of doom

Do you know I can see you
tucking your fears
behind your ears
as you watch me watching you?

Do you feel your eyes on you,
when I show you the magic
you've stashed away
in all my corners and edges?
Are you moved
when I watch you move
side to side,
from the shores of one insecurity
to another?

Because I do.

I do,
and I do not think anyone so ornately flawed
must strive so hard
to lock up every shard
of themselves
behind every ray of light
you get from me.

Pick up your falling smile,
because I can see two hands
reach out for the parts of you
that complete you.

I watch two eyes
watching every joy
that etches itself
in your skin.
I can hear you dreaming
of perfection,
without realising that
it lives in you.

*And it lives in me.

Tinkling musical notes pull you closer from across the Fair.
Through mazes of stalls you search The thrilling roller coasters zoom overhead.
Though your eardrums throb with the sound of screams you can still hear the soft tune getting closer.
A beautiful carousel.
Gently bobbing up, down and around in never ending loops.
Ornately painted horses of all hues compete for your choice.
But which one?
The music drops a key, and distorts in the speakers.
Your gut instinctively clenching, as the empty ride spins faster.
The once majestic faces bare grotesque bloodied teeth at you.
Other horses laugh or smile with red eyes that cut to your soul like lasers.
And one horse faces outwards from the rest, staring at you with no face at all.
Your muscles long to move and fists beg to be released.
Your eyes sting, wide open to this horror.
It begins to whir back to it's original speed.
With each turn the horses change back to their positions and resume their delicate poses.
A small man hides in the shadows, operating the ride.
'Which horse do you choose?'
His voice crawls itself under your skin and his sickening laughter spreads it around your body.
Adrenaline hits your veins as you run.
Run from him, the faceless horse.

Know me
This I require
With only
Times New Roman
I build a fire
Blowing
Upon the Embers until
Smile

steam and iron
Ink and paper

Music
Silence

To the saloon
To the church
Tying shoes
Speaking words
Bold
Dangerous
Elegant

Graveyard abiding
We laugh
Building to break
To burn
To burn

Speed!
Flame!
In this chaos
Thriving

War Born
Sun burnt
Sons of God or
Devil
Caring not
We tighten the knot

Feral Kings
Upon
Trade winds
Compass spins
Stars inumerable
Compel
Protractor and pistol
Hammer and nail
Gasoline, sail

This blood
This muscle and bone
Violence alone

Prayers of David
Unturned stone
Story tellers
Ornately scarred
Strung for a moment
between two eternities

Out the sleek window
Of the sixth floor again
In Dely Brahim
The scene shifts back;
A long-forgotten actress, I’m placed stage front
A fantastically convoluted Baroque set all around
Vistas broaden behind me, into the distance
So many ornately painted side-wings stepping back
Over-constructed, swelling hills
Teeming with terra-cotta roofed houses; patched,
Faded scrub pasture
Flattened, stylized, staggered against
The distant scrim of a
Daintily picked-out, smokey gun-blue
Mountain range. This
Amazingly contrived
Mediterranean opera-stage set
Encloses me
And I strain to remember
My lines.

i've the mien of a human,
alien among his own.
gross animal urges, brackish greengold flits, uncrushable surge; then,
demispoonfuls of Other emerge, light like photons
barely reaching, then lapping,
at my fatigued bare feet, toes curling up
in the sand of someone else's time.

i don't let people in,
because i
myself am
outside of me,
full of blocked ways,
full of rationalizations.

i am all hallways
without any room.

--- it's ******* weird, i know that.

i am not
altogether
normal.
i am out
there, but
still here.
please please, understand
this. it's key.

like, the other day..
while taking out the trash (that i pathologically neglect to do),
as i approached the dumpster,
that old-as-the-hills
tall, ornately carved double door glinted
into my space
- yet again -
out of nowhere;

made of an ancienter wood hailing from
a lost time and a lost space,
whose two adjacent hatch windows were lithely guarded
by some bizarre crisscross adamantine sentient metal -
this precise door, which
i have never been able to open up, let alone fully approach -
laughed and widened its grasp:

and, with a confusing series of heavy deadbolts  
receding from its nook with a resonant boom,
the left door,
ajar,

beckoned my
being,

as i
am,

and i crossed its threshold
into a velvety grooved room, remembered again
as a toward flesh warm and sliprune.

As I awake from the cryogenic slumber I was put in, I find myself walking around a mansion. It must be a century into the future, but everyone still seems to be asleep in their pods.

As I walk around, my feet guide me through a tunnel lit by hanging candelabras, as though they have a life of their own. Few moments later, I find myself standing in front of a of a jagged wooden door with tiny bugs crawling up the dented-scratches and a loose door **** awaiting to be opened to the library that stretches far and wide.

The windows are tinted vintage yellow and air stenched with the musty smell of worn books; heavied with dust. The large maghony table stands alongside the ladders and railings, allowing access to the different levels of the library.

My hand reaches out for a leather-bounded book, as though it was longing to be read and plucked from the ornately carved bookshelf. It is my biography; my breathings worded and memories penned.

Stunned, I ran my fingers along the frayed pages, to find the stories of every person to have crossed paths with stretched out across the pages.

I re-read pages, letting the wordy essence cling to my skin and the embers to re-ignite. I allowed myself to taste the salt and sugar of the sunrise to sunset span with the ones who left inky footprints across my heart. Until I came across a name that started resurfacing from the dustiest parts of my mind.

Out of curiosity I reach out to the protruding mark to find myself holding her biography, and countless pages stained with my name. “I sat there tossing sorrows from one hand to another, trying to let the blue ink gush onto the page in front. I could feel the darkness coaxing my mind, labeling me with names as I held back the tears stinging my eyes. I was an invisible cloak; an outcast who was unwanted.

But then she came, each step paced with confidence. Her curls leaked sunshine into the room; I could feel it warming the cold that layered me. I found her seating herself near me, as the girls behind me laughed like a pack of hyenas, gossiping about the new faces entering.

I found her looming above me, her hair brushing against my forehead “Wow, has anyone told you write really well?” but all I could manage was a shy smile in comparison to her gleaming grin that swallowed her cheeks whole. That was the first time I heard someone say that and then there was something warm, fuzzy, a spark? Happiness? Hope? It felt foreign and different, almost energetic but I craved more.

In the coming days I watched as she drove herself with passion, reaching out to catch stars, blooming herself and handing it to others. She was alive and vibrant. Almost brilliant like lightning, enlightening the sky with her spark like the one that was fuzzing between my cells.

Her presence was alluring, I found myself responding to her wavelengths, wanting to resonate with it; to have purpose, meaning and life. She made me want to untangle myself from the toxic relationships I had. It made me want to stop drinking the poison they fed me. It made me want to crave for good. To nourish my body and to breathe.

She called me on my birthday; no one ever called me on my birthday. The next day she hugged me and turned my hurricanes to a whiff. Weeks after that she invites me to her birthday, pulling me away from my world as I accepted her hand paving paths for me to explore.
I flicked a few grainy pages ahead.

“Are you okay?” She said as she though she could smell the stench of it on me. As though she could see me drowning within myself. And in that moment I let her in, I broke the walls, I let them crash. I let the ocean erupt open through my pores. I let my rusty voice box to voice its cries. Even though I spoke in language that came natural to me; chaos. But she sat there listening patiently, and in that moment I wrote about how her ears were made of empathy, eyes of moonlight that made me feel lighter and blissed.

I watched her move with such zeal that I was mesmerized. She became my muse, my inspiration. So I undressed myself of self-loathing and set out to talk to people and explore. My bruised throat ringed and my chewed tongue wanted to speak. My hands wanted to write for my younger self that stayed quite all this time.

She breathed air into my collapsing lungs, became the brightest of hues in the world of my blues. I was a dead language and she pronounced me with life.

Here I am, a writer. All because of that compliment that left me to weave my sorrows, revertebratating the hope she gave me through my writing. Hoping to provide the same inspiration and passion she inspired me with. She restored the courage in my spine; the faith in my cells and the love into my heart that I tucked safely into inky words hoping someday someone feels the same.

I closed the book as I traced the last line, with a tear in my eye. How could’ve my trivial action have such a profound affect?

I can't sit anywhere and not drown out the people
But I turn the beats down just enough to judge whether or not they evil
Why does everything I hear in real life
Go inside my ears and get processed as a sound bite?
How can I know I'm wrong, yet I'm still right?
How these people keep befriending me, but when I contemplated IT I was all alone that night.
Why can God be the only one to judge us?
As your role model snorts ******* off a lost girl's *** in the back of his tour bus.
I thought I already lost everything.
So Sam-I-Am, told me again
Not a fan of H.A.M.
Cause he already tried it.
I denied it.
I don't really own anything, cause one day you wake up and everything isn't enough
You need more (do more), wanna buy more stuff
If I believe what I say I really do
How come everytime I go technocamping I feel like my life is just something I move through?
Why does a retweet make me feel important?
Is a Who still a Who if there is no Horton?
Madness, like the only hat I own is the one you left inside my home
Right before you left me forever alone, so not technically a hatter
No patience for useless, polite chatter
Because I think so much ****, when it comes out I like it to actually matter
I question myself into oblivion
Jack Harper, I'm the hero though I'm part of a whole destorying the home we're living on.
I know I just need to be hapy.
Telling my thoughts to shut up because the lines read too sappy.
I have never been a romantic out loud,
And the truest part of me failed to bloom when you left the sky with just clouds
You were the sunshine, can you understand now?
Cause I'm cryptic, normally optimistic
Threw my pessimism under ornately beautiful shrouds
You should have loved me when I made it impossible
We'd be together today, I'd be okay
But your happiness not probable
Now this goes back to the first line,
I stopped listening cause I fear what they'll do to me in time.

I hope you see
that a scar has been intricately
etched itself
on the dying walls
of my heart

with every pulse
i hope you feel
that the pain
throbs and dampens
the caring soul
that is me

still yearning and hoping
for change that is bleak
i hope you see
that the young man you left
is now alone
and scared

the promises we held
shattered ornately
colored pieces of memories
on the cold summer floor

i hope you see

They are like magnets
Two broken butterflies
Trying to fly together
In this horrible weather

Weathering the windy storm
Circling each other
Dearly damaged
And so ornately beautiful

White spots speckle their wings
Small orange Rorschach marks
Paralleled in sweet symmetry
Fairy like wings fluttering
One kiss away from their
Last wonderful day

They settle on the same bent flower
Exhausted they end their
Sad love affair
On petals just as damaged as they are

I've lived my life in stages
Searched the spaces between stars
Ripped out pages that I hated
I haven't gotten very far
But when I feel ages have passed me on
When I lay my head down to cry
I think of how you came to me
Straight down from the sky
This is for you
I stand front and center
Cherish words that you learned
by phrase and by letter
And I promise my baby it all will get better
If we only try
I am only trying to get by

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do
But just know in the end, I do it for you
You saved me, ornately, a tiny cherub
The weight on your wings I was unaware of

Bellcasts and balustrades
Impossibly complicated
Columns and arcades
Incredibly crafted
Stained glass and arches
Ornately constructed
An insurmountable feat
Of engineering and skill
A wonder of the world
While the world laid still
A monument magnificent
To the empires of old
A triumphant memorial
Encased in granite and gold
That time though now long passed
As worn rock and stone do tell
Yet still rings the somber strain
Of its ancient weathered bell
When it calls do all look up
And for a moment stop; wonder
The way the world was
Before is tore asunder

It is
a sweet sweltering
summer ‘s eve
that culminates
in a late
cooling breeze,

followed by
blinking bug **** lights
that dance
across a
dark blue canvass.

Flickering forms
almost as familiar
as the twinkling stars
are followed by
the sound of
castanets clacking
and patrons laughing
whilst a lovely
black haired beauty
who is dressed ornately
twists and bends
her torso and limbs
with feline grace
and the eloquence
of the wind.

Deep smiles
and curious grins
follow her movements
to stunned silence.

Bare midriff
exposes a perfect
belly button
and abs
as her silk scarves
carve
the night
like desire’s knife.

The music ends
leaving men
quivering
and staring
ravenously,
hungering
for her
hard body,
but suffering
the sweet ache
of desire denied
as she exits
at her own pleasure.