Enheduana

Late evening lashed the dusty trail
With heavy shadows
Drooping planes wept over the fate of the condemned

Princess
Your guilt's being born the twelfth daughter
Of the High King on the seat of Akkad
Daughters are never of much consequence to their fathers
Does he really need your tenderness
How much did you long
And how much did you fear
To step into that hall and hide your face
In his shimmering robes

Now pray to the Goddess Inanna of Ur
Sing her praises
The ever-changing Mistress of the midnight
The inconstant traveller, holding chains of love
And memory
Confide your solitude into the cool tablets of clay

A young man grieving over his loss
Carves with chisel and mallet
The name of the king on each stone of the Road of Marduk
But the burning tips of his fingers
Imprint «Enheduana»

The ancient planes stood along the trail,
Condemned
The guilty verdict nailed according to the law;
On bright orange paper in large letters
«King of the Jews»
And «Partisanen»
The five-fingered leaves on the road
Danced their last ballet

I first became obsessed with ancient Sumer as a young girl of about 12, my favorite book at that time being «Gods, Graves and Scolars» by C.W.Ceram. Recently, digging through my library, I came across a copy of this book – and that night I first dreamt of a priestess spending the night by the gold bed of Marduk on the top of ziggurat E-Temen- An-Ki...

Enheduana was a priestess and a poet who lived about 4,300 years ago in Sumer. I guessed or imagined her life: one of too many daughters, she was forced to serve as a priestess of Inanna, Goddess of the Moon. Dedicated to Gods, she was not allowed to marry or have children. Her purpose in life was to pray for her parents – a fate too cruel for a powerful and talented Enheduana. She became one of the most beloved poets of the Ancient Sumer, with fragments of her superb love poetry surviving to these days...

The other reason behind this last poem was the fate of the trees in cities: oftentimes they are thoughtlessly, almost wantonly cut down whenever they happen to inconvenience the landowners. Thus, in my neighborhood trees stand wearing orange death sentences; in my native city of Tashkent the government cuts down the beloved ancient planes in the central square to the horror and disgust of all who knows and loves our city...

Mark Weil remembered

Two years ago international theater lost one of the most original and daring directors: Mark Weil was stabbed to death in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. Fiercely independent, Mark taunted the communist government of the Soviet era with plays that spoke truth - by equivocation. His child - Ilkhom theater- performed in Japan and Germany, France and US. Mark worked in Moscow, London, Seattle. He dared to speak about homosexuality in the Moslem society - and was killed for it...

Seattle was his safe heaven. Here he hid his family from the growing threat. Here he worked on new projects... Here he used to spend every warm sunny day swimming in the lake Washington. Here he still remains - in spirit -and his ashes that were dispersed over the lake he loved so much. Watching Tanya swim in the lake is almost an out-of-this world experience.

А Date

(to Tanya Weil)

From the twilight of home
with whispering leaves
and the stealth of a beast
on her soft silver feet,
where the Donkey and Pilgrim
unhurriedly trudge
through the impossible field
of azure ryegrass
where the birds on the wing
in the darkening skies:
from the restless bed sheets
fleeting memories
dreams
from the fog into sunlight
like bowsprit cleaves
the intense lilac span
of the obstinate breeze:
with a flare of white shoulder
no anchor no chain
Aphrodite returning
to crystalline realm
you step into water

together again