Here we go. I want to make sure these posts aren’t boring book reports, but I also do want to present a lot of contextual information that will help you if you want to understand the texts or even just some of the best lines. Finding out about the context and characters takes a fair amount of additional reading, so hopefully I can provide that in a very efficient form at the beginning of these posts. If you have any thoughts on what would be most interesting, what should be included or left out, please let me know. I think in some instances whatever we’re reading will prompt me to some personal reflection or modern comparison, but with these older texts I think it’s important to spend some time just explaining them.
By the way, on the basis of the video I linked last week, I’ve changed the translation I’m using to the one from the Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature: https://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=t.2.2.2&charenc=j#
Quick historical background
Ur was one of the great Sumerian cities, and was located pretty close to modern day Nasiriyah in Iraq. However, in the time of Ur the coastline was very different and we believe Ur was both near the mouth of the Euphrates and on the Persian Gulf. There had been consistent human settlement in Ur since before 4000 BC but its great Sumerian period started in 3600. The Lament for Ur is the most intact of a number of Sumerian laments about the destruction of gods and cities. The Lament for Ur captures the story of the city’s fall to Amorite forces around 2000 BC.
One other cool historical fact, some people think Ur is the same city as the Biblical city Ur Kasdim (or Ur Chaldees) which would mean Abraham was from Ur.
Structure
Some notes on the structure of the story, which is really a series of songs that were meant to be performed. The Lament (which would go on to inspire the genre of lamentations in biblical and Greek literature) is 436 lines split into 11 songs. There’s a lot of repetition throughout the text, and in certain sections even a sort of verse/chorus arrangement. Now lets take a look at each song and its coolest lines.
Song 1
Song 1 sets up all the various deities that have abandoned Ur and in some sense allowed this calamity to take place:
She of Isin has abandoned it and has let the breezes haunt her sheepfold. Ninisina has abandoned the shrine Egal-mah and has let the breezes haunt her sheepfold. The queen of Unug has abandoned it and has let the breezes haunt her sheepfold. Inana has abandoned that house Unug and has let the breezes haunt her sheepfold. Nanna has abandoned Urim and has let the breezes haunt his sheepfold.
Each of these names refers to a god. Nanna, referenced in the last line quoted here, is the only god who was considered the patron god of the city of Ur, but apparently an event like the fall of a city would imply the indifference or anger of myriad other gods as well.
I particularly like the repetition of the phrase “and let the breezes haunt her sheepfold.” If you imagine a group singing this, or listen to the pseudo-singing featured in the video, the repetition itself becomes very haunting. I like to think of this lament as early apocalyptic literature, and this repetition really sets the mood. To explain unless its not clear, both the “it” and the “her” in the lines above refer to the city of Ur. So, “Isin has abandoned Ur and has let the breezes haunt Ur’s Sheepfold.” A sheepfold is just a pen, so what’s being described is that following the destruction of the city there are no signs of life, with even animals dead or gone. There is just wind “haunting” the city as it blows through places that used to hold life.
Song 2
Song 2 continues with heavy repetition, with almost every line featuring the same opening or closing phrase. Here is a sample.
O city, the lament is bitter, the lament made for you. Your lament is bitter, O city, the lament made for you. In his righteous destroyed city its lament is bitter. In his righteous destroyed Urim, the lament is bitter, the lament made for you. Your lament is bitter, O city, the lament made for you. In his destroyed Urim its lament is bitter. How long will your bitter lament grieve your lord who weeps? How long will your bitter lament grieve Nanna who weeps?
This part is easier to imagine being performed even as you just read it to yourself. The phrases have a sort of rhythm and its hard not to lapse into a musical pattern if you try and read it out loud. This is also a section where having no knowledge of the original language is tough, particularly because of the use of the word “bitter.” I have a number of fairly specific associations with that word, and I wonder if the authors of this song were actually invoking a similar concept. I have to imagine if the translators chose this word, the original text must also use a word that invokes a sharp or foul taste. Bitterness isn’t just something bad, it’s disgusting.
Song 3/4
In song 3 and 4, the wife of Nanna (remember the patron god of Ur) Ningal begs for the city to be saved. Ningal is herself a goddess (of reeds) and implores both her husband Nanna and grander gods to save the city. Ultimately both Anu (sky god and king of gods) and Enlil (god of storms and one of Anu’s sons) do not listen to Ningal’s desperate request. Here’s a portion:
The bitter lament having come to be for me during the night, I trembled on account of that night but I did not flee before the night's violence. The awesomeness of this storm, destructive as the flood, truly hangs heavy on me. Because of its existence, in my nightly sleeping place, even in my nightly sleeping place truly there was no peace for me. Nor, because of this debilitating storm, was the quiet of my sleeping place, not even the quiet of my sleeping place, allowed to me. Truly I did not forsake my Land.
There’s a really beautiful desperation to this passage. Here we have a goddess who is both in awe of the destructive power of the forces destroying her city (comparing them even to the great flood), but also insisting that she did not forsake the land, it is other gods work. This seems psychologically complex in a way I don’t associate with the ancient world - to imagine that the nearest god may not have forsaken the people in a destructive time but was actually unsuccessfully pleading on their behalf to other gods.
Songs 5/6
The fifth and sixth songs focus on a description of the storm that destroys Ur. There is some really beautiful language here.
Enlil brought Gibil as his aid. He called the great storm of heaven -- the people groan. The great storm howls above -- the people groan. The storm that annihilates the Land roars below -- the people groan. The evil wind, like a rushing torrent, cannot be restrained. The weapons in the city smash heads and consume indiscriminately. The storm whirled gloom around the base of the horizon -- the people groan. In front of the storm, heat blazes -- the people groan. A fiery glow burns with the raging storm.
In this section the phrase repeated “the people groan” has a terrible resignation to it. I am particularly awed by the line “the storm whirled gloom around the base of the horizon.” I’m not sure I can imagine what’s being described, but it sounds very cool.
Song 7
In song 7, we return again to Ningal who cries that the city has indeed been destroyed. An amazing opening description here of Ningal outside the city looking at the destruction:
Mother Ningal, like an enemy, stands outside her city. The woman laments bitterly over her devastated house. Over her devastated shrine Urim, the princess bitterly declares: "An has indeed cursed my city, my city has been destroyed before me. Enlil has indeed transformed my house, it has been smitten by pickaxes. On my ones coming from the south he hurled fire. Alas, my city has indeed been destroyed before me. On my ones coming from the highlands Enlil hurled flames. Outside the city, the outer city was destroyed before me -- I shall cry "Alas, my city". Inside the city, the inner city was destroyed before me -- I shall cry "Alas, my city". My houses of the outer city were destroyed -- I shall cry "Alas, my houses". My houses of the inner city were destroyed -- I shall cry "Alas, my houses"."
There is a lot of complex repetition here. First, Ningal describes “ones coming from the south,” and “ones coming from the highlands” clarifying that the entire geography suffered Enlil’s wrath. Then as the passage goes on, the refrain becomes “Alas, my city” and then “Alas, my houses.” I think it’s interesting that Ningal is portrayed throughout the poem as the person most grieved by the city’s destruction, even though her husband Nanna was the deity most closely associated with the city. Perhaps this has something to do with cities themselves being personified as feminine in Sumerian texts.
Song 8
In song 8, an unknown (unknown to me, perhaps academics have ideas) speaker addresses Ningal and her grief
Your tears have become strange tears, your Land no longer weeps. With no lamentation prayers, it dwells in foreign lands. Your Land like ....... Your city has been made into ruins; now how do you exist? Your house has been laid bare, how is your heart ......! Urim, the shrine, is haunted by the breezes, now how do you exist?
In most of song 8, the phrase “how is your heart” is repeated. More interesting to me though is at least two instances of “how do you exist?” Again, I assume there is some translation weirdness going on here, but the text we have suggests that Sumerians wondered whether or not gods perished when the lands or peoples associated with them also perished from the earth. This presents an interesting theological question about whether or not the creation of such cities/peoples brought the gods into existence in the first place.
Songs 9/10
Songs 9 and 10 return to a “plea” for the city to not be destroyed by the storm, using similar language to songs 3/4:
The storm which knows no mother, the storm which knows no father, the storm which knows no wife, the storm which knows no child, the storm which knows no sister, the storm which knows no brother, the storm which knows no neighbour, the storm which knows no female companion, the storm which caused the wife to be abandoned, which caused the child to be abandoned, the storm which caused the light in the Land to disappear, the storm which swept through, ordered in hate by Enlil -- Father Nanna, may that storm swoop down no more on your city. May your black-headed people see it no more.
There is active debate over the common phrase “black-headed people” that is common in Sumerian descriptions of themselves. Some people believe it just a physical description as Sumerians were dark skinned, but others have argued in the original language it represents a sort of metaphor for civilization. I confess I don’t have the knowledge to assess the later argument. I like that so much time is given to describing the inhumanity of the storm, detailing all the relationships it lacks.
Song 11
Song 11 is unfortunately the most incomplete, with the first three lines missing. However, it is clear that it is a plea from the people of Ur for Nanna and Ningal to restore the city:
From distant days when the Land was founded, O Nanna, the humble people who lay hold of your feet have brought to you their tears for the silent house, playing music before you. May the black-headed people, cast away from you, make obeisance to you. In your city reduced to ruin mounds may a lament be made to you. O Nanna, may your restored city be resplendent before you. Like a bright heavenly star may it not be destroyed, may it pass before you.
I find it particularly interesting that this very dark and destructive poem ends with this plea for restoration. I think of ancient literature as keeping it super real, so these instances of tepid optimism or requests for renewal are interesting and hopeful.
Takeaways
I think the Lament for Ur is very cool. It can be hard to read and understand what’s going on, but I hope the context I provided make it easier, or at the very least, that the passages quoted here have an evocative effect. I’m sure there was apocalyptic literature before the Lament for Ur, but I also imagine this lament borrows from those earlier works, stylistically if not in terms of content. The imagery of the storm, the ruins and ultimately the empty city with wind blowing through empty animal stalls all still might be used in contemporary apocalyptic literature.
I’m also very intrigued by the sophisticated portrayal of the personalities of gods, beseeching one another for help or expressing frustration at their own inability to shape events. I had sort of thought that the Greeks were the first people to so dramatically project human weaknesses on to their gods, but apparently not so. I’m repeating myself now, but I think imaging the goddess of your city lobbying unsuccessfully on your behalf to other gods is weirdly empathetic to the position of a god. Why would people suffering the destruction of their home find such empathy? It seems like a fairly advanced emotional construct, whatever advanced can mean in this context.
Anyways, later this week we will do the Epic of Gilgamesh. As I said up top, if this format doesn’t work for you, or the stuff being covered isn’t what you’re interested in let me know and I’ll try some different formats. I thought some of the language in this text was cool enough to go through like this, but let me know if you disagree.