A note from the editor:
Dear Readers! We found this particular sonnet hard to understand. So tell us:
Do you understand it?
Artwork by Daniel Kabakoff
KI TISSA/CHAPTER 21
Where nothing is save in its Origin
For forty days Moshe stood, burning free
From straits of need, that hearing he might see
Those word-things that were meant to gather in
The course of human life from history
To the recognizance of holy Will,
And Heaven’s aid would take hold of human skill
To execute the intention faithfully.
But he was soon to know how soon can spill
From fragile cup the fiery plenitude,
Or how with our imagination’s rude
Scrawlings the screen of Nothingness can fill.
From the height he was pulled valeward by the lewd
Idol-shout — and more history ensued.