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Saul
Tchernichovsky (1875-1943) is generally acknowledged to be the most
important poet after Bialik in the generation of Hebrew writers
who first became active in the Odessa of the 1890s. Among the poets
of this so-called Renaissance Generation, Tchernichovsky is perhaps
the only true renaissance figure: a man of immense vitality with
a voracious hunger for life. Physician, naturalist, linguist, translator,
he significantly broadened the scope of Hebrew vocabulary and of
its verse forms in his attempt as poet to embrace the external world
in all its minute particularity.
Tchernichovsky's work generally conveys a sense of being at home in a natural world, despite the physical uprootings and difficulties experienced by the man himself.
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The "eagle"
(ayit) of the title, a word popularly confused in Hebrew with "vulture,"
is a far more ominous bird than its English counterpart. It is the "bird
of prey" in Genesis[1]
that swoops down on the sacrifice in the moment of Abraham's midnight
covenant with God. The opening repetition of "Eagle" vividly
recalls the first line of Blake's "The Tiger," a poem Tchernichovsky
undoubtedly knew. His poem, like Blake's, tensely invokes a wild creature
of fearful symmetry. The feminine "you" whom the speaker addresses
is the Land (15). The mountains over which the eagle
circles are the bare stony Judean hills.
(1) Eagle! eagle over
your mountains, an eagle is flying over your mountains!
(2) Slow and light it seems as if for a moment
it is merely floating,
(3) Floating, sailing in a sea of blue, alert to the song of delight in
the heart
(4) Of the heavens of the sky, circling mutely
in searing light.
(5) Eagle! eagle over the mountains, an eagle is flying over your mountains!
(6) Straight of body, heavy-pinioned, black of feather and broad of wing;
(7) Soaring taut arrow from a bow
an eagle makes the rings of its (sweeping) circles;
(8) Tracking from above the signs of its prey in meadow and in rock-crevice.
(10) Soaring, gliding-gliding, and with wondrous touch
did not move a wing.
(11) For an instant it froze, then
he barest movement [lit. movement-no-movement] in its wings,
(12) The slightest tremble suddenly and it
rises toward the cloud.
(13 ) Eagle! eagle over your mountains, an eagle is flying over your mountains!
(14) Slow and light it seems as if for a
moment it is merely floating
(15) [O] Land (earth) [an] eagle [is] over your mountains
over you face, a massing of shadow,
(16) From the giant wings passes, caresses the mountains of God.

(Hebrew
verse)
The first line of the poem, repeated as musical theme at the beginning
of each stanza, is one of the most impressive lines of modern Hebrew poetry
for its fusion of image and sonality. The impact of the stress pattern,
the skillful variation of masculine and feminine arrest of the breath
groups the many monosyllabic verbs and adjectives propel the poem with
force and grace. One cannot read the Hebrew without being aware of the
repetitions of lines, words, consonants,
and vowels which produce the effect
on incantation.
The double nature
of the poem's sound chant-like regularity
of rhythm and reiterated harshness echoes
the speaker's contradictory sense of what the eagle is. In the first stanza,
the eagle appears as a thing of breathtaking beauty, the beauty of pure
effortless power, beyond all limit or restraint. But the last word of
the stanza "searing," introduces the idea of pain and possible
destructiveness. This idea becomes prominent in the next stanza when we
see the eagle's lovely movement as the flight of an arrow, when we are
reminded that the circling eagle is circling in for the kill. Yet the
speaker's awed admiration in no way diminishes: the third stanza is a
study in the beauty of perfect movement, with no hint that the movement
is one that brings violent death. The verb tenses shift briefly from present
to past (10-11) as the eagle descends from its timeless
world to earth and then soars up again, while the verse rhythm adroitly
imitates glide, poised stillness, the swift flight.
The final stanza closes
the circle of incantation, adding a cry of warning to the Land. But even
in the ominous image of the eagle's shadow, with which the poem concludes,
there is something curiously attractive; the shadow "caresses"
the mountains of God. The speaker has been confronted with a vision of
primal power in (or above) nature; his feelings about it are ambivalent.
In any case, the language
of the last two lines clearly suggests the mythic dimension of the poem.
"Hasrat" (15), a word which occurs
only once in the Bible,[2]
describes the clouds "thick" with water
that the Creator massed around Himself in darkness. The "gathering
of shadow," then, together with the substitution of "giant"
for "eagle," indicates that "mountains of God" is
not just an epithet for the hills of Judea, but that it retains the cosmic
force of its original biblical usage in which it is paired with the great
abyss": "Thy righteousness is like the great mountains; thy
judgments are the great abyss
"[3]
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[1]
Genesis 15:11 [back]
[2] 2 Samuel 22:12 [back]
[3] Psalms 36:6 [back] |
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From:
Stanley Burnshaw, T. Carmi and Ezra Spicehandler, editors, The
Modern Hebrew Poem Itself, revised edition. First published by
Harvard University Press (Cambridge, Massachusetts) in 1989, pp. 44-45.
By special permission of Stanley Burnshaw. |
BIRDS
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