Meditations on the Fall and Winter Holidays

　　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 ripples.

　　 The company in which we went

　　 so free of care， so carelessly，

　　 has scattered. Good-bye，

　　 to you who lie behind in graves，

　　 to you who galloped 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 trumpet 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 imprisons in coffin 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 petals

　　 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 meditations 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 mote 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 stony streets，

　　 they held symbols of a life from which they were banished

　　 but to which they would surely return

　　 the branches of palm trees and of willows， the twigs of the myrtle，

　　 and the bright odorous citrons.

　　 This was the grove of palms with its deep well

　　 in the stony ghetto 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 wilderness

　　 I remember how frail my present dwelling 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 swollen dead fish float on the water；

　　 the dead birds lie in the dust trampled to feathers；

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

　　 rosy in the yellow tapers' glow

　　 have long ago become merely nails and little bones，

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

　　 only teeth are left and skulls， shards of skulls.

　　 By all means， then， let us have psalms

　　 and days of dedication 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 spoke：

　　 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 flickering 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