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“Though the face of the steersman is forward, the boat drifts as it pleases. Though the king is in the palace, though the rudder is in your hand, wrong is done around you. Long is my plea, heavy my task, “What is the matter with him ?“ people ask. Be a shelter, make safe your shore, See how your quay is infested with crocodiles! Straighten your tongue, let it not stray, A serpent is this limb of man. Don’t tell lies, warn the magistrates, Greasy baskets are the judges.” — Miriam Lichtheim
Though the face of the steersman is forward, the boat drifts as it pleases.
Though the king is in the palace,
though the rudder is in your hand,
wrong is done around you.
Long is my plea, heavy my task,
“What is the matter with him ?“ people ask.
Be a shelter, make safe your shore,
See how your quay is infested with crocodiles!
Straighten your tongue, let it not stray,
A serpent is this limb of man.
Don’t tell lies, warn the magistrates,
Greasy baskets are the judges.