Review of Metcalf , Sumerian Literary Texts, CUSAS 38, ZA 2021 123-136

Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 2020; aop Christopher Metcalf: Sumerian Literary Texts in the Schøyen Collection, Volume 1: Literary Sources on Old Babylonian Religion. (Cornell University Studies in Assyriology and Sumerology 38). Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 2019. 168 S. 22,0 × 28,0 cm. ISBN 978-15-75-06730-8. Preis: $ 99.95. Besprochen von Jeremiah Peterson, Cedar Rapids, United States; Email: [email protected] https://doi.org/10.1515/za-2020-0025 The publication of the cuneiform texts in the Schøyen collection is a major desideratum for the field of Assyriology, and it has occurred in recent years at an impressive rate and with an equally impressive quality. In the interim, the decision to make digital images of the texts available to the public at large was a great service to the field and a credit to the collection’s owner, Martin Schøyen, its overseeing scholars Andrew George and Konrad Volk, and the Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative. The democratization of access to cuneiform manuscripts is always to be applauded. Number 38 in the series CUSAS by Christopher Metcalf reflects the publication of a small but highly significant group of Sumerian literary texts, several of which were previously entirely unknown. A number of these texts (nos. 1, 4, 9, 14, and perhaps 16) are indigenously labelled cultic songs bearing performative instructions. Several of the edited manuscripts pertain to previously identified compositions, most of which have been previously edited: the Lamasaga hymn (sometimes termed, rather misleadingly, as “Bau A,”), Nanše A (see now Attinger 2017), Nisaba C (also referred to as Išbi-Erra E, a new edition by Michalowski is in preparation), several kaka muni ĝara compositions (“Ninurta W,” see most recently Zólyomi 2010, 420–428), Lisin A (which is instead a cultic lament), and the “Hymn to the Ekur,” now shown to have been a širnamšub of Enlil. With the notable exception of the Lamasaga text and the Enlil širnamšub (Hymn to the Ekur), these texts are treated more cursorily, intended to be supplements to the main scholarly editions, which, in the case of Lisin A, has yet to appear. Text no. 3, which Metcalf labels “the Birth of Enlil” is unique to the volume in that it appears to pertain to a mythological text rather than a “cultic song” or “hymn,” although it must be conceded that mythological themes do occasionally predominate some cultic songs. Several texts (nos. 9, 14) add to the sparsely recovered corpus of cultic songs featuring Larsa kings with a cultic song, of Utu for Sîn-iddinam and of Nanaya for Gungunum. Several manuscripts treated in the volume are particularly difficult to read due to significant deterioration of the incised surface, which is an issue for quite a number of Old Babylonian literary manuscripts in the Schøyen collection. Compounding the difficulty level is the consistent lack of manuscript plurality for the bulk of Sumerian cultic songs,1which often leads to reliance on a single source, whose wear and breakage and potential paleographic and orthographic eccentricities have no immediate corrective alternative. In producing reliable and informative editions of them, a number of which reflect the distinctly challenging editio princeps, the author has demonstrated an impressive eye for cuneiform signs and feel for the Sumerian language as well as a commensurate expertise of the relevant corpora. He has also done an admirable job as well in contextualizing these texts as well as possible. The field will certainly benefit from this volume. The brief introduction to this volume reads rather like an apologia for the study of Sumerian cultic songs, in particular of their use as evidentiary sources for cultic practice. Such a tone is understandable, as several currents of scholarship have in recent years tended to disregard them or frame them as somewhat anomalous entities, problematic to date due to the featuring of long-deceased kings in a number of them, and otherwise removed from their original context, only functioning in extant attestation as curricular texts2 or intellectual curiosities subject to any number of secondary revisions that cannot be confidently reconstructed. My impression is that such characterizations, although they not altogether unjustified, have frequently been taken rather too far. The uncertainty caused by the general lack of extant contexts during this period 1 For overall remarks about the attested manuscript distribution of Sumerian cultic songs, see, for example, the remarks of Tinney (2011, 283), Delnero (2015, 89 f.), and Ceccarelli (2019, 141). One result of the paucity of individual manuscripts of cultic songs is that a disproportionate number of the remaining unidentified Sumerian literary fragments belong to this textual category. 2 In particular, the notion that single column im-gid2-da tablets are curricular texts simply due to format (see, recently, for example, Ceccarelli 2019, 141 n. 20) discounts the fact that cultic songs are often spatially suited for this format rather than two or multi-column tablets due to their often relatively short length. Thus, there would not be a practical reason to use anything other than a single column tablet. A perusal of various literary i m - g i d 2- d a manuscripts amply demonstrates that there is a rather profound variation in line number and underlying quality within the category (this variance is sketched by Tinney 1999, 160) while retaining the same label, as examples of single column tablets reflecting opposing extremes of quality are explicitly labelled as i m - g i d 2- d a . Such variation points to fundamental differences in the underlying purpose of the respective manuscripts. 2 Buchbesprechungen that explicitly disclose the occasion for the songs’ performance in conjunction with ritual, save for select instances such as the “Mari ritual,” is a contributing factor to this minimalist approach, but there is little reason to doubt their role in ritual. Although it is certainly true that a manuscript of a cultic song that was at the very least physically removed from a performance space3 can never be safely regarded as perfectly reflective of contemporary cultic practice, in many instances it may not have been nearly as far away as we have often come to think. To reiterate a point that Metcalf (2015, 19 f.) himself has made in a previous publication (see also Delnero 2015, 91 f.), the straightforward fact that manuscripts of cultic songs which bear indigenous labels (tigi, adab, balbale, etc.) often contain performative instructions,4 and in some exceptional instances, manuscripts contain explicit instructions for the performing choir (Mirelman/Sallaberger 2010), furnishes a strong underlying argument that there may not generally have been much distance between a performed cultic song and the written artifact that remains to us. As Metcalf also demonstrates, however, there are sporadic indications that these performance instructions were not always well understood by the author, one readily observable limit to the extent of this argument. Of paramount interest for establishing the cultural role of these cultic songs, which is touched upon by Metcalf in his introduction, is the prospect of the recovery of operative collections of hymnic manuscripts, the most prominently considered of which to date is the so-called “hymnic archive” at Old Babylonian Nippur that has been provisionally outlined by Tinney (2011, 283 f.). Numerous other such groups of cultic song manuscripts can also be posited.5 The working corpus of this “hymnic archive” may be outlined in part by the Old Babylonian incipit lists HS 1504 (TMH 3, 54) and HS 1477+ (TMH 3, 53 + 4, 53), the latter of which has sections of tigi and adab compositions (this catalog is discussed by Metcalf on p. 45) and bears a similar hand. The exact intended use of the Nippur “hymnic archive” manuscripts and the specific expertise and professional status of the individual(s) who 3 There is an obvious and unequivocal disjunction from the temple: less can be said about the degree of separation from the sphere of private worship. 4 The classic study of cultic song designations and performative rubrics is by Wilcke (1976) and, more recently, Shehata (2009, 247–306). See also the more succinct discussions of Rubio (2009, 22–25), Brisch (2010, 153–158), Delnero (2015, 92 f.). 5 For a recent investigation into the parameters of the work of a scribe across several literary manuscripts, in this case the scribe Qišti-Ea, for whom we have the benefit of identifying colophons, see Wagensonner (2019, 51–54). wrote them is rather ambiguous in Metcalf’s view (which he discusses on page 3): Tinney understands them to be the work of someone with the approximate status of an intern. The overall purpose of the compiler or compilers of that corpus is, however, quite clear, namely, extensive expertise in these texts, the most obvious utility for which would be for use within a cultic context. On the other hand, cultic songs for deities that no longer bore indigenous labels or performative instructions (aside from the zami “doxology,” probably more of an abstract dedication inherent to the written text itself, typically featuring Nisaba, with a certain amount of deference to the featured deity and his/her superiors), some examples of which are available in a plurality of manuscripts with a broad distribution can perhaps be understood to be further removed from contemporary cultic use, at least within the context that they survive to us in. With these, a key question remains, however, that the nature and distribution of extant manuscripts cannot decisively answer, namely, whether or not a cultic song could simultaneously be a curricular text and yet still performed within a contemporary cult.6 My impression is that there would be nothing to prevent it, and we should not dismiss that possibility outright: the potential multiplicity and complexity of a text’s role in a given culture should not be underestimated, nor should the ability of any one theory to explain a text’s role in toto be overestimated. One will note pointed examples of such functional multiplicity such as the beginning of YBC 9860, the so-called Kusu “hymn” with a zami doxology, is nearly verbatim to a k a - i n i m - m a incantation of the torch YOS 11, 53 (Michalowski 1993, especially p. 152), thus furnishing a compelling link to a corpus whose practical applicability within the host culture has generally been regarded with less reservation by recent scholarship. Metcalf also pointedly refers to Falkenstein’s original interpretation of Enlilsuraše (for which see now the new edition of Attinger 2020) as having a direct role in the cult of Enlil at Nippur, an interpretation that does not necessarily contradict its now well-established status within the scribal school as a “Decad” text. The following are some remarks on specific texts. I would like to re-emphasize at the outset of this portion of the review that this volume reflects high quality work on a very challenging group of texts. The following dis- 6 This possibility is entertained, for example, by Delnero (2015, 90 f. n. 7) for a handful of compositions with broad circulation as well as performative rubrics or cultic song labels, including the city laments, the Keš Temple Hymn, Angim, Lugale, Iddin-Dagan A, and Man and God. Buchbesprechungen cussion is intended primarily as a response to the specific contents of the texts, our knowledge of which, it must be stressed, were greatly elucidated by Metcalf in the first place. In general, my observations should be understood to be supplementary, and my suggestions for possible different readings and interpretations are, on the whole, quite minor indeed. No. 1: Širgida of the goddess Sud (MS 5102) The širgida of the goddess Sud that mentions the coronation of the Isin king Būr-Sîn is a truly remarkable text for a variety of reasons that are articulated in depth by Metcalf. Quite beautifully preserved, it is a reminder of just how much our preconceptions about a given issue, in this case the presence of a chief goddess of what has been generally understood to be a largely defunct city after the Ur III period in the Old Babylonian cult and the immediate cultic relevance of the text “Enlil and Sud” and the re-naming of Sud as Ninlil to precisely this role, can change with the publication of new texts. It is also a reminder of the precariousness of our overall knowledge of cultic songs in particular, due to the chance preservation that is exacerbated by the paucity of available manuscripts for most texts. Metcalf notes the apparently tenuous grasp of the authoring scribes’ knowledge of performance rubrics, as suggested by an abortive entry of the sagida, which is never used in known examples of širgida compositions. It seems possible that the širgida label itself may be dubiously applied to this composition, as its contents do not strongly resemble many other versions of the song type. The širgida, a relatively rare cultic song with some unique characteristics, has now been treated in extensive detail by Anna Glenn in her 2019 doctoral dissertation, which I have not seen prior to this communication. 3, 10: In these lines, the spelling of Sud is determined as a toponym and resumed by the grapheme -a (the latter feature also occurs with the divine name in lines 13 and 49), presumably reflecting the genitive. Subsequent instances of the name (lines 31, 41) do away with the toponym determinative and the genitive. Sud is determined as a toponym in several other instances noted by Metcalf: note as well as the composition on the obverse of the type II tablet CBS 14233 obv. 3′–4′ (PBS 13, 22; MKT 1, 68; see Civil 1994, 160: the reverse is a mathematical text), where the divine name is determined with the toponym determinative and left unmodified within the same line: dsu.kur.ruki s i l a 3 u m - t a - e3 e2 ds u d3- k a i z i b a - r a - i l2 “after Sud exited from the street, she raised a torch(?) in the temple of Sud.” Rather than a truncated anticipatory genitive, as suggested by Metcalf, I wonder whether these instances, mostly determined as toponym, are not in fact to be understood as the genitival phrase “god(dess) of Šuruppak,” either implicitly or with the divine determinative intended to function as a lexeme, thus properly replacing the proper divine name Sud with the toponym Šuruppak.7 One is reminded somewhat of the intrusion of the toponym in the beginning of Instructions of Šuruppak, lines 5–7, where it seems to act as a proxy for the human king, perhaps as a de facto gentilic, as well as some recensions of the antediluvian kinglist (W-B 62, OECT 2, 4: 9). 17: One particular issue that this text raises is the specific deities involved with royal coronation by its mention of the goddess dn i n - ĝ e d r u , who seems to have had a specialized role within the event, perhaps as the deified scepter, as suggested by Michalowski (1976, 164). In most literary contexts, the conferring of royal dress is attributed to a major deity, and it is unclear whether this glosses over the involvement of other deities. As the author notes, the goddess dn i n - ĝ e d r u and her counterpart dn i n m e n - n a , are in evidence from a much earlier period, as is their connection with Šuruppak, made explicit in an inscription of Rimuš (in addition to Metcalf’s citations, see also the recent detailed study of dn i n - ĝ e d r u by Bramanti 2017, 128–130), and the connection to Sud at Šuruppak as her chief minister may be a particularly old one rooted in the original status of Šuruppak as a major southern Mesopotamian city. This context is partially reminiscent of the fragmentary coronation ritual in the Eana at Kulaba/Unug (PBS 5, 76), which cannot be dated with certainty, where dn i n - ĝ e d r u and dn i n - m e n - n a oversee the process of coronation. For line 15, given the verifiable antiquity of Nin-ĝedru and her association with Šuruppak, it seems reasonable to entertain the possibility that the description of Asarluhi as Sud’s gatekeeper is of similar vintage or was otherwise purporting to be. The role of i3 - d u8 g a l “chief gatekeeper,” had a role partially analogous to that of the sukkal filled by Nin-ĝedru, who received visitors to the temple, so perhaps context dictated the roles to some extent. We know relatively little about the early origins of Asarluḫi: the early evidence bearing on Asar/Asarluḫi has now been examined in detail by Johandi (2019). Perhaps 7 The centrality of the toponym of the goddess’s identity seems thus to be reinforced by these writings. Note, for example, that Asher-Greve/Goodnick Westenholz (2013, 56) go so far as to describe the relationship between Sud and Šuruppak as “co-terminus.” 4 Buchbesprechungen the connection to Sud here is related to Asarluḫi’s original cultic center, Ku’ara, somewhere in the vicinity of Eridu, as is already indicated in ED IIIa by Zami hymns 33–34. This was understood in some traditions to be one of the five antediluvian cities (and also Eridu) along with Šuruppak (SKL prism with antediluvian section WB-62, UET 6/1, 61+: see Peterson 2018, 40). 45: Although it is the only remotely plausible interpretation that suggests itself from the signs as presented by the manuscript, the interpretation l u2 k a š does not elicit much confidence, and would be a strange way to describe the relationship between the ruler and the deity at this juncture, particularly because the paradigmatic commodity of the kadra audience gift tends to be the goat. I suspect that the bi sign actually reflects the possessive suffix - b i , which is effectively replaced by the ensuing second person suffix - z u : perhaps the scribe neglected to erase it or rather clumsily elected to juxtapose two options, with the suffix - b i not reflecting Sud, but a collective human entity such as u ĝ3 “people” as a position of authority conferred by the goddess. 48: The entity e2 - m a ḫ is more likely to be a specific reference to the temple of Ninhursaĝa/Diĝirmaḫ at Adab rather than a generic epithet. A similar juxtaposition is known from the balaĝ tradition (immal gudede a+62–67, b+134–137, Cohen 1988, 610. 612–613, and perhaps MS 3415 (P252356) r1–4), where d i ĝ i r - m a ḫ / e2 and ds u d 3/ e2 - k i - s i g10 - g a co-occur along with Ninlil/ k i - u r3). To what degree this may suggest a syncretism with the chief deity of Adab here is unclear. No. 2: A hymn to Lamasaga (Bau A) (MS 3329) This enigmatic text remains highly challenging in many of its specifics, but our understanding of it has been substantially improved by the new exemplar and Metcalf’s updated edition. He is likely correct in understanding this text as primarily dedicated to the praise of a statue, as described in the concluding line of the text. I would add the slight caveat that descriptions of the physiognomy of what purports to be living beings can resemble a description of statuary as well, a conflation that is further reflected in the frequent conception of birth goddesses and creator gods as artisans. One prominent example that comes to mind would be the description of Ludiĝira’s mother in Message of Ludiĝira to his Mother. The interchange between the conception of a deity as an inanimate statue and as a living being, both physically and cos- mically can be quite fluid in the context of cultic songs, where, as Metcalf briefly discusses, drawing on previous observations by Hallo, the prevailing vantage point would have been vis-à-vis the statue of the deity. Portions of this text also can probably best be described as erotic poetry. The etymology and underlying meaning of the divine name Lamasaga, insofar as it was intended to be a proper name and a mediating entity apart from the primary divine inhabitant of a temple (compare, within this volume, the identification of Sud herself as the dl a m a s a g9 - g a of her city in text no. 1 line 38), bears some consideration. In a recent article, Konstantopolous (2017), investigates the moral valence of the lama along with its predominantly masculine and more bellicose counterpart, the udug, as observed by modification with the antonyms s a g9 and ḫ u l , the latter of which occurs with lama only rarely. It is possible that rather than simply describing her beauty, the name implicates it as a positive actor within the moral sphere. 6: The spelling db a - u2- u r2 has been justifiably pointed to by Ludwig (2009, 81) and Metcalf as evidence against the vocalization of this divine name as baba. Note, however, that there is evidence for a vocalization babu (see Keetman 2018, Schrakamp 2019, Ceccarelli 2019, 138 n. 8). 13. The reading uš.gid2 as a rendering of araḫ “storehouse” does not seem assured in any source. Ludwig’s collation to this line in the Ur source (Ludwig 2009, 81) has a clear šir sign rather than bu: it appears possible for the Schøyen source as well, but the middle of the sign is broken. The preceding sign is not certain to me in either source, but in the Schøyen source it may simply be the sa6 sign executed less perfectly than the preceding sa6 (in particular, with the bottom oblique not distinctly offset from the bottom horizontal) to furnish a reduplicated adjective. If correct, this sign should either be describing eyesight (ĝ e š n u) or possibly alabaster: a reading na for the preceding sign in the Ur source appears to be possible, although highly uncertain. The expression l a l3 š u2 - š u2 otherwise occurs in conjunction with i g i , either “eyes” or “face.” In Lugalbanda Hurrim 331 it occurs in what appears to be a poetic description of the experience of falling asleep (describing occluded or blurry vision, or tearing and/or mattering?), and in Enki and the World Order 331 it occurs in a physical description of the grain goddess Ezina. 14. The sign that Metcalf reads as š u d 3 in both the Schøyen and Nippur sources looks more like nundun = n u n d u n , “lip(s)”, and appears to be indistinguishable from the nundun sign immediately below. As an anatomical point of articulated speech, its occurrence with i n i m Buchbesprechungen 5 “word” is plausible and is known from other contexts (Lipit-Ištar A 14, Enlil-bāni A 31). 22. Given the context, it is tempting to understand g a r3 in its attested meaning as a kind of hairstyle associated with slaves (see Couto Ferreira 2009, 119–122). However, the resumption with m u n , “salt” if a lexemic writing was intended, is completely opaque to me. 23. Compare the epithet u n u2 l a2 š u b a l a2 (see Gabbay 2013, 161). Along with the meaning “adornment, jewelry” (Akkadian šukuttu(m)) the lexeme u n u 2 may at some level retain the anatomical designation with the approximate meaning of “cheek,” “cheekbone,” or “space between the cheek and nose” (Couto Ferreira 2009, 161, 204, 206–207). 31. Compare the depiction of Nanaya/Inana in the erotic context of the notably variable Nanaya hymn Inana H 19 and 20A (Sjöberg 1977, 17–19, ETCSL 4.7.8), which is partially reflected by a recently identified duplicate of Šu-Sîn B (line 29b), perhaps from Kiš (BM 103163, Wagensonner/Reid 2017, 254, 261). In both the Nanaya and Lamasaga cultic songs, the act of standing via the verb g u b is contrasted with the act of bending over via the verb g u r u m . For the difficult and relatively rare lexeme dim3, see the remarks of Civil (1984, 294) and Sefati (1987). The lexeme seems to essentially describe the stiffness of a plant stem, which could be weakened (ḫ u - n u) in Tree and Reed 50: perhaps the lexeme was applicable to human anatomy at some level as well with a semantic application to posture. Metcalf understands the ablative - t a modifying the anatomical designations š a g4 s u g4 and e n 3- d u r as denoting a point of reference in an anatomical sequence (“as to”). However, with e n3 - d u r, “navel” the verb s a ĝ … g i4 , which typically means “to close, block,” it seems most likely that it is describing the interruption of the preceding image of straightness running through the midline, thus “blocked by the navel.” Thus, the navel seems to be denoting the boundary between the š a g4 s u g4 , and the hips and genitalia described in the ensuing lines. 32: Along with the previous line, compare the anatomical sequence m u r g u 2, t i - t i, and š a g4 s u g4 in the description of the Anzu bird in Lugalbanda and Anzu 122– 124. The word m u r g u probably refers to the upper back or perhaps specifically to the shoulder blades,8 occurring in positional contrast to the bare front (š a g4 s u g4), rather than the spine.9 Metcalf favors the d i b of the Schøyen source over the i b2 - i b2 of the Nippur source, with the latter perhaps an error of anticipation for the following line. He understands it to describe what Civil has defined as a flat solid piece of lapis, either as a raw material or decorative artifact, perhaps a plaque (perhaps the use of dib in the door designation ĝeši g- d i b also bears a connection to this word). If a flat, elongated object was referred to, it is possible that this is being utilized to describe shoulder blades, further described as attached to the ribcage, modified by the locative as the semantic object of the non-finite verb z u2 … k e š2 (assuming t i reflects the more typically reduplicated t i - t i for “ribcage”). The compound verb z u2 … k e š2 describes the articulation of joints, including the spinal column (Couto Ferraira 2009, 230. 327 f.). The combination š u - r i - a also means “half”: is it possible that it is being utilized here to describe the duality of the shoulder blades? 33: The combination of the adjective d a ĝ a l in modification of i b2 - i b2 “hips” and the growth of plant life (u2 s a l, “meadow, pasture”) in conjunction with the pubic triangle is strongly evocative of the description of flourishing plant life on the earth containing sexual allure, such as in the depiction of the female counterpart of heaven at the beginning of the debate poem Tree and Reed. The expression s a ĝ- d u l5, spelled as such in Temple Hymns 205 and Ur Lament 219 (see Attinger 2014, 19 n. 203), is presumably at some level a reflex of tug 2 u.sag / s a ĝ- tug2 (given the values s a ĝ- d u - u l, s a ĝ- t u, and s a ĝ- t u - u š in Proto-Ea 302), “(male, royal?) turban, head cloth, cap,” etc. The translation “covering” for s a ĝ - d u l5 a reasonable guess based on the typical meaning of s a ĝ- d u l5 / tug 2 u.sag as a type of head covering, thus effectively perhaps a kind of underwear:10 perhaps some analogy of the crotch with the head based on mutual possession of hair obtained. However, the nudity of the goddess is repeatedly emphasized within the passage: perhaps it refers to a specific style of the pubic hair instead. 34: Here g u r u m, in positional contrast to g u b “stand” in line 31, is probably primarily to be understood as the verb “to bend,” in order to assume a sexual position, as is clearly the case in Inana H 20 and 20B. As Metcalf notes, the lexical tradition also attributes g u r u m with a nominal sense, which clearly arises from sexualized contexts such as these. 37: With due consideration of the options, Metcalf elects to understands the key concluding phrase a l a n 8 Couto Ferraira (2009, 230) defines m u r g u as “se correspondería, grosso modo, con el it. spalla (área va de la escápula a la clavícula).” 9 The meaning does obtain for /murgu/, but the spine is more ex- actly denoted by the complex g u2 - m u r g u1/2 (see Couto Ferreira 2009, 229 f. 232 f.). 10 Note the recent study of Wasserman (2019) of various Akkadian terms for underwear, along with some related Sumerian terms. 6 Buchbesprechungen š u - a g i4 to mean “safely delivered statue,” denoting the arrival of the statue to its intended cultic location and function and, perhaps, the occasion for the cultic song. He thus understands a l a n as the effective semantic object of the compound verb. It also seems possible that š u - a g i4 refers to role of the statue as an incarnation of the deity, namely, the conveying of a message to the superior deity, Babu, by Lamasaga. In a recent article, Gabbay (2019) discusses this expression in conjunction with divine intermediaries within his discussion of the mediator god Dugab-šugigi. In identifying Lamasaga’s statue as fulfilling an intermediary function, the description implicates its position as being near the entrance of the temple. The description of Lamasaga as Babu’s chief minister in line 16 is another indication, as one of the key functions of the s u k k a l was to receive visitors at the gate of his/her master (see Wiggermann 1985–86, 17–18). Ni 4096 (ISET 1, 71, p. 129) 1′ 2′ 3′ (=MS 3312 obv. 3) 4′ (=MS 3312 obv. 4) 5′ (=MS 3312 obv. 4) 6′ No. 3: “The birth of Enlil” (MS 3312) Metcalf understands the two sides of this text, which occur in the same direction rather than the typical “flip” format, to immediately pertain to each other, with one side, which he refers to with due reservation as the “obverse,” being an esoteric adaptation of the other. This interpretation seems to be at least partially valid for some lines. However, the issue is further complicated by the presence of two additional manuscripts that immediately bear on the contents of MS 3312, allowing for the confident reading of a few broken signs in MS 3312 and further substantiating or qualifying several of Metcalf’s interpretations. The small Nippur fragment Ni 4096 (ISET 1, 71 p. 129), which is of uncertain format and is in need of collation, appears to duplicate several contiguous lines of MS 3312 obverse: […] a n - n a ⸢ga2?⸣11 x x x […] [g] a l ? - g a l u3 dE n - l i l2 n u n […] [a] g a r i n5 k u š3 - k u š3 - a bi a b i2-[…] [k] u l - k u l - u3 n i ĝ2 b a - n i - i n -[…] [ĝ]iš bil2- ĝiš bil2 a k i s s a(ki.uri3.du3) x […] […] x x x x x x […] Additionally, the large imgida fragment MS 3300 (CDLI P252241), which will be edited by Volk and Matuszak, seems to be either a divergent manuscript of or a closely related text to the same challenging composition.12 A number of lines shared between MS 3312 and MS 3300 obverse mirror each other, but the line order is notably different. Given the unusual format of MS 3312 and the partial apparent correspondence between the text on the obverse and reverse, is it, as Metcalf suggests, some kind of expository text treating the text that is reflected by MS 3300, perhaps with a degree of indifference to line order? However, the correspondence of Ni 4096 with one side (Metcalf’s “obverse”) of MS 3312 complicates the matter. In the preserved contents of MS 3300, the key event involving Enlil that is preserved is not his birth, but rather his appointment as king by a plural entity in MS 3300 r. 10. Enlil’s appointment as king may be understood as centrally important within MS 3312 as well (“rev.” 5: i s i m u2 sar - i s i m u2 sar - b a l u g a l b a - a n - š u m2 - m u 11 As copied: perhaps for - k e4 . 12 I would like to thank K. Volk for permitting me to discuss the piece here and for his helpful observations. “among the descendants13 … produced a king”). The references to marriage, copulation, birth and proliferation of living beings (n i ĝ2 - z i - ĝ a l2) as well as the mention of various kinship terms suggest a context progressing through the inception of life, the evolution of the family unit, and the growth of a population over a passage of time. It is tempting to understand this context as possibly describing a primordial context where Enlil becomes the first king of the gods, perhaps also involving the so-called “ancestral gods,” typically beginning with the pair Enki and Ninki/Nunki, whose exact role in the prehistory of the southern Mesopotamian pantheon is still rather unclear.14 Is this text reflective of the missing myth involving the succession (or conquest) of Enlil over the Enki/Ninki gods, or possibly the beginning of the Flood Story, where the origin of divine kingship may have been advanced before the origin of human kingship with Alulim of Eridu? 13 Metcalf understands a genitive construction “(as) an offspring of that offspring.” 14 These gods are widely discussed in the secondary literature, see, for example, the important contributions of Wiggermann (1992), Rubio (2013), Lambert (2013, 403–417), and George (2016). Buchbesprechungen Or is this a process initiated or overseen by Enlil, as possibly suggested by his occurrence immediately before the act of the creatrix in the Nippur fragment? It suffices to say that the context is of great significance to our understanding of Mesopotamian cosmology and is most worthy Ni 4096: 3′ MS 3300 obv. 2′ MS 3312 obv.? 3 7 of further study. Hopefully, further duplicates can be found. The lexeme agarin is clearly present in MS 3312 obv.? 3 and Ni 4096 3′. With the three sources the following line can be approximated: [ a ] g a r i n5 k u š3 - k u š3 15- a bi a b i2 - [ … ] [a g a r ] i n5 ? k u š3 - a a šim×gar b i2 - i n - ĝ a r a g a r i n4 -x k u š3 × […] The word agarin (or possibly aĝarin), which was loaned into Akkadian as agarinnu(m), describes a tangible stage in the beer brewing process (Sallaberger 2012, 311 f., “gärender, aufgehender Sauerteig”) and also has a wider meaning involving a mixture that evolves into something else (see the discussion of Cavigneaux 2017, 22, who describes it as “un mélange que divers processus, fusion ou fermentation, transforment en un nouveau produit”). By extension, it can describe the formation of a fetus by the mother or the act of creation by a birth goddess and also describe the performer as a “creatrix” or the like (see, for example, the discussion of Lambert 1960, 303, Cavigneaux and al-Rawi 1995, 195). The term is also an implement in metalworking with a definition of “crucible,” which provides a strong hint to the reading of the ensuing grapheme u2, which is reduplicated in the Nippur source, as k u š3 with a meaning “mold” or “channel” (Akkadian rāṭu(m), for this term see George 2003, 824 f.). The word is used in conjunction with statues, and since the arts of statuary and creation are conceptually conflated in a number of contexts, it would not be an outlandish fit for the current context. Here, the primeval concoction seems to involve an admixture and water and possibly beer, varying with bappir, “Sauerteig,” that seems to beget more complicated life forms to judge from the progression of the following lines, or is perhaps a poetic description of sexual reproduction and the evolution of the fetus to judge from the juxtaposition of MS 3300 obv. 3′–4′. With due hesitation, I would translate “the creatrix put beer and water/water and sour dough into the mold (to create the first gods?)” “obv.” 4: MS 3300 obv. 4′ supplies the reduplicated verb š a r2 for the line,16 perhaps with the meaning “to multiply” or “to mix,” although these meanings may not be entirely exclusive to each other. The reduplication of numun and the resumption with u3 could implicate the verb k u l, which may describe the act of removing the creative concoction from the cast as described in the previous line. “obv.” 5: In light of the likely variant offered by Ni 4096, the third sign, pap (which is clear vs. the du3 read by Metcalf), is probably best understood as a sign gloss to clarify what is inscribed in the ne sign, a convention that is not commonplace but not unknown for the Old Babylonian period. For the evolution of nešeššig (or more originally, as Rubio notes, the sign was inscribed with kaskal) and the graphic variance between giš-nešesšig and nešeššig, see Rubio (2012, 4–8. 11 f.), who notes that the complex could be written ne.pap at ED Šuruppak. Although this context suggests it, the reduplicated form may not necessarily connote plurality, since the reduplicated form has a clear singular referent in SEpM 7, 22 and also in the fragmentary letter CBS 12651 (SEM 74) r. 8′ ĝišbil2-ĝišbil2-m e - e n u4 n a m - t u r - r a -[…?] / l u2 ḫ u - ḫ u - n u - n a m - m e - e n “I have (always) been a fresh sapling, [since] the days of my childhood, I have never been a weakened person.” “rev.” 2: MS 3300 obv. 9′ further validates Metcalf’s interpretation of ĝ e š … d u g4 as the verb “to copulate” by giving the lexemic writing ĝ e š3. The qualifier d i l (or possibly a š) may be emphasizing that it is a single divine progenitor that engenders life. 15 Without recourse to a larger context, PSD A III, 60 emended u2-u2 to u2-sa! for d i d a, “Trockenbier,” understanding a brewing process to be involved, but this interpretation is not substantiated by the variants. 16 The form of the ḫ i sign in this line varies completely with an alternate form of the sign in o8′. I would understand this as an example of what Wagensonner (2019, 43–47) has recently described as “code-switching,” alluding to the sporadic practice of using varying sign forms within the same manuscript. 8 Buchbesprechungen No. 4: Collective of širnamšub compositions of Enlil (Hymn to the Ekur) and Enki (MS 2700) p. 35 n. 1: In consideration of the parameters of this collective tablet, Metcalf lists several Sammeltafeln containing the same indigenous category of cultic song: he gives a more extensive list in his previous study of Sumerian hymns (Metcalf 2015, 18 f., n. 12). This is a pervasive feature among Old Babylonian Sammeltafeln, of which the majority of pertinent examples that survive to us come from Nippur. A number of other unpublished or overlooked collectives, occurring in both single and multi-column formats, are unfortunately too fragmentary to be completely sure of their pertinence to this particular category. This pervasive organizational feature is reminiscent of the arrangement of the aforementioned OB song incipit list HS 1477+, and, in a later context, the remarkable Middle Assyrian song catalog KAR 158. The exact intended function of collective tablets such as these remains elusive, but there is a persistent indication that these songs held a primary cultural value as a group. The obverse of this collective tablet of širnamšub cultic songs is a duplicate of the previously named “Hymn to the Ekur,” known primarily from the Nippur source UM 29-1651, a beautifully written library quality exemplar written in an expert hand that is well attested among the Tablet Hill finds at Nippur. In isolation, the combination of rubrics used in this Nippurian manuscript, the only available significant source of the text known to the field for many years, which consisted of mixing kirugu along with the sagida and saĝara, is unique to my current knowledge and always seemed rather suspect as to its underlying validity. In his recent edition of the Nippur version which did not have recourse to this new exemplar, Klein (2017, 172 n. 6) suggests that a version with kirugu was modified to include the sagida and saĝara rubrics. The matter is complicated further by the small Nippur fragment N 1311 (CDLI P276461), which has an offset ruling where the ĝešgigal rubric was inserted in UM 29-16-51 (Klein’s line 55) to mark a rubric. The dubiousness of the arrangement of UM 29-16-51, as well as a degree of confirmation to Klein’s suspicion that the kirugu rubrics were the more original is furnished by the new manuscript, which also labels it as a širnamšub cultic song of Enlil with a single kirugu rubric. N 1311 1′ e2? - a n i n - b i a [ m3 -…] 2′ 3′ 4′ 5′ 6′ l u g a l - b i […] l u g a l d e n - l i [ l2 …] u r - s a ĝ d n [ i n - u r t a …] l u g a l d e n - l i [ l2 …] d u m u? s a ĝ x x […] As Metcalf notes, the practice of rubric notation is inconsistent in some of the other fortunate instances when more than one manuscript of a cultic song has been preserved, as is the exact contents. This may suggest either variability in actual performance or, more likely in the case of UM 29-16-51, of significant distance between an extant manuscript containing the song and the actual ancient performance of the song in a cultic context, to the point where the performance instructions had to be speculated upon with unconvincing results. 68–71: As Metcalf notes, the only partially understood lexeme n a m - ( ĝeš ) š u b may take on the sense of “fateful utterance” in conjunction with the construction of a temple (the underlying meaning of this expression and other terms such as k a - i n i m - m a have been rather neglected until recently due to their preponderance as a technical term in incantations). The association with Enki and Eridu in other contexts aside from Enki’s own temple as it is in the current context may suggest that the act was connected to the abzu of the temple, a cultic installation known to be present in numerous Mesopotamian temples (see, for example, Ragavan 2010, 161–165; Attinger 2020, 87, with further citation), or the anchoring of a temple in the cosmic abzu. Note further the occurrence of the n a m - š u b e r i d u gki - g a with the verb g u b in a fragmentary hymn to the Ekišnuĝal from OB Ur (UET 6/3, 501 obv.? ii′ 2 […] n a m - š u b e r i d uki - g a g u b - b a “… set up by/with the incantation of Eridu.” 72–73: The pluralized divine pair Enki and Ninki, which was intended to be evocative of the whole of the group of so-called “ancestral gods,” seem to be described as the ultimate origin of Enki’s domain, apparently water originating in the form of precipitation rather than water of the subterranean Abzu if we understand the expression t u m9 š e ĝ3 “wind and rain” or “rain-bearing wind” to begin the line. This is one of several references to the domains or powers of a deity arising as a gift from this group of deities in Sumerian literature, such as the gifting of light to Nanna in Gungunum A 11–12, which is echoed in later tradition (Lambert 2013, 414; Peterson 2016, 162 f.) and the Buchbesprechungen reference to the gifting of an entity that is not preserved to Enlil in the fragmentary Emesal liturgical text CBS 10417 obv. i 4′–6′ (Delnero 2017, 93. 95). Note as well the role of Enki/Ninki and Enul/Ninul as the parents of Enlil’s chief minister Nuska in the širgida composition Nuska B 10 (discussed by Sjöberg 1977, 29; Lambert 2013, 415). A similar passage to the current context involving at the least the pair En-ul and Nin-ul and Enki may have occurred in N 3599 (CDLI P278618) obv. i′ 2′f., which may be a fragment of a cultic song of Enki. 76: Here the entity spelled k u6 - d a or g u4 - u d has been understood as possibly a sporadic misunderstanding or alternate vocalization of the term gud = e š t u b, a type of carp, reflecting the pervasive value gud = g u d, typically “ox, bull” (see Civil 1997, 52 n. 11; Peterson 2007, 106), intended to be juxtaposed with s u ḫ u r, another term for a type of carp. It is also conspicuously similar to the higher-order faunal term k u6 “fish.” More recently, Gabbay [e. a.] (2020, 26 n. 6) suggest that the spelling may be a syllabic rendering of ḫ i.suḫ urku6, which often appears in this approximate position in these types of contexts. No. 5: Hymn to Ninimma for Nanne (MS 2700) Metcalf elects to understand this text as well removed from the cultic sphere, in his estimation a scholarly invention: “an academic composition that was probably created in Nippur.” The fact that the text does not contain performative rubrics and concludes with a version of the zami doxology could be understood to support this classification. Another cultic song of Ninimma bearing the zami doxology is reflected by Ni 4233 (ISET 1, 16; Focke 1998), which can be confidently attributed to the ‘hymnic archive,” where there is a relative rarity of “zami’ cultic songs versus labelled cultic songs with performative instructions within this group of texts. References to Ninimma in a cultic context at Nippur are indeed rare, as Metcalf notes, but her attestation in several offering lists from Nippur is sufficient grounds to suspect the circulation of her cultic songs. The somewhat shadowy king Nanne, who Steinkeller links to Mesanepada (Steinkeller 2003, 275. 278; Rubio 2009, 53), is listed as the father of Meskiaĝ-Nanna in SKL 193 and Tummal Inscription 17–18. In the proverb collections, he seems to be depicted as something of a paradigmatic failure at building and campaigning (Proverb Collection 3.31, 3.35), while the Tummal Inscription is 9 kinder to his memory (see, for example, George 2003, 105; Konstantinopolous 2014, 157 f. and n. 16). A cultic song featuring Nanne, therefore, is, as Metcalf notes, notably curious: to my knowledge, no ruler from the distant past before Gudea, real or legendary, is featured in an extant Old Babylonian cultic song.17 I wonder if it was utilized as a learned writing or cryptography for the phonetically similar nenni, “someone,” a word known to us primarily as a Sumerogram in later contexts, thus making this hymn applicable to any king, and possibly simultaneously warning the king of the looming threat of hubris by invoking the ill-fated ruler Nanne. The conjugal union of Ninimma with Ninurta, in addition to, as Metcalf notes, suggesting a spousal relationship between the deities that was not otherwise in evidence, is also rather unique due to its immediate juxtaposition with the intervention of the goddess on behalf of the king. Another example of the goddesses’ intervention in close conjunction with a sexual encounter may be found in an ululumama of Ninlil (N 1045+ iii′ 4–5, Peterson 2019, 53). No. 6–7: A lament of Lisin/Lisin A (MS 3274, MS 3347) As has been recognized, this text is an exceptional example of an apparent cultic lament (albeit one without a currently recovered identifying subscript or any rubrics) attested in the most elementary curricular text formats (type II: CBS 4828, with the u r5 - r a list of animals on the reverse; see Veldhuis 1997, 66; N 5919+, with proverbs on the obverse, type IV: CBS 7958), and also occurs in collective tablets in conjunction with compositions including the “wisdom compositions” Enlil and Namzitara (also known to occur on the obverse of type II tablets from Nippur: see Veldhuis 1997, 65; Lämmerhirt 2020, 385 f.) and niĝnam nukala (see Civil 1974/1977, 67). It should be noted that quotations from the corpus of the gala priest in the proverbs collections have recently been identified and discussed by Gabbay 2011 (see also the remarks of Frahm 2010, 175): the literature of the gala priest is mentioned as a topic to be studied in a scribal school in the letter ANL 9 line 20: other potential examples of cultic laments on curricular texts identified by textual quality and the incomplete use of a manuscript have been suggested (Delnero 17 The possibility that the adab of Babu features Lumma as an alternate name of Eannatum has been discounted in detail by Marchesi (2006, especially p. 119 f.). 10 Buchbesprechungen 2017). The line-to-line relationship between the known manuscripts of Lisin A is only sporadic, a feature that is most typically observed within the corpus of the gala priest. The Nippur fragment CBS 4590 (CDLI P260900) may constitute a further manuscript of this composition. Curiously, at Meturan, the Lisin text occurs in a household in which one of its occupants, Bēlšunu, was related to individuals bearing Lisin theophorics, suggesting a more complicated relationship with the deity in this context involving, to some degree, contemporary cultic practice (see Cavigneaux/al-Rawi 1993, 92; Cavigneaux 1999, 252). no. 6: 1: I am not entirely sure what the intended image is here, although it may involve a physical expression of grief or mutilation or possibly simply a metaphorical description of pain, analogous to the following line. The reference to the chest (g a b a) invites the reading of a k a n or u b u r3 “nipple” or “breast” for the inscribed dag.kišim5 complex (although parallelism with the following line could also possibly point to it involving an injurious item instead). The inscription within the dag. kišim5 complex is somewhat idiosyncratic but a poorly executed ga sign may have been intended: a hopelessly broken version of the sign is also present in the Ur source UET 6/2, 144+. The accompanying non-finite verb appears to be d a b5(?)-b a in the Schøyen source and clearly d a b - b a in the Ur source, thus perhaps reflecting dab “seize,” but with unclear underlying meaning: something injurious appears to be happening to the goddess’s chest, apparently at the agency of someone else, to judge from the occurrence of the second person possessive. no. 6: 2: The beginning of the line should be read as d a g u b3 - b a - ĝ u1 0 “my left side,” referring to where the spear (ĝeš š u k u r) or possibly thorn (ĝeš d a l a2) is lodged, presumably describing an act of mutilation. no. 6: 3: Here the word l a m appears to have the sense of “sapling” (see Peterson/Wasserman 2020, 404 n. 7) rather than its better attested meaning as a nut-bearing tree. The possessive -b i is present in the spelling l a m - b a, referring to the usuḫ conifer, thus, the conifer has been felled and lies among the surrounding saplings, i. e., its children or the next generation. It is unclear from the two sources whether or not the anticipated first person possessive singular suffix was intended to occur here in parallel with the rest of the references to the son, as UET 6/2, 144 only has one mu, reflecting the ensuing finite verbal, while the Schøyen source has two mu signs but no ku sign. Metcalf elects to read mu with the rare value s u ḫ7: if he is correct, then neither source actually had the possessive suffix. No. 9: Cultic song of Utu (probably an adab or tigi) for Sîn-iddinam (MS 2243/2) line 3: Along with Inana, Utu who was Ninlil’s granddaughter in the prevailing divine genealogy of the Old Babylonian period, is also described as Ninlil’s descendant or offspring (š a g4 - b a l - b a l) in N 1045+ v1′ -6′ (Peterson 2019, 53, 56). 4: Possibly read the broken sign as m u š3 “face,” or s u ḫ1 0 “pectoral” or “crown” rather than n u n . Compare the epithet muš3 ḫ i - l i s u3 given to Nanna in the NurAdad inscription RIME 4.2.8.3 line 3. 5: For the final two signs, read ḫ e2 - d u7 “ornament,” perhaps as a defective anticipatory genitive without the possessive suffix: “ornament (of) broad heaven.” 7: The end of the line is clearly s i g7- g a, “yellow-(green)” rather than d e5 - g a. In contexts involving the sky, the word (u)san “evening, twilight” often occurs with this word, but the preceding signs, ⸢u n⸣ -n a or ⸢kal⸣ -n a , are difficult to reconcile with typical spellings of (u)san. Reading kal = s u n7 as an approximation for (u)san would be a rather outlandish guess from an orthographic and phonetic standpoint, however, and would hardly elicit confidence. 9: The line appears to read g a l - l a - a n - z u a - r a g a l - g a l - l a š u d u7 m e t u - d a? “expert, perfecter of the great divine decree (for this sense of Sumerian a - r a2 , suggested by the juxtaposition with the me, see Böck 1995), fashioning the cosmic powers(?). 20: Metcalf is justified in his correction of my previous reading t a k a4 l a2? for UM 29-16-633 o8′. The anticipated t a k a4 l a2, which is attested with the same epithet in the Sîn-iddinam to Utu exemplar CBS 7072A+ rev. 5′, is not present in either source. Another instance of t a k a4 ( ĝeš ) s i - ĝ a r as an epithet of Utu is found in the Rim-Sin text MS 2983 o6 (George 2011, 109). No. 14: Hymn to Nanaya (adab?) mentioning Gungunum (MS 5107) This manuscript lacks a subscript. The fact that there is text after the ĝešgiĝal of the saĝara implicates it as most likely an adab composition with a concluding urun rubric, although this is of course not certain. The particular difficulties with this hand, which is notably abbreviated and inexact, have been noted by Metcalf: nevertheless, he has managed to make sense of a substantial portion of it. Buchbesprechungen 3: It looks possible that the end of the line could be read as n i n g a l - a n - z u i n i m - m a n u - k a m3 - m e “expert lady, unchanging in utterance.” No. 16: Collective of two hymns(?) for Inana (MS 3301) Metcalf understands this tablet to contain a collective of cultic songs for Inana, understanding the double ruling after reverse line 1 as a marker of textual disjunction. The suggestion is reasonable: it also seems possible that the double line occurs here in lieu of a rubric: note, for example, within his corpus (no. 14, after rev. 5) a double ruling is used after the ĝešgiĝal “response.” He also entertains the idea that it may simply be “a compilation of conventional praises of the goddess,” expressing doubt of the overall integrity of the text(s) as a cultic song or songs. To my understanding, this suggestion is rather unlikely, as the narrative flow is adequate enough to understand it a passage of praise for the deity, emphasizing her role as an astral deity. Obv. 18′–19′ feature a fairly standard benefaction that may have involved a king or a more general human recipient: it is possible that either a proper royal name or an epithet may have occurred among what appears to be three mangled signs at the beginning of the line. The divine benefaction is often featured in the ĝešgiĝal “response,” and that might be the case as well for this context. The second cultic song or possibly the saĝara section or successive kirugu of the same song is rather more difficult to make sense of: Inana, again as an astral entity (thus d a l l a (e3) in her capacity as the “queen of the vast earth” and the source of its abundance, n a m - ḫ e, g i r i1 7- z a l) is described as the object of human and divine service in conjunction with a ritual that required purification. A moral component seems involved in the lines before the break, with Inana described as the “caretaker of the land” (s a ĝ- e n6 - t a r k a l a m - m a) and rev. 14 may be describing her ability to furnish advice to the human world through her emitted light, possibly the k u r “(foreign) lands” or “mountains” mentioned in the previous line. obv. 5′: Here the lexeme s u l “youth” probably refers to Inana herself, one of a handful of instances where the lexeme s u l is applied to a female deity. For other instances where the epithet is applied to Inana, Ninisina, and Šerda see Geller (2002, 93); Marchesi (2004, 192 n. 221). It may reflect the epithet s u l ĝ i6(. a k) that describes Šerda in 11 several contexts, probably describing the dawn.18 The terminative in the prefix chain may modify the unnamed semantic object (the transitive object indicated by preverbal b may be redundant or spurious).19 Thus, Inana is terrifying to something or someone at night. obv. 6′: With due reservation, I suspect that aš b a - r a may reflect the relatively rare expression dili … badr, “to shine” and also “to break away” (see Peterson 2015, 54–55) although the rendering with r a rather than r a2 (= dra) is admittedly not phonetically correct. The meaning would then perhaps be something along the lines of “when she splits apart (the branches obstructing) the path, (she is) the light of the thicket,” perhaps a description of the goddesses’ aid in traversing densely overgrown areas. obv. 7′: As recognized by Metcalf, the two superimposed obliques between gar and il2 are almost certainly extraneous to the intended text. It may be what is left of a gal2 sign, a partially homophonous and partially lexemically interchangeable sign and word for gar = ĝ a r. Although paleographically possible, the presence of a Glossenkeil here would seem most unlikely. Perhaps the end of the line, a - a ĝ i6 - u4 - n a, is simply a reference to the goddess Aya, omitting the divine determinative, perhaps inadvertently. Thus, Inana’s bearing of the torch, probably a reference to her role as Venus or possibly Pisces in her incarnation as Annunītu, is functioning as the equivalent of Utu’s spouse Aya during the day in the nighttime sky, a depiction that would align with the possible overlap of epithets with Šerda in obv. 5′. rev. 3: Read k i n i ĝ2 - d a ĝ a l - l a - b a, thus “the queen of the broad earth.” In Sumerian literature, the earth and its cosmic counterpart, a n “sky” are both described with this adjective formed from the concretizing prefix n i ĝ2 -. Michalowski has recently suggested that an adjective formed with the concretizing prefix can have a superlative function (Michalowski 2019, 460, n. 6, referencing a more detailed future study). rev. 9: Read perhaps n u - g i g- g e - e d u r2 k i b a - n i - i n ĝ a l2 “the midwife20 (Inana) established the foundation,” perhaps with the semantic extension “insures (the ritual 18 Utu E 6. 16, etc.: contra Marchesi (2004, 192 n. 221; 2006, 42–44. 57), I suspect that the word is probably originally ĝ i6, not m e2 as an atypical orthographic variant of m e3, the latter of which occurs in some instances in the balaĝ tradition, perhaps as a lexemic variant, famously featured in the incipit to Gilgamesh and the Bull of Heaven. 19 The semantic object of ḫ u - l u ḫ is also modified by the terminative in Šu-Sîn D 6, and note as well the […] a b - š e3 ḫ u - l u ḫ - ḫ a - e “… terrifying to the sea,” probably in description of Utu, in UM 29-13468+ r. ii 12′ (unpublished). 20 For this definition of n u - g i g, see Civil (2011, 281–283). 12 Buchbesprechungen or festival?) go smoothly”: compare Ur-Ninurta A 74–75, where the prefix chain is identical. For the expression d u r2 k i ĝ a r and its approximate semantic extension, ‘to go smoothly,” see Attinger/Krebernik (2005, 61 and n. 121). rev. 14: This line may be saying that the act of advising (a d … g i4) is encapsulated within the very light that Inana exudes as a heavenly body, perhaps to be translated as “(her) light contains/engenders noise where she advises,” i. e., her advice is present where her light shines. The combination a d ĝ a l2 also occurs in the difficult context of UET 6/1, 74, a letter to Ninšubur, line 15′ (Peterson 2016, 2. 7). rev. 17: The same verb and noun occur at the end of this line and rev. 18. Read perhaps š u a m(for a m3?)〈m i 〉-i n - t a g, possibly to be understood has “she has adorned evil with good (lit. “good on its evil”). This line may describe the goddesses’ ability to complement or neutralize evil with good, an intriguing datapoint for the conceived relationship between good and evil. No. 17 A poem about Ĝeštinana (Dumuzi-Inana J) (MS 3314) Metcalf gives the more appropriate title “A Poem About Ĝeštinana”: note as well the original label “Geštinana the Singer and the Chorus of Uruk and Zabalam” given to the text by its first editor, Bendt Alster (1985).21 The designation “Dumuzi and Inana J” and the resulting implicit association with the Dumuzi and Inana cultic songs, which are mostly balbale cultic songs of Inana, is misleading. The new manuscript restores the missing content of several lines at the beginning of this unique composition. line 1: The incipit of this composition is probably reflected by the catalog/incipit inventory N3 (HS 1504 (TMH 3, 54) obv. i 16): d ĝ e š t i n n i n9 k i a ĝ2. Thus, the composition seems to begin with a truncated form of the divine name, possibly to be pointedly contrasted to the occurrence of the full name in line 7 and perhaps repeated in Emesal without determination in line 11, although it should be noted that there does not appear to be quite enough space for a divine determinative as well in either source. I do not see compelling evidence from either MS 3314 or U 16896 = UET 6/1, 22 that the first sign of the composition must be read IN: in the Ur source it looks like it could possibly 21 See also Fritz (2003, 118 f.), who describes it as “die trauernde Gestin’anna als Gründerin der Chöre.” be the end of the geštin sign. The traces of the end of the sign in U 16896 are inconclusive. The standard familial relationship between Dumuzi and Ĝeštinana was brother and sister, thus, nin9 “sister” is likely present and it seems most likely that the first sign/signs reflect a separate word. 8: The word k i - s i k i l “young woman,” etc. is occasionally and somewhat paradoxically determined with the lu2 sign. Thus, read e lu2k i - s i k i l, which corresponds closely with the Ur source. This determination is not repeated in the manuscript with the numerous other instances of k i - s i k i l, but as apparently the first instance of the word in the text, it may have simply been abbreviated in subsequent occurrences. References Alster, B. (1985): Geštinanna as singer and the chorus of Uruk and Zabalam: UET 6/1 22, JCS 37, 219–228 Attinger, P. (2014): La lamentation sur Ur (2.2.2). Online publication (www.iaw.unibe.ch/ueber_uns/va_personen/prof_dr_ attinger_pascal/index_ger.html) — (2017): Našše A, in: G. Chambon [e.a.] (ed.), De l’argile au numerique. 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