O let/my soul glimpse the divine - poem/prayer of Nahman of Busk

 

Beating its wings, seeking the aether,

But neither crane nor raven,

My soul, which knows no conqueror,

Soars up into the heavens.

It can't be trapped in sulfur, iron,

Get tangled in the heart,

Will never die of plague in prison,

Be subject to man's court.

Breaking down walls, it freely flies

Over rumors and smooth words,

For it wants not your narrow streets,

Your alleys, boulevards.

Knowing no limits, it roams free,

Mocks what you all deem wise,

Calls beauty ugly secretly,

Dispels illusions, lies.

It shakes its plumes and sets a light

That can't be put in words,

It cares not not who and what sort might

Hold places in this world.

O Father, help me wield my tongue

So that I voice my pain

And add truth to man's talk--o let

My soul glimpse the divine.

-Nahman of Busk

This was in Olga Tokarczuk's The Books of Jacob where it's said to be a translation by Moliwda (Antoni Kossakowski) of Nahman of Busk's original Hebrew into Polish. Both those figures--Nahman and Moliwda--are actual historical individuals (though for Moliwda, you'll see I was limited to linking the Polish Wikipedia). Jennifer Croft in her translator's afterword says the verse translation was by her husband Boris Dralyuk, who's an interesting poet and significant translator in his own right (Isaac Babel, Andrey Kurkov). It shows up later in the novel in a second version, quite different, which is supposed to be a French translation by Junius Frey of a German version. (But I liked the first version better.) 

Who among all that list of people to attribute the poem to, I can't tell you. I only know I liked it. 😉