Translation work : Shaul in Ein-Dor

This is a ballad written by the poet Shaul Tshernichovsky. It tells the biblical story of king Saul (Shaul), who is preparing to fight in a war with the Philistine king Achish, and his ally, David. Saul is feeling hopeless and abandobed by god, and being without the council of Shmuel, who has since annointed David to replace him. Shmuel, a great Religious authority then dies. With great foreboding, Saul rides in search of a mystic , who could evoke Shmuel for advice. He finds a witch/mystic in a settlment called Ein-Dor. The mystic refuses his request, fearing the King, who persecuted her kind. But she later relents and calls upon Shmuel's spirit. Counicidentally, this is the only time in the entire Tanach (the old testement), when there is any hint of an individual afterlife, as jewish tradition considers all people to remain dead until judgment day (no heaven/hell). In any case shmuel is not happy about being called up. Saul and Shmuel accuse each other, and finally Shmuel says that Sauls house, and army will fall. As punishment for his disobeying gods will. Saul is obviously even more depressed, and the mystic tries to cheer him by offering him food . Saul they returns to his campsite, assembles his army for the showdown that he accepts that he shall not win. During the battle Shaul's son, Binyamin is killed, and he takes his own life, famously falling upon his sword.

This episode, both the meeting with the mystic and the battle are one of the most tragic, gloomy and controversial stories in the bible.

In the poem, Tshernichovsky brings the different sides of the meeting of the king and the mystic, the kings wandering in memories past, of his innoncent youth and the subsequent conversation he had with Shmuel.

Bear in mind that this was translated from hebrew, considering the verse..

Shaul in Ein-Dor

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in mirk of night, no quarrel or bow,

on light horse swiftly king Saul, to ein dor goes.

in one hovel's darkness, an ember's glow, dim,

the boy whispers "Lives she , therein."

"you be the crone?" "I am ,sir , and here"

"cast thee in mysts, a shadow to peer"

now, darkness , horror of flames, a culdron,

and names of all demons , a boiling concoction,

in Bashan grass , the viper doth creep,

so shall fumes and smoke miander and whisp

in the circle of chanting, in sulfur, annointed

stands weary king, all but disheartned

seeing damned forms, and creatures of myst,

the sweat beads cooly on his royal cheeks,

his spirit is weak, and soul so forlorne,

crestfallen is he, as his own death is shown,

in visions now gone, his life's passage mark,

"release, release" his lips plead in the dark.…

murk and the flames, a terrible quell

the fuming cauldren, and circle of spells,

recalled then the king, his youth's early bloom,

the spring of his days, err darkness loomed.

and pastoral scene, his eyes then gaze,

a lush medow and cows to graze

an azure heaven, and fragrance so rare

in a shade, strong as an oak forbare.

there, in peace, shall the shepperd Repose,

See The calves frolick in green furoughs ,

Tranquil , serene, a beautiful spell

How plesent, resounding, the herd's ringing bells.

"Be I so fresh, so hale and content,

Would i be so, as i was, innocent."

And a terrible grief on his heart depressed,

And a tear, a cry, his throat expressed.

Then sudden shock, a thundereding might

The flash, out from the smoke alight.

'to be king it was I, who had you annointed,

From rustic herding to palace I had you transported'

'Why From decay, have you thus provoke,

to the temporal substance have me ,evoke?'

'Why, from my flock,was i chosen and, torn,

For to govern your tribe, had me so enthrone?'

'In tumults of war, my youth is but spent,

And the bliss of my home, has become desolate.'

'The philistines horde, they surround and distress,

The melancholy has me onto death so depressed.'

'Man of god, ye rack so my soul,

Forsaken me, ye must now counsel.'

'Why annoint me, king to reign?

Why from flock had me to rend?'

' you raise god's wrath, in vanity, oppose

Anon, ye shall join me, you and your host.'

no quarrel or bow, in the breaking of morn,

on light horse, king Saul, to the campsite return

Pallen is he but fearless in heart,

And bleak are his eyes, in his terrible plight.