אַ שמועס צווישן טאַטע און זון
A Conversation Between Father and Son
Work 105 of 440
Page 120. 'A Conversation Between Father and Son' (A Shmues Tsvishn Tate un Zun): A chilling dialogue about death. For whom is the bier? For one who doesn't concern himself with biers. Where? Where your grave digs itself. Where is that land? Not here, not here. With whom in neighborhood? With me. Can I see my grave? Lie in the bier. Must I close my eyes? They are already closed. Why rush like a storm? The time is not mine. Where will I wake? Not here, not here. The grave digs itself in neighborhood with the father — father and son to share death's proximity. 'In the Wakeful Hour' (In der Vakhediker Sho): A poem of unfulfilled waiting. In the wakeful midnight hour, the awaited one never comes, never sits at the prepared table, never touches wine and bread. When the wakeful hour ends, sleep enters accompanied by that absent one — and extinguishes the fire before a word can be spoken. The beloved arrives only as sleep, silencing before greeting.
אַ שמועס צווישן טאַטע און זון
פֿאַר וועמען די מיטה, טאַטע?
— פֿאַר דעם, וואָס באַזאָרגט זיך אַלײן מיט קיין מיטה נישט, זון.
וואוהין דאַרפֿסטו ברענגען די מיטה, טאַטע?
— אַהין, וואו עס גראָבט זיך דײַן קבֿר, מײַן זון.
און וואו איז דאָס לאַנד, וואו עס גראָבט זיך מײַן קבֿר, טאַטע?
— נישט הי, נישט הי, מײַן זון.
מיט וועמען אין שכנות דאָרט גראָבט זיך מײַן קבֿר, טאַטע?
— אין שכנות מיט מיר, מײַן זון.
צי קאָנסטו מיך נעמען אַ קוק טאָן מײַן קבֿר, טאַטע?
— לייג זיך אין מיטה, מײַן זון.
צי דאַרף איך פֿאַרמאַכן די אויגן, טאַטע?
— זיי זײַנען שוין צו, מײַן זון.
וואָס יאָגסטו אַזוי ווי אַ שטורעם, טאַטע?
— די צײַט איז נישט מײַנע, מײַן זון.
און וואו וועל איך ווידער זיך אויפֿכאַפּן, טאַטע?
— נישט הי, נישט הי, מײַן זון.
אין דער וואַכעדיקער שעה
אין דער וואַכעדיקער שעה פֿון מיטן נאָכט
האָסטו קיינמאָל נאָך מײַן טיר נישט אויפֿגעמאַכט.
נישט געזעסן בײַ מײַן טיש פֿאַר דיר געגרייט,
נישט דערפֿרייט מיט דײַן באַריר מײַן ווײַן און ברויט.
ווען די וואַכעדיקע שעה צו ענד דערגייט,
קומט אין שטוב אַרײַן דער שלאָף פֿון דיר באַגלייט.
אײדער נאָך איך זאָג אַ וואָרט פֿון מויל אַרויס,
רירט דער שלאָף דאָס פֿײַער אָן און לעשט עס אויס.
A Shmuеs Tsvishn Tate un Zun
Far vemen di mite, tate?
— Far dem, vos bazоrgt zikh aleyn mit keyn mite nisht, zun.
Vuhin darfstu brengen di mite, tate?
— Ahin, vu es grobt zikh dayn keyver, mayn zun.
Un vu iz dos land, vu es grobt zikh mayn keyver, tate?
— Nisht hi, nisht hi, mayn zun.
Mit vemen in shkhnes dort grobt zikh mayn keyver, tate?
— In shkhnes mit mir, mayn zun.
Tsi konstu mikh nemen a kuk ton mayn keyver, tate?
— Leyg zikh in mite, mayn zun.
Tsi darf ikh farmakhn di oygn, tate?
— Zey zaynen shoyn tsu, mayn zun.
Vos yogstu azoy vi a shturem, tate?
— Di tsayt iz nisht mayne, mayn zun.
Un vu vel ikh vider zikh oyfkhapn, tate?
— Nisht hi, nisht hi, mayn zun.
In der Vakhediker Sho
In der vakhediker sho fun mitn nakht
hostu keynmol nokh mayn tir nisht oyfgemakht.
Nisht gezesn bay mayn tish far dir gereyt,
nisht derfreyt mit dayn barir mayn vayn un broyt.
Ven di vakhedike sho tsu end dergeyt,
kumt in shtub arayn der shlof fun dir bagleyt.
Eyder nokh ikh zog a vort fun moyl aroys,
rirt der shlof dos fayer on un lesht es oys.
A Conversation Between Father and Son
For whom is the bier, father?
— For one who doesn't concern himself with any bier, son.
Where must you bring the bier, father?
— There, where your grave digs itself, my son.
And where is the land where my grave digs itself, father?
— Not here, not here, my son.
With whom in neighborhood does my grave dig itself there, father?
— In neighborhood with me, my son.
Can you take me to see my grave, father?
— Lie down in the bier, my son.
Must I close my eyes, father?
— They are already closed, my son.
Why do you rush like a storm, father?
— The time is not mine, my son.
And where will I wake again, father?
— Not here, not here, my son.
In the Wakeful Hour
In the wakeful hour of midnight
you never yet opened my door.
Never sat at my table prepared for you,
never gladdened with your touch my wine and bread.
When the wakeful hour comes to an end,
sleep enters the room accompanied by you.
Before I yet say a word from my mouth,
sleep touches the fire and extinguishes it.
Page 120. 'A Conversation Between Father and Son' (A Shmues Tsvishn Tate un Zun): A chilling dialogue about death. For whom is the bier? For one who doesn't concern himself with biers. Where? Where your grave digs itself. Where is that land? Not here, not here. With whom in neighborhood? With me. Can I see my grave? Lie in the bier. Must I close my eyes? They are already closed. Why rush like a storm? The time is not mine. Where will I wake? Not here, not here. The grave digs itself in neighborhood with the father — father and son to share death's proximity. 'In the Wakeful Hour' (In der Vakhediker Sho): A poem of unfulfilled waiting. In the wakeful midnight hour, the awaited one never comes, never sits at the prepared table, never touches wine and bread. When the wakeful hour ends, sleep enters accompanied by that absent one — and extinguishes the fire before a word can be spoken. The beloved arrives only as sleep, silencing before greeting.
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