• Page list
    • Posts
    • The Book of Psalms

The Book of Psalms

  • March 16th, 2023

    Psalm 4

    (director: with strings, lyric, of David)

    * * *

    Like all lyrics and lyric poetry, Psalm 4 invites readers both to participate and to observe. I can just watch— overhear— the first-person and second-person exchanges. Or I can identify by turns and degrees with the I, the we, the singular and plural you. It’s a theater in which I am always the audience and yet always auditioning, reading for every part.

              To this dynamic of identification and distance, add the energy that comes from not being told whose lines are whose, exactly. The speaker, whoever this is, calls to God in verse 1: “answer me… hear my prayer.” Verse 2 already presents possibilities: God could speak in immediate response, or the speaker could be continuing, specifying the prayer from verse 1. We don’t know who says “my honor a slur” in verse 2. The first half of verse 3 might introduce a third speaker— or this is the original speaker, or this is God— asserting God’s care. By the end of verse 3, the original speaker returns (with the same word beqare`i that begins the psalm), but the rest of the poem presents similar possibilities. As does the rest of the Psalter, as do hymns and poems more generally. I take it as axiomatic that such interpretive choices are the right and responsibility of we who read and recite and call, all of which are conveyed by the word this psalm’s speaker uses in verses 1 and 3, asking to be heard.

              To all of this, add that we cannot tell where and when this psalm takes place. Form-critics seek to define the sitz im leben, the life-setting, of biblical passages, when and where the texts would originally have been read. Kraus’s commentary, for example, follows a tradition of imagining a “cultic-institutional scene of a divine court procedure” that would have taken place formally in a temple. Other readers like Alter follow a different tradition, picturing something more familial, personal, an evening psalm, an interpretation Kraus scoffs off as “pious lyricism.” The better approach, I think, is to acknowledge how the psalm sets the public against the private, the singular against the plural: “speak with your hearts \ on your beds | and hush” in verse 4 is followed by “give the gifts | of justice.” Either bedrooms are invoked within worship, or sacrifices are invoked at bedtime. The personal is the liturgical.

              However else we read it, Psalm 4 pairs nicely with Psalm 3 (“I lay asleep | I awoke” 3:5) and even better with Psalm 5 (“Lord, mornings | you hear my voice / mornings I ready | wait for you” 5:3).

    *

    4:1 director The Septuagint has “to the end,” but the more likely reading is that a music director is being addressed.

    4:1 strings  Again, this is a likely translation, though the meaning is not certain.

    4:1 my God of justice  The word tsedekah is often rendered “righteousness,” sometimes “right.” As is often the case, the problem is not in the dictionary or in the Hebrew, but with what the traditional English translation introduces. Righteousness connotes piety, propriety, even superiority, rather than alignment with abstract principles of fairness. Justice introduces its own connotations, perhaps, but these are closer, and without the self-satisfaction.

    4:1 in a bind  The word tsar is most literally a constriction and all the claustrophobic terror that comes with being hemmed in and squeezed. It’s the source of the word for “foe.” In this translation, it’s rendered variously as bind, distress, or stress. In drafts I tried “in a squeeze” and “in a pinch,” but those have problems that now seem laughably obvious.

    4:1 feel for me  The word chanan refers to favor and pity and graciousness. Noah finds chen in the eyes of the Lord. The idea is that the speaker is asking for an emotional, compassionate response from God. “Pity me” conveys more condescension, while “favor me” seems to ask for preference, “be gracious to me” wears white church gloves.  

    4:2 mortals  Lit. “sons of a man.”

    4:3 has marked the caring as hers  The words chasid and chesed (“the caring”) may be the most important words in Psalms and in the Hebrew Bible as a whole. The concept stems from the unique but unequal relation between a sovereign and a vassal, each of which owes the other a special obligation: the one with power owes protection; the one with less owes fealty. Both are related by an ethic of care. Biblically, the word chesed refers almost always to the special bond between God and God’s people. It involves fidelity or faithfulness, to be sure, but there is already a parallel word for fidelity—`emunah. It also involves kindness, and even love. The words “care” and “caring” seem to me to convey both the semantic range and the connotations. God cares. The people care. They are caring and cared for. Kraus suggests “has shown great grace to me,” but that blurs.

    The choice of “hers” here may seem politically correct. And it’s true that the pronouns are masculine in the original text. There are biblical precedents, however, for imagining the Lord with feminine pronouns. Change it if it bothers you.

    4:4 with your hearts || … on your beds  “Heart” and “bed” are both singular here, but the you suffixes are plural. The Hebrew syntax overall is awkward.

    4:4 hush (rommu: be still or cry) the meaning also of living (see Paul Raabe, “Deliberate Ambiguity in the Psalter”)

    4:5 lean back  The generic word “trust” fails to capture the image at the heart of betach, which indicates reclining onto someone or something.

    4:6 lift on us  (nsh for nsh`–cf. Numbers 6:24-26) The translation follows most in assuming a misspelling.

    4:7 the season | when wheat and wine throve  Lit. “the time the grain and the young wine multiplied,” a striking image that sticks out in a psalm that is otherwise entirely indoors. It sticks out less if one is persuaded by Dahood’s flattening interpretation that Psalm 4 is “a prayer for rain,” reading “good” as “rain” (4:6) and this line as “let their wheat and their wine increase.”

    4:9 alone  It’s important to capture the amphiboly of “alone,” as Paul Raabe and others have pointed out: the Lord alone makes me live alone. Such syntactical ambiguity is a feature of biblical art, not a bug.

    Share:

    • Share on X (Opens in new window) X
    • Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
    Like Loading…

    About Me

    My name is Mark Minster. I’m an English and Comparative Literature professor with a background in ministry and in poetry. I teach courses on writing, reading, religion, and nature.

    Recent Posts

    • Psalm 150
    • Psalm 149
    • Psalm 148
    • Psalm 147
    • Psalm 146

    Newsletter

  • March 15th, 2023

    Psalm 3

    (lyric, of David, fleeing Absalom his son)

    * * *

    Psalm 3 turns from national theater to individual lament, but keeps the siege psychology and the fantasy of revenge. In Psalm 2, machinations were primarily verbal, the seemingly whispered conspiring of kings and prisoners’ groans, met by the Lord’s dismissive laughter and speech-acts. In this psalm, both threat and proportional response are primarily physical, expressed by Hebrew root words that convey rising up (qum) and multiplying, pressing in (rab). The move from Psalm 2 to Psalm 3, then, recasts the nation’s troubles on a private stage, a kind of theatrical aside, even as it casts the shadow of personal emotions back onto international drama. The personal is the political.

    As in the previous psalm, measure-for-measure retribution is God’s m.o. Foes crowd, rise up, and speak. To each of these threats, the Lord responds—a shield, weight, and an answer. The many mock the speaker: “not even God can rescue her” (verse 2). Against this claim the speaker calls out, “rescue me” (7). It’s the narrator who responds with an assertion, “Rescue is the Lord’s” (8). That word “rescue” is the better translation for the Hebrew ysh’a than “salvation.” The image is of being extricated from a bind, from distress, from a squeeze to a wider place. “Liberation” and “salvation” are ponderous and too particular in their political and theological registers.  

    The register of biblical diction can be hard to ascertain and challenging to approximate, but even in poetry, words and phrases are often less formal than most translations and liturgical context suggest. Verse 7 of Psalm 3, for instance, really does feature the most common word for hitting, paralleled by an intensified common word for breaking. But “you’ve hit | all my enemies in the cheek” doesn’t convey the energy or the idiom that “you’ve punched | my enemies all in the jaw.” That’s not an attempt to make the text informal. It’s an approximation of the register of the text itself. (See Klaus Seybold 64: “the language of this simple prayer smacks of everyday colloquial usage.”)

    *

    3:1 lyric, of David, fleeing Absalom  In the psalter, this superscription laces Psalm 3 first to Psalm 2. There we had a king as a son, in the context of international violence, conspiracy, and retribution. Though Psalm 3 is a personal lament, the invocation of the story of David’s retreat from Absalom’s coup gives this psalm another king as a son, in the context of intra-national violence, conspiracy, and retribution. The double role of these Davidic superscriptions— just like the connection of Solomon with wisdom literature— is both to anchor otherwise these open-ended lyrics in communal memory and to enrich those narratives and characters with poetic texture. The past comes to life— every time it’s sung.

    3:1 how many my foes grow / many  The verb rabbu in the first half-verse is followed by rabbim, the verb becoming a verbal adjective. Literally, the enemies many, as a verb, they multiply. Then they just are many.

    3:2 not even God | can rescue him  In one of the most paradigmatic tropes of the Psalms, a speaker beset, besieged, surrounded, calls out for help. That help is either the default word for help, ‘zr, or conveys deliverance from imprisonment, ntsl, or, as here, conveys rescue by removal to safety. The attackers think rescue is impossible. The speaker calls out for rescue (v. 7). And immediately that rescue is described as completed already. In verse 8, finally, rescue is described as the property of the Lord alone.

    3:2 (music)  The Hebrew word selah might be better left untranslated, since no one knows what it means. In drafts of this translation, it was variously “solo,” “crescendo,” “instrumental,” “chorus,” “rest,” “hit it,” and even “word.” The word is a musical term, so the word “music” makes a kind of obvious sense.  

    3:6 many thousands The root rab returns here now in noun form as the word rebabah, which is a indefinite number somewhere between 10,000 and a zillion. Seybold proposes m’rbwt “web” rather than mrbbwt, while Dahood suggests ribebot meaning “arrows.”

    3:8 your kneeling  The root brkh does means “blessing.” The abstract connotations of divine favor and financial prosperity overwhelmed the underlying metaphor of kneeling, in all likelihood, very early on in the history of the term’s usage. (That’s linguistic conjecture, and I don’t assume that words only mean what they may have meant originally. The word “nature,” for instance, originated from the Latin for birth, and now it means almost nothing of the sort. It means just about anything and everything, as a trip through a supermarket aisle shows.) But the image of blessing as adoration as bending the knee seems worth noting, not because it’s a translator’s discomfort with theology or abstraction, but because it’s there.

    Share:

    • Share on X (Opens in new window) X
    • Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
    Like Loading…

    About Me

    My name is Mark Minster. I’m an English and Comparative Literature professor with a background in ministry and in poetry. I teach courses on writing, reading, religion, and nature.

    Recent Posts

    • Psalm 150
    • Psalm 149
    • Psalm 148
    • Psalm 147
    • Psalm 146

    Newsletter

  • March 14th, 2023

    Psalm 2

    * * *

    Classed by scholars as a royal psalm, a coronation hymn, Psalm 2 centers, in verses 6-9, on a performative exchange of voices. The Lord speaks. The king speaks. The king quotes the Lord. In the process, the Lord inaugurates, the king confirms, and the king reports the Lord’s private speech. The psalm is clearly royal, in both speech and deed, relying on the common ancient Near Eastern vision of monarchy in which the king serves as a god’s adopted son.

    What surrounds the crowning, however, is a fantasy of world domination, complete with chains and saber-rattling. The psalm starts with a double question, though who asks is not clear: Why is the rest of the world in a tizzy? What’s with these people and their useless groans?  Verse 2 turns to foreign kings arraying themselves and huddling, hatching plots and threatening siege. But how do the first two verses relate? Is it one long question: why is all of this happening? Or is verse 2 the answer to verse 1’s questions: are the others of the world upset because kings and princes are gathering force?

    Who speaks? Who speaks verse 3? It’s a wish to be set free, but whose? Are the nations hoping to snap their shackles, or is Israel? Who thrust the ropes on them? “Earth’s kings”? Or “the Lord and his anointed”?  Almost all English translations stifle the ambiguity by adding “saying” to the end of verse 2. But the ambiguity is precisely the thing. The Bible’s art is more oblique. Meanings flesh out if we let them.

    The verses that follow depict God’s response. Verse 4 imagines the Lord laughing— at foreign jailors, we assume. And if, as it seems to be, verse 5 is a continuation of the first four verses, then God’s rage clearly targets those foreign princes who have, figuratively or literally, besieged the Israelites.

    This all sets up a matrix of verbs.

    v. 1: (they) have fussed, moan              4: (God) laughs, mocks

    2: (they) amass, have schemed             5: (God) speaks, stupefies

    3: let’s shatter and let’s buck                6: I inaugurate 

    Four times in this pattern, grammatical person shifts: from 3rd plural to 1st plural to 3rd singular to 1st singular. In response to the four third-person verbs of the nations’ chatter, God is said (by the third-person narration) to utter four verbs of his own. Their noisy fussing and moaning, their deliberative conspiring and scheming, are met with noisy laughing and mocking, then clear and potent speech and silencing. In response to the first-person-plural hopes of verse 3, the first-person singular of verse 6 declares, with proclamation and performance, “I inaugurate my king.” The verb here is rare and international, and it’s preceded by the explicit pronoun I, which is usually left implicit. In sum, the impact of the first half of Psalm 2 is to answer encircling armies word for word. You have your jabber, I have mine. And as to this wish to be set free? Have a king.

    If only one of the sharp rebellious images of verse 3 is paralleled by verse 6, that’s just because we haven’t yet gotten to verse 7. This is the turn of the psalm, one of the more important verses to messianic Judaism and Christianity.

    I recount the decree   the Lord said to me

    my son you                   I today bear you

    It is choppy in English this way, without an explicit “are” between “my son” and “you,” but it’s not crabbed. The original conveys intimacy and resonance at the rebounding of “you” and “me,” especially at that magnetic click of “my son you / I today.” There’s no actual linebreak or caesura in Hebrew, but the synapse is there. That moment between “you” and “I” is the pivot of the poem, the fulcrum where “I bear you” crosses back to meet “my son.”

    How a father can say to a son “I today bear you” is a pregnant question. “Today you are born,” “today you become my son,” “today I adopt you”—these all make literal sense. Historians offer possible ritual explanations: adoption rites, for instance. But in the text itself, this is no normal human gestation.

    In verse 8, that click of “you” and “I” in verse 7 (`etta `ani) is mashed up to “I give” (ve`ettenah). What is being given?

    ask me and I give         others as your legacy

    your assets                     the edges of earth

    you batter them            with iron rods

    like terra cotta               you shatter them                            .

    If the crowning in verse 6 was one response to the prisoners’ wish in verse 3, verse 9 is a second. The prisoners want to break shackles and ropes; God’s offspring king beats the others to a pulp. The moral of the story for the kings of the others?

    Now kings                       look smart

    take your beating           rulers

    serve the Lord                with fear

    whirl                                 with trembling

    The last verse, verse 12, has led to controversies for centuries: is nassequ-bar supposed to mean “kiss the son,” in which case it is not Hebrew, but Aramaic, the international language? Or is it “kiss discipline,” which is all Hebrew, but more abstract than this Psalm has been? Traditional Christian commentators sift for messianic allusions like ore. Traditional commentators respond with linguistic purity, and tend to read “discipline” as a figure for instruction. Others speculate whether there might be some ancient legalese at work here, vassals doing obeisance to the signet ring or something similar. But in the text we have, the phrase is open, elliptical, and euphemistic in just the way that captors speak: brutally, evasively. Wouldn’t want nothing should happen to you. Little accident, maybe? We can play this how you want to.

    At the end, the King James is more than pious: “Blessed are all they that put their trust in him.” That’s great cadence, lovely music with the two-beat “blessed” hopping against the two-beat “all they” before loping off with graceful iambs. But the word isn’t “blessed” and here it’s not “trust”— there are better words in Hebrew for those things. It’s “all set” (see Psalm 1) and “seek shelter”: all who nest in him are all set.

    You only get to the floaty “put their trust in him” if you have forgotten or are willing to overlook those iron rods, those prisoners’ groans.

    *

    2:1 have the others | fussed The word goyim is generally translated as “nations.” In the modern world, we can’t help hearing the political, territorial idea of nation-states or countries. In the Bible, the term usually refers somewhat pejoratively to cultures and ethnicities of people who are different from the ancient Israelites. (For examples of exceptions, see Psalm 33:12 and Psalm 106:5.) Understanding this, the KJV often uses the word “heathen,” which introduces unwanted notes of stubborn immorality.

    The word “fussed,” usually rendered “rage” is less about anger than commotion.

    2:1 moan in vain The word “moan” is the same used in 1:2 (rendered there as “purr”). The noise is the thing.

    2:2 amass… and have schemed The verbs are martial and conspiratorial, the monarchs array themselves and the rulers have huddled. Biblical Hebrew poetry often shifts between imperfect or prefixed verbs and verbs that are perfect or suffixed. It’s more complicated than this, given that both prefixed and suffixed forms can be changed in aspect and mode by a single added syllable. Many translations, recognizing the flexibility, even fluidity, of Hebrew verbs, allow perfect verbs to be translated by the present tense: “why do the nations rage” and “rulers take counsel.” That choice loses an important datum, however: there is a subtle shift in many verses between perfect and imperfect verbs. Smoothing over the difference flattens the text: others have fussed… communities now moan, kings now amass, princes have schemed. The timing is there in the original, and it’s patterned chiastically. There’s no reason not to note it.

    2:5 stupifies | with seething rage  The heat of the Lord’s rage very literally disquiets the others.

    2:6 inaugurate  The word nasakti likely means “I have set,” and may derive from Assyrian or Ugaritic. Dahood believes it to be passive—”I have been anointed,” which requires reframing Zion as “his” hallowed hill.

    2:7 my son you | I today  See the introductory note to Psalm 2

    2:9 terra cotta  Lit. “the vessel of a potter”

    2:10 look smart / take your beating  Lit., “show wisdom and let yourselves be admonished”

    2:12 kiss the king  Dahood reads as neshe qaber, “men of the grave.” That seems unlikely.

    2:12 it’s best if you go with him  Literally, “happy all who shelter in him,” which sounds flatter and more complacent in English than it does in Hebrew. There’s a quiet veiled threat here that’s essential to the psalm.

    Share:

    • Share on X (Opens in new window) X
    • Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
    Like Loading…

    About Me

    My name is Mark Minster. I’m an English and Comparative Literature professor with a background in ministry and in poetry. I teach courses on writing, reading, religion, and nature.

    Recent Posts

    • Psalm 150
    • Psalm 149
    • Psalm 148
    • Psalm 147
    • Psalm 146

    Newsletter

  • March 13th, 2023

    Psalm 1

    * * *

    Psalm 1

    Poems that preach feel filmy. They have a residue. From what seat does a writer sit in judgment on me? “We hate literature that has a palpable design on us,” Keats writes, though neurotics tend to think we deserve some scolding; authoritarians think we do, too. Iconoclasts and adolescents, played in my mind by Dennis Hopper and Crispin Glover, think no one tells anyone what to do. A moralizer takes a lectern to a party. She hoists herself into mom’s recliner and commandeers the remote. The moralist quips or holds forth while the rest of us hastily volunteer to help with the dishes, wondering who invited that guy.

    Much of the book of Psalms is this way.

    It doesn’t have to be.

    From its first words, Psalms is tricky simple. ’Ashrei, the first word of Psalm 1, comes over in English generally as “blessed,” less often as “happy.” The NRSV has “Happy are those/ who do not follow the advice of the wicked,” which transforms the RSV’s “Blessed is the man/ who walks not in the counsel of the wicked.” In English, “blessed” and “happy” imply different origins of the sensible, level-headed person described. Someone blessed has been favored, we think, generally by God. But “blessed” is too pious, or, better, it puts the piety in the wrong place. Besides, there’s already a Hebrew word that means “blessed”: baruch, which also means “knelt to” and “adored.” Someone happy is fortunate, favored by circumstance, by hap. But “happy” is wispy and vulnerable to mood. Neither is quite right. The word ’ashrei is more like the English phrase “all set”—“she’s set for life.” It connotes that the way ahead is clear.

    Psalm 1 might be a bit black and white, perhaps, especially at the end. But the psalm’s deep tension between rooting and dispersal lead to that fertile, paradoxical image of the transplanted tree, with roots that have been moved, roots that draw water from a canal, moving water that has been channelized, moved. The dead metaphor, even in Hebrew, of the “way,” flickers a little with life—there are dead ends and there are roads that run more smooth.

    *

    1:1 all set, she who The Hebrew is almost a tongue-twister: ‘ashrei ha‘ish ‘asher.. ba‘atsah resh’aim. Ish may be masculine, typically rendered as “a man,” but it’s generic enough that the generic “she” can substitute. Keeping the masculine has its problems, and pluralizing things to sidestep gender loses the spotlight.

    1:1 maps… cheats “Plan” is more literal than “maps”; the word is`etsah, which means both “counsel” and “council” as Mitchell Dahood points out (1). The Hebrew word resh’a for wrongness connotes illegality and guilt, criminality rather than primarily moral failure, but “criminals” is too formal and clinical, “evil” and “wicked” far too loud, while “crooks” and “bad guys” are semantically right, but tonally comic.

    1:1 the drifters’ path The English word “sinner” thunders into the room. It confuses rather than clarifies. Not that the Hebrew word chatt`aim has a positive valence; its root clearly indicates those who make mistakes, who err, who do wrong. But the word generally means failure and disappointment rather than some existential, theological crime against the fabric of the universe, as readers now hear. The visual metaphor, especially in this psalm, is of not being where one belongs.

    1:1 in seats… sat  The progression of this verse is a textbook example of parallelism, from walking to standing to sitting, from crime to error to attitude. In addition, the verse relies on the repetition of a single root in two different forms, much more common in Hebrew than in English: moshav… yashav.

    1:2 pleasure/ and purrs Most English translations select “delight” and “meditate” here, which seem to me typical eviscerations that intellectualize and abstract. The Hebrew is thoroughly embodied, “pleasure” aligning with a verb that has more to do with sound (doves and lions do it) than with cogitation.

    1:2 direction/directions The word torah can mean everything from a single scene of instruction; the experience of teaching and learning; the specific teaching of the Torah, the first five books of the Bible, traditionally ascribed to Moses; the entire Hebrew Bible; anything God teaches anyone throughout all time. It’s used twice here. It literally means direction, with a root word yarah that’s almost projectile.  

    1:3 sapling | transplanted by a canal We like what we like, I suppose. “A tree planted by streams of water” is indisputably lovely. The imagery in the text is more precise than this, however.

    1:4 the breath The Hebrew ruach has sweeping semantic range, from breath to wind to spirit. In this respect, it’s somewhat like the English words “nature” or “life,” which can mean individual things or “the force that through the green fuse drives.” English forces a choice, however. I think this verse would work well with “the wind,” but prefer the mereness of breath.

    1:5 hold up Literally, “rise” or “stand.” But in our courts, even the convicted rise and stand, so something less literal is needed.

    1:6 the way The word derek used twice here is one of the most common biblical tropes. Literally it refers to a path or a road. It’s an altogether fitting image for this psalm to end on. It’s a Psalm about directions. Its double use here picks up the double utterance of torah, directions back in verse 2. Two roads diverge.

    1:6 dead-ends The Hebrew verb means both to end and to wander away. The just— the tsaddiqim— have roots and a path; the unjust scatter off like chaff and are done.

    Share:

    • Share on X (Opens in new window) X
    • Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
    Like Loading…

    About Me

    My name is Mark Minster. I’m an English and Comparative Literature professor with a background in ministry and in poetry. I teach courses on writing, reading, religion, and nature.

    Recent Posts

    • Psalm 150
    • Psalm 149
    • Psalm 148
    • Psalm 147
    • Psalm 146

    Newsletter

←Previous Page
1 … 35 36 37

Blog at WordPress.com.

 

Loading Comments...
 

    • Subscribe Subscribed
      • The Book of Psalms
      • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
      • The Book of Psalms
      • Subscribe Subscribed
      • Sign up
      • Log in
      • Report this content
      • View site in Reader
      • Manage subscriptions
      • Collapse this bar
    %d