I have always been fond of the Song of Songs as a work of poetry, one of the classic texts of the Hebrew Bible. But at the same time I have also found the lushness and eroticism of the Song hamstrung in English translations of the Bible, owing perhaps to prudishness on the part of Bible translators, or to the limitations of the obligatory chapter-and-verse format, or to zealous attempts to make the text accord with traditional exegesis. But I am neither Christian nor Jew, and I wanted to make a version for myself that would sing, that would appeal to me personally as a work of literature. This is the result.
I think of this piece primarily as music, with its themes and motifs which occur, transform and develop, and recur; a kind of concerto in seven movements for two voices and a chorus. Taken as a literary work, the Song can seem haphazard, random, confusing; understood as a piece of music, it makes perfect sense. I have set the movement breaks where I (and other commentators) have found them to be most appropriate; these do not correspond to the traditional chapter and verse divisions. I’ll add these at a later date for those who would like such things.
Of all the works I consulted, the detailed commentary on the Hebrew provided by Ariel and Chana Bloch in their own version of the Song proved to be the most enlightening. This version is significantly indebted to them.
The Song of Songs
The song of songs, which is Solomon’s.
I.
Woman:
Kiss me with the kisses of your mouth:
Your love is better than wine,
Your perfume sweet,
Your name like oil poured out —
That’s why the women love you.
Draw me after you, let’s run!
You’ve brought me into your room, my king:
Let us rejoice and exult in you,
Your lovemaking better than wine —
How right it is to want you!
I am dark but beautiful, daughters of Jerusalem,
Like the tents of Kedar,
Like Solomon’s pavilions.
Don’t stare at my darkness;
The sun has stared enough.
My brothers fell out with me
And made me guard their vineyards;
I failed to guard my own.
Tell me, my soul’s love,
Where you pasture your sheep,
Where you rest them at noon.
Don’t leave me to stray
By the flocks of your friends!
Chorus:
If you don’t know, loveliest of women,
Follow the tracks of the sheep;
Take your kids to graze
By the shepherds’ tents.
Man:
Dearest, I have thought of you
As an Egyptian chariot’s mare,
Your cheeks lovely between tassels,
Your neck above your necklaces.
For you we’ll make more wreaths of gold,
More beads of silver!
Woman:
The king lies back
As my nard yields its fragrance.
My love is like a bag of myrrh
Between my breasts,
A cluster of henna flowers
Among the vines at En-gedi.
Man:
You’re beautiful, my love, you’re beautiful,
With your eyes like doves.
Woman:
You’re beautiful, my love,
Beautiful;
Our bed is verdant,
Our housebeams cedar,
Our rafters are fir,
And I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys.
Man:
Among the young women she’s a lily among thorns.
Woman:
Among the young men, my love’s
An apple tree in a wood:
I love to sit in his shadow,
His fruit sweet in my mouth.
He took me to the banquet hall,
Raised the flag of love above me —
O feed me with raisin cakes,
Refresh me with apples,
I’m faint with desire!
His left arm is beneath my head,
His right arm embraces me…
By the gazelles I charge you,
Daughters of Jerusalem:
By the hinds of the field
Don’t rouse love, don’t wake it
Till it’s ready to arise!
II.
Woman:
I hear my love! Look, here he comes,
Leaping over mountains,
Bounding over hills.
It’s him, my love, like a gazelle,
A young stag.
Now he stands behind our wall —
He looks through the window,
He peers through the lattice,
And he says to me:
Man:
“Get up, my darling,
My lovely one, come!
The winter is past,
The rains are gone,
The flowers are blooming,
The time of song has come.
The voice of the dove is heard in our land,
The figs are budding,
The vines are fragrant.
Get up, my darling,
My lovely one, come,
My dove, who hides in the clefts of the rock,
Let me see your face,
Let me hear your voice,
For your voice is sweet
And your face is beautiful.”
Woman:
Catch the foxes for us,
The little foxes that ruin vineyards —
For our vineyard is in flower!
My beloved is mine
And I am his;
He grazes among the lilies.
Before the winds of daybreak blow,
Before the shadows flee,
Go back, my love, like a gazelle,
A young stag on the spice mountains.
In my bed at night I sought my love,
I sought but did not find him.
So now I’ll rise and roam the city,
Through streets and squares I’ll seek my love…
I sought, but did not find him.
I met the watchmen on patrol:
“Have you seen the one I love?”
And after I had passed them
I found the one I love.
I caught him, would not let him go
And brought him to my mother’s house,
To the room of the woman who conceived me…
By the gazelles I charge you,
Daughters of Jerusalem:
By the hinds of the field
Don’t rouse love, don’t wake it
Till it’s ready to arise!
III. (Interlude)
Chorus:
Who is that coming up from the desert
Like a column of smoke,
Fragrant with myrrh and frankincense
And all the merchant’s perfumes?
Here is Solomon’s bed
Ringed with sixty fighters,
The best of Israel’s soldiers,
All trained in warfare,
All skilled in war,
Each girt with a sword
Against the night’s alarms.
King Solomon made himself a litter
From Lebanese wood.
Its posts were of silver, its back was of gold,
Its seat was of purple
And inside it was filled with love
By the daughters of Jerusalem.
Go and look, daughters of Zion,
At King Solomon,
And the crown his mother set on him
On his wedding day,
On the day of his heart’s joy.
IV.
Man:
You’re beautiful, my love, beautiful,
With your eyes like doves behind your veil
And your hair like a flock of goats
Streaming down Mount Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of sheep
Coming up from the washing;
Each one has its twin,
Not one goes unpaired.
Your lips are like a scarlet thread
And your mouth is lovely;
Your cheeks behind your veil
Are pomegranate halves.
Your neck is like the Tower of David
Built as an armoury,
Hung round with a thousand shields,
All the shields of warriors.
Your two breasts are like twin fawns
Grazing among lilies.
Before the winds of daybreak blow,
Before the shadows flee,
I will go to the mountain of myrrh,
To the hill of frankincense.
All of you is fair, my love,
Every part unblemished.
Come with me from Lebanon,
From Lebanon, my bride, with me!
Come down from Amana’s heights,
From Shenir and Hermon;
Come down from the lions’ dens,
From the leopards’ mountains.
You have captured my heart, my sister, my bride,
You have captured my heart
With a glance from your eyes,
With one coil of your necklace.
How sweet is your love, my sister, my bride,
Much better than wine, and the scent of your perfumes
Better than all other spices.
Sweetness falls from your lips, my bride,
Honey and milk are under your tongue,
And the scent of your clothes
Is the scent of Lebanon.
You’re a walled garden, my sister, my bride,
A hidden spring, a fountain sealed.
Your limbs are an orchard of pomegranates;
Your fruits are wondrous — henna and nard,
Nard and saffron,
Calamus, cinnamon,
Incense-bearing trees;
Myrrh and aloes,
All the best perfumes.
You’re a garden spring,
A well of fresh water,
A stream flowing down from Lebanon.
Woman:
Awake, north wind,
Come, south wind;
Blow upon my garden
And let its perfume spread.
Let my beloved enter his garden
And taste its finest fruits!
Man:
I have entered my garden, my sister, my bride;
I have gathered my myrrh and my spices;
I have eaten my honey and my honeycomb;
I have drunk my wine and my milk.
Chorus:
Eat, lovers, and drink;
Get drunk with love!
V.
Woman:
I slept, but my heart was awake;
I hear my beloved knocking!
Man:
“Open to me, my sister, my love,
My unsullied dove;
Because my head is drenched with dew,
My locks with the drops of the night.”
Woman:
“I have taken my clothes off;
Must I don them again?
I have washed my feet;
Must I soil them again?”
My love put his hand through the hole of the door,
And my insides throbbed for him;
And I got up to open to him,
Fingers dripping with myrrh,
With sweet-smelling myrrh,
Falling on the handle of the bolt.
I opened to him, but my love had withdrawn;
He was gone, and my soul crumbled.
I searched, but could not find him;
I called him, but no answer came.
I met the watchmen on patrol:
They beat me, bruised me, took my shawl from me.
Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you:
If you find my lover, tell him —
Tell him I am faint with love.
Chorus:
What makes your lover better than others,
O loveliest of women?
What makes your lover better than others,
That you charge us to do this?
Woman:
My beloved is fresh and ruddy,
The first among ten thousand.
His head is golden, purest gold;
His locks are palm fronds,
Black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves
By streams of water,
Bathed in milk,
On a brimming pool.
His cheeks are like a bed of spices,
Mounds of perfume;
His lips are like lilies
Dripping with myrrh.
His arms are as rods of gold
Inlaid with precious stones;
His belly polished ivory,
Adorned with sapphires.
His legs are like pillars of marble
Set on foundations of gold;
The sight of him is like Lebanon,
Eminent as the cedars.
His mouth is like sweet wine;
Every part of him is lovely.
That’s my beloved,
That’s my friend,
O daughters of Jerusalem!
Chorus:
Where has your lover gone,
O loveliest of women?
Which way has your lover turned?
We will seek him with you.
Woman:
My love has gone down to his garden,
To the beds of spices,
To graze in the garden,
To gather lilies.
I am my beloved’s,
My beloved is mine;
He grazes among the lilies.
Man:
You’re beautiful, my love, as Tirzah,
Fair as Jerusalem,
Awesome as an army.
Turn your eyes away from me —
They overwhelm me;
Your hair is like a flock of goats
Streaming down Mount Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of sheep
Coming up from the washing;
Each one has its twin,
Not one goes unpaired.
Your cheeks behind your veil
Are pomegranate halves.
There are sixty queens
And eighty concubines
And young women without number;
But there is only one of her, my dove,
The only one of her mother,
Perfect before the one who bore her.
Women saw her and called her blessed,
Queens and concubines praised her:
“Who is that looking forth
As the morning rising,
Fair as the pale moon,
Radiant as the blazing sun,
Awesome as the army of stars?”
I went down to the nut garden
To watch the valley springing,
To see if the vines were blooming
Or the pomegranates budding —
And before I knew it
She had set me riding
In the noblest of the chariots of my people!
VI.
Chorus:
Come back, come back, O maiden of Shulam,
Come back, come back, so that we can watch you!
Man:
Why are you watching the maiden of Shulam
Dancing the dance of two camps?…
How lovely in their sandals are your feet,
O daughter of princes!
The curves of your thighs are like ornaments,
The works of a master’s hand.
Your navel is a moonlike bowl:
May it never lack mixed wine!
Your belly is a heap of wheat
Surrounded by lilies.
Your two breasts are like twin fawns;
Your neck, a tower of ivory.
Your eyes are pools in Heshbon
At the gate of the daughter of princes.
Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon,
Looking towards Damascus.
Your head is like Mount Carmel,
Your locks are dark as purple;
The king is held captive among them.
(How wonderful you are, how sweet,
O Love, among all the delights!)
I saw you standing like a palm tree,
Your breasts like date clusters,
And I said to myself: I will climb the palm
And take hold of its branches.
May your breasts be clusters of grapes,
Your breath be like apples,
Your mouth like finest wine —
Woman:
Wine flowing smoothly to my beloved
As over the lips of sleepers.
I am my beloved’s,
And he desires me;
So come, my love, let us go into the field
And spend the night among the henna bushes.
And we’ll rise early, and go to the vineyard
To see if the vines have flowered,
If their blossoms have opened,
If the pomegranates have budded;
There I will give you my love.
The mandrakes are fragrant, and every sweetness
Is at our doors,
New and old,
Set aside for you, my dearest one.
If only you had been my brother,
Nursed at my mother’s breasts!
Then I could kiss you if I saw you in the streets
And no one would despise me.
I would lead you, I would bring you
To my mother’s house, to teach me;
And I would let you drink spiced wine,
My pomegranate juice.
His left arm is beneath my head,
His right arm embraces me…
Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you:
Don’t rouse love, don’t wake it
Till it’s ready to arise!
VII.
Chorus:
Who is that coming up from the desert,
Leaning upon her lover?
Woman:
I roused you beneath the apple tree,
There where your mother conceived you,
There where she conceived and bore you.
Set me as a seal upon your heart,
A seal upon your arm;
For love is ferocious as death,
Jealousy ruthless as the grave.
Its sparks are sparks of fire,
A blazing flame;
No flood can quench it,
No torrent drown it —
And if a man were to try to buy it with all the wealth of his house,
He would be utterly scorned.
Chorus (the brothers):
We have a little sister
And she has no breasts;
What shall we do for her
When suitors come?
If she be a wall,
We shall build on her
A turret of silver;
If she be a door,
We will bolt her in
With planks of cedar.
Woman (the sister):
I am a wall,
And my breasts are like towers!
And in his eyes
I have found my peace.
Man:
Solomon had a vineyard
In Baal-hamon;
He entrusted it to keepers,
And each one gained for its fruit
A thousand pieces of silver.
But my vineyard, mine, is before me;
You can keep your thousand, Solomon,
And your keepers can have their two hundred!
Coda
Man:
O you who dwell in the gardens,
Friends are listening for your voice;
Let me hear it!
Woman:
Run away, my love, like a gazelle,
A young stag on the spice mountains.
