Reading this ancient lament feels like opening a page from a modern diary written by a woman sinking into a quiet despair. Just as Inanna grieves the loss of her cities and her sacred spaces, a woman today might write about the empty rooms of her apartment, the friendships that feel distant, and the sense that her own life has been stripped of meaning. Both voices carry the weight of remembering who they were before everything fell apart, holding onto the ache of absence and the fragile hope that someone might one day hear their sorrow.
The diary comparison is closer than it looks. A balag existed so the worst thing could be said out loud in the sufferer's own voice and lose some of its force. That is roughly what a diary is for, and if any of that ache is yours, the tablet suggests the saying of it was always meant to help. Thank you for this.
It holds up, with one wrinkle worth keeping. Plath and Nin wrote in their own voice. The gala who sang this one was a man performing it in a woman's dialect, and the earliest hymns to Inanna were written by Enheduanna. Same voice, three very different people carrying it.
This really was a fascinating read. Both Sumerian and Akkadian have fascinated me for years, and cuneiform is one of those subjects that lends me to disappearing down a rabbit hole thirsty for knowledge.
The idea of someone sitting in Babylon writing in two languages that nobody around him actually spoke anymore is just incredible to me. I can visualize the scene and I would love to have been there watching him.
I was especially fascinated by the Emesal and gala discussion — I know decidedly little about both, but I will not forget that the Emesal cultic songs were the one Sumerian literary tradition that survived after the language otherwise stopped being written.
And that last thought really got me: someone near the very end of a 3,000-year writing tradition carefully copying words that were already ancient to him. There’s something serendipitously human about that.
Reading this ancient lament feels like opening a page from a modern diary written by a woman sinking into a quiet despair. Just as Inanna grieves the loss of her cities and her sacred spaces, a woman today might write about the empty rooms of her apartment, the friendships that feel distant, and the sense that her own life has been stripped of meaning. Both voices carry the weight of remembering who they were before everything fell apart, holding onto the ache of absence and the fragile hope that someone might one day hear their sorrow.
The diary comparison is closer than it looks. A balag existed so the worst thing could be said out loud in the sufferer's own voice and lose some of its force. That is roughly what a diary is for, and if any of that ache is yours, the tablet suggests the saying of it was always meant to help. Thank you for this.
You are welcome. That was the impression and modern example that came to my mind after reading your essay.
The basic human condition has not changed. Inanna/Isis/Minerva could be Sylvia Plath or Anais Nin.
It holds up, with one wrinkle worth keeping. Plath and Nin wrote in their own voice. The gala who sang this one was a man performing it in a woman's dialect, and the earliest hymns to Inanna were written by Enheduanna. Same voice, three very different people carrying it.
This really was a fascinating read. Both Sumerian and Akkadian have fascinated me for years, and cuneiform is one of those subjects that lends me to disappearing down a rabbit hole thirsty for knowledge.
The idea of someone sitting in Babylon writing in two languages that nobody around him actually spoke anymore is just incredible to me. I can visualize the scene and I would love to have been there watching him.
I was especially fascinated by the Emesal and gala discussion — I know decidedly little about both, but I will not forget that the Emesal cultic songs were the one Sumerian literary tradition that survived after the language otherwise stopped being written.
And that last thought really got me: someone near the very end of a 3,000-year writing tradition carefully copying words that were already ancient to him. There’s something serendipitously human about that.
Another wonderful piece - Tony
So cool! Thank you.
you're welcome. Thanks for reading
Fascinating!
Thank you. The last century of cuneiform is full of things like this.