Poem
Mordechai Geldman
THE HOTTENTOT VENUS
In what chains they brought her to Paristo exhibit the wonder of her great buttocks
we'll never know
but a crowd of eager and curious men
paid for the spectacle
for five whole years
if there was any wholesomeness left in the observing and the observed
this too we'll never know
what the Negro thought about the men and women of Paris
its virgins its wives its ivory whores
whose buttocks compared to hers were lacking
in weight and adoration
this too we'll never know
if she learned enough French to say:
Sir, a black ass is worth gold
Monsieur, un cul noir vaut de l'or
we'll never know what she thought
of the mansions of the Louvre, the Luxembourg Gardens,
the bridges of the Seine, or the cathedrals where at great heights
slender naked men were displayed on crosses
or women robed in white and gold
women who got pregnant without passion without copulation
their compassionate wombs temples of grace
their eyes fated to see God
their eyes fated to lament the suffering of their son
but she must have had gold earrings
or earrings of some golden substance
for it is inconceivable that in Paris they would have let her be without jewels and adornments
and she certainly had tears and a talent for weeping
that occasionally surfaced between one show and the next
And we'll never know how she died—
was it the city air and cigar smoke that finally got her
or perhaps precisely the cuisine renowned for its delicacy
turned in her blood into a deadly dose of cholesterol
all that we have left of her
is a crumbling piece
or if you will a great misdeed
what remains of the Hottentot Venus
is much less than the Venus of Milo
exhibited broken in the mansion of the Louvre
from the Hottentot Venus a coroner left us
only her glorious enormous buttocks and her black vagina
whose lips are thicker than the lips of her mouth
as an illustration of a vagina that is a dark vessel
as an illustration of lust that knows no bounds
as an archetypical cunt of all the whores in town
as a black sin lurking in the most pearly of women
Those who still seek her buttocks
particularly the view of her vagina
may find them in a large preservation jar
kept at the Museum of Man near Trocadéro
in the very same town that worshipped them
It is easy to charge that coroner
with necrophilia racism and misogyny
but harder to credit him
with excessive passion for that Hottentot female
that induced him to conquer the acidity of time
and to confer on what he saw as the best of her
the eminence of an embalmed Pharaoh or a Nefertiti
a gift from the morgue for coming generations
for the French and for all other nations
© Translation: 2008, Tsipi Keller
From: Poets on the Edge
Publisher: SUNY, Albany, 2008
From: Poets on the Edge
Publisher: SUNY, Albany, 2008
ֶנוּס ההוֹטֶנטוֹטית
ֶנוּס ההוֹטֶנטוֹטית
בְּאֵילוּ אֲזִקִּים הֱבִיאוּהָ לְפָּרִיס
לְהַצִּיג בָּהּ אֶת פֶּלֶא יַשְׁבָנֶיהָ הַמֻּגְדָּלִים
לֹא נֵדַע לְעוֹלָם
אַךְ קְהַל גְּבָרִים סַקְרָנִי וּמִשְׁתּוֹקֵק
שִׁלֵּם בְּעַד תַּצְפִּית הַיַּשְׁבָנִים
חָמֵשׁ שָׁנִים תְּמִימוֹת
אִם נוֹתַר עוֹד תֹּם כָּלְשֶׁהוּ אֵצֶל הַצּוֹפִים וְהַנִּצְפִּים
גַּם לֹא נֵדַע לְעוֹלָם
אֶת דַּעַת הַכּוּשִׁית עַל גַּבְרֵי פָּרִיס וְעַל נָשֶׁיהָ
עַל הַבְּתוּלוֹת, עַל הַבְּעוּלוֹת וְעַל הַזּוֹנוֹת הַצְּחוֹרוֹת
שֶׁיַּשְׁבָנֵיהֶן קֻפְּחוּ כָּל-כָּךְ מוּל יַשְׁבָנֶיהָ
בְּמִשְׁקָל וּבְמַעֲרִיצִים
גַּם לֹא נֵדַע לְעוֹלָם
אִם לָמְדָה צָרְפָתִית בְּמִדָּה שֶׁאִפְשְׁרָה לָהּ לוֹמַר
אֲדוֹנִי, תַּחַת שָׁחוֹר שָׁוֶה זָהָב
Monsieur, un cul noir Vaut de l'or
גַּם לֹא נֵדַע לְעוֹלָם אֶת דַּעְתָּהּ
עַל אַרְמְנוֹת הַלּוּבְר, גַּנֵּי-לוּקְסֶמְבּוּרְג וְגִשְׁרֵי הַסֵּין
אוֹ עַל הַקָּתֶדְרָלוֹת בָּהֶן הֻצְּגוּ בַּגֹּבַהּ
גְּבָרִים דַּקֵּי בָּשָׂר וַעֲרֻמִּים כְּשֶׁהֵם צְלוּבִים
אוֹ נָשִׁים שֶׁהַלֹּבֶן וְהַזָּהָב הָיוּ כְּסוּתָן
נָשִׁים שֶׁהָרוּ בְּלֹא תְּשׁוּקָה וּבִיאָה
וְרַחְמָן הָיָה רַחֲמִים, מִקְדָּשׁ לַחֶסֶד,
וְעֵינֵיהֶן יֹעֲדוּ לִרְאוֹת אֱלֹהִים
וְעֵינֵיהֶן יֹעֲדוּ לִבְכִי עַל יִסּוּרֵי בְּנָן
אֲבָל הָיוּ לָהּ בְּוַדַּאי עֲגִילֵי זָהָב
אוֹ עֲגִילִים מֵחֹמֶר מֻזְהָב כָּלְשֶׁהוּ
שֶׁהֲרֵי אִי אֶפְשָׁר שֶׁבְּפָּרִיס הִנִּיחוּהָ בְּלֹא קִשּׁוּטִים וַעֲדָיִים
וּבְוַדַּאי הָיוּ בָּהּ דְּמָעוֹת וְכִשְׁרוֹן לִבְכִי
שֶׁלְּעִתִּים הִתְמַמֵּשׁ בֵּין תְּצוּגָה לִתְצוּגָה
גַּם לֹא נֵדַע לְעוֹלָם אֶת נְסִבּוֹת מוֹתָהּ –
הַאִם אֲוִיר הַכְּרַךְ וּנְשִׁיפוֹת סִיגָרִים הִכְרִיעוּהָ
אוֹ אוּלַי דַּוְקָא אוֹתוֹ מָזוֹן נוֹדָע בְּטִיבוֹ
הָיָה בְּדָמָהּ לִמְנַת כּוֹלֶסְטֶרוֹל קַטְלָנִית
כָּל שֶׁנּוֹתַר לָנוּ מִמֶּנָּה
אֵינֶנּוּ אֶלָּא חֲתִיכָה תְּחוּחָה
אוֹ אִם תִּרְצוּ – שֹׁד וָשֶׁבֶר
מִוֶּנוּס הַהוֹטֶנְטוֹטִית נוֹתַר הַרְבֵּה פָּחוֹת
מֵאֲשֶׁר מִוֶּנוּס מִמִּילוֹ
שֶׁהֻצְּבָה שְׁבוּרָה בְּאַרְמוֹן הַלּוּבְר
מִוֶּנוּס הַהוֹטֶנְטוֹטִית הִשְׁאִיר לָנוּ מְנַתֵּחַ גְּוִיּוֹת
רַק אֶת הַיַּשְׁבָנִים הַהֲדוּרִים בְּגֻזְמָתָם
וְאֶת פֻּתָּהּ הַשְּׁחוֹרָה שֶׁשְּׂפָתֶיהָ עָבוֹת מִשִּׂפְתֵי פִּיהָ
כְּדֻגְמָה לְפֹת שֶׁהִיא מְכָל אָפֵל
כְּדֻגְמַת תְּשׁוּקָה שֶׁאֵין לָהּ סְיָג
כְּאֵמְטִיפּוּס לַפֹּת שֶׁל כָּל זוֹנוֹת הָעִיר
כַּחֵטְא הַשָּׁחוֹר הַנֶּחְבָּא בַּנָּשִׁים הַצְּחוֹרוֹת בְּיוֹתֵר
מִי שֶׁעוֹדֶנּוּ מְבַקֵּשׁ אֶת יַשְׁבָנֶיהָ
וּבִמְיֻחָד אֶת מַרְאֵה פֻּתָּהּ
יִמְצָאֵם בְּצִנְצֶנֶת גְּדוֹלָה שֶׁל חֹמֶר מְשַׁמֵּר
שֶׁהֻצְּבָה בְּמוּזֵיאוֹן הָאָדָם בּוֹאֲכָה טְרוֹקָדֶרוֹ
בְּאוֹתָהּ עִיר שֶׁהֶעֱרִיצָה אוֹתָם
קַל לְהַאֲשִׁים אֶת מְנַתֵּחַ הַגְּוִיּוֹת
בְּנֶקְרוֹפִילְיָה, גִּזְעָנוּת וְשִׂנְאַת נָשִׁים
אַךְ קָשֶׁה יוֹתֵר לְיַחֵס לוֹ
תְּשׁוּקָה יְתֵרָה לְאוֹתָהּ הוֹטֶנְטוֹטִית
שֶׁיָּצְרָה בּוֹ יֵצֶר לִגְבֹּר עַל תַּחְמֹצֶת הַזְּמַן
כְּדֵי לְהַקְנוֹת לְמַה שֶּׁנִּרְאֶה לוֹ מֵיטָבָהּ
מַעֲמָד שֶׁל פַּרְעוֹנִי חָנוּט אוֹ נֶפֶרְטִיטִי
מַתְּנַת נֶצַח מֵחֲדַר הַמֵּתִים
לָעָם הַצָּרְפָתִי וּלְעַמִּים אֲחֵרִים.
© 1993, Mordechai Geldman
From: Ayin
Publisher: SIman Kriah, Tel Aviv
From: Ayin
Publisher: SIman Kriah, Tel Aviv
Poems
Poems of Mordechai Geldman
Close
THE HOTTENTOT VENUS
In what chains they brought her to Paristo exhibit the wonder of her great buttocks
we'll never know
but a crowd of eager and curious men
paid for the spectacle
for five whole years
if there was any wholesomeness left in the observing and the observed
this too we'll never know
what the Negro thought about the men and women of Paris
its virgins its wives its ivory whores
whose buttocks compared to hers were lacking
in weight and adoration
this too we'll never know
if she learned enough French to say:
Sir, a black ass is worth gold
Monsieur, un cul noir vaut de l'or
we'll never know what she thought
of the mansions of the Louvre, the Luxembourg Gardens,
the bridges of the Seine, or the cathedrals where at great heights
slender naked men were displayed on crosses
or women robed in white and gold
women who got pregnant without passion without copulation
their compassionate wombs temples of grace
their eyes fated to see God
their eyes fated to lament the suffering of their son
but she must have had gold earrings
or earrings of some golden substance
for it is inconceivable that in Paris they would have let her be without jewels and adornments
and she certainly had tears and a talent for weeping
that occasionally surfaced between one show and the next
And we'll never know how she died—
was it the city air and cigar smoke that finally got her
or perhaps precisely the cuisine renowned for its delicacy
turned in her blood into a deadly dose of cholesterol
all that we have left of her
is a crumbling piece
or if you will a great misdeed
what remains of the Hottentot Venus
is much less than the Venus of Milo
exhibited broken in the mansion of the Louvre
from the Hottentot Venus a coroner left us
only her glorious enormous buttocks and her black vagina
whose lips are thicker than the lips of her mouth
as an illustration of a vagina that is a dark vessel
as an illustration of lust that knows no bounds
as an archetypical cunt of all the whores in town
as a black sin lurking in the most pearly of women
Those who still seek her buttocks
particularly the view of her vagina
may find them in a large preservation jar
kept at the Museum of Man near Trocadéro
in the very same town that worshipped them
It is easy to charge that coroner
with necrophilia racism and misogyny
but harder to credit him
with excessive passion for that Hottentot female
that induced him to conquer the acidity of time
and to confer on what he saw as the best of her
the eminence of an embalmed Pharaoh or a Nefertiti
a gift from the morgue for coming generations
for the French and for all other nations
© 2008, Tsipi Keller
From: Poets on the Edge
Publisher: 2008, SUNY, Albany
From: Poets on the Edge
Publisher: 2008, SUNY, Albany
THE HOTTENTOT VENUS
In what chains they brought her to Paristo exhibit the wonder of her great buttocks
we'll never know
but a crowd of eager and curious men
paid for the spectacle
for five whole years
if there was any wholesomeness left in the observing and the observed
this too we'll never know
what the Negro thought about the men and women of Paris
its virgins its wives its ivory whores
whose buttocks compared to hers were lacking
in weight and adoration
this too we'll never know
if she learned enough French to say:
Sir, a black ass is worth gold
Monsieur, un cul noir vaut de l'or
we'll never know what she thought
of the mansions of the Louvre, the Luxembourg Gardens,
the bridges of the Seine, or the cathedrals where at great heights
slender naked men were displayed on crosses
or women robed in white and gold
women who got pregnant without passion without copulation
their compassionate wombs temples of grace
their eyes fated to see God
their eyes fated to lament the suffering of their son
but she must have had gold earrings
or earrings of some golden substance
for it is inconceivable that in Paris they would have let her be without jewels and adornments
and she certainly had tears and a talent for weeping
that occasionally surfaced between one show and the next
And we'll never know how she died—
was it the city air and cigar smoke that finally got her
or perhaps precisely the cuisine renowned for its delicacy
turned in her blood into a deadly dose of cholesterol
all that we have left of her
is a crumbling piece
or if you will a great misdeed
what remains of the Hottentot Venus
is much less than the Venus of Milo
exhibited broken in the mansion of the Louvre
from the Hottentot Venus a coroner left us
only her glorious enormous buttocks and her black vagina
whose lips are thicker than the lips of her mouth
as an illustration of a vagina that is a dark vessel
as an illustration of lust that knows no bounds
as an archetypical cunt of all the whores in town
as a black sin lurking in the most pearly of women
Those who still seek her buttocks
particularly the view of her vagina
may find them in a large preservation jar
kept at the Museum of Man near Trocadéro
in the very same town that worshipped them
It is easy to charge that coroner
with necrophilia racism and misogyny
but harder to credit him
with excessive passion for that Hottentot female
that induced him to conquer the acidity of time
and to confer on what he saw as the best of her
the eminence of an embalmed Pharaoh or a Nefertiti
a gift from the morgue for coming generations
for the French and for all other nations
© 2008, Tsipi Keller
From: Poets on the Edge
Publisher: 2008, SUNY, Albany
From: Poets on the Edge
Publisher: 2008, SUNY, Albany
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