The Alphabet

The letters of the Jews as strict as flames Or little terrible flowers lean Stubbornly upwards through the perfect ages, Singing through solid stone the sacred names. The letters of the Jews are black and clean And lie in chain-line over Christian pages. The chosen letters bristle like barbed wire That hedge the flesh of man, Twisting and tightening the book that warns. These words, this burning bush, this flickering pyre Unsacrifices the bled son of man Yet plaits his crown of thorns. Where go the tipsy idols of the Roman Past synagogues of patient time, Where go the sisters of the Gothic rose, Where go the blue eyes of the Polish women Past the almost natural crime, Past the still speaking embers of ghettos, There rise the tinder flowers of the Jews. The letters of the Jews are dancing knives That carve the heart of darkness seven ways. These are the letters that all men refuse And will refuse until the king arrives And will refuse until the death of time And all is rolled back in the book of days.