ס׳האָט אויפֿגעשײַנט אַ חלום פֿון אַ הייליק לעבן,
A dream of a holy life shone forth,
Work 335 of 440
Page 392. 'A briv fun Amerike' continuation: 'a kholem fun a heylik lebn' (a dream of holy life) shone forth, but to live holy requires more than 'gezungene reyd' (sung words). Sorrow grew 'krank un geshvoln' (sick and swollen); 'elnt... vi sam' (loneliness like poison) ate the heart. Longing for 'nit-doike yabshe un yam' (not-here-ish land and sea — Hebrew 'yabshe'). No one to comfort; 'a klole' (a curse — Hebrew) on the oldest and boldest to hate all. 'Yene Moris Rozenfeldishe yorn!' (Those Morris Rosenfeld years!) — crucial literary-historical reference. Morris Rosenfeld (1862-1923), the renowned Yiddish sweatshop poet. The friend was not witness to 'Rozenfelds tsorn' (Rosenfeld's rage), how he'd curse 'az yidish iz tfu' (that Yiddish is phooey — despair at the language's future). He remembers 'dem tsuk fun zayne glider' (the twitch of his limbs), 'shnaydikn shtol' (cutting steel) of his eyes, reading 'lider' in the café, then freezing. Such 'yeride' (decline — Hebrew) in his sitting, consciousness of 'goyrl' (fate — Hebrew), not wanting to beg or protect against 'eybiker nakht' (eternal night). He'd leave without goodbye; all felt 'shand un shmokh' (shame and disgrace), all songs lamenting. Last seen in 'Park Krotona' (Crotona Park, the Bronx) under an autumn tree, 'fule levone' (full moon — Hebrew) throwing light 'snop nokh snop' (sheaf after sheaf).
ס׳האָט אויפֿגעשײַנט אַ חלום פֿון אַ הייליק לעבן,
און ס׳האָט זיך געדוכט, אַז אָט קומט דער באַשייד:
אָבער כּדי צו לעבן הייליק דאַרף מען דעם לעבן געבן,
ווײַזט אויס, עטוואָס מער פֿון געזונגענע רייד.
און דער צער איז געוואָרן קראַנק און געשוואָלן,
און עלנט האָט געגעסן דאָס האַרץ ווי סם,
און ס׳האָט זיך געבענקט נאָך לעגענדישע ווײַטע אַמאָל,
נאָך ניט־דאָאיקע יבשה און ים.
און ס׳איז ניט געווען קיינער ווער עס זאָל טרייסטן,
און אַ וואָרט זאָגן ווי אַ פֿרײַנט צו אַ פֿרײַנט:
אַ קללה איז געלעגן אויף דעם עלטסטן און דרײַסטן
צו זײַן פֿינצטער און אַלעמען האָבן פֿײַנט.
יענע מאָריס ראָזענפֿעלדישע יאָרן!
איך בין גליקלעך, מײַן פֿרײַנט, וואָס דו
ביסט ניט געווען קיין עדות פֿון ראָזענפֿעלדס צאָרן,
ווי ער פֿלעגט פּלוצלונג נעמען שילטן, אַז יידיש איז טפֿו.
איך זע נאָך הײַנט דעם צוק פֿון זײַנע גלידער,
און פֿון זײַנע אויגן דעם שנײַדיקן שטאָל,
ווען ער פֿלעגט לייענען אין קאַפֿע פֿאַר אונדז לידער,
און אַ פֿאַרגליווערטער בלײַבן זיצן מיטאַמאָל.
אַזויפֿיל ירידה איז געווען אין זײַן זיצן,
אַזויפֿיל באַוואוסטזײַן פֿון גורל, און אויך מאַכט,
ניט צו וועלן זיך בעטן, ניט צו וועלן זיך שיצן
אַנטקעגן אָנקום פֿון אייביקער נאַכט.
ער פֿלעגט זיך אַ הייב טאָן, קיין „גוד באַי
S'hot oyfgeshaynt a kholem fun a heylik lebn,
un s'hot zikh gedukht, az ot kumt der basheyd:
ober kedey tsu lebn heylik darf men dem lebn gebn,
vayzt oys, etvos mer fun gezungene reyd.
Un der tser iz gevorn krank un geshvoln,
un elnt hot gegesn dos harts vi sam,
un s'hot zikh gebenkt nokh legendishe vayte amol,
nokh nit-doike yabshe un yam.
Un s'iz nit geven keyner ver es zol treystn,
un a vort zogn vi a fraynt tsu a fraynt:
a klole iz gelegn oyf dem eltstn un draystn
tsu zayn fintster un alemen hobn faynt.
Yene Moris Rozenfeldishe yorn!
Ikh bin gliklekh, mayn fraynt, vos du
bist nit geven keyn eydes fun Rozenfelds tsorn,
vi er flegt plutslung nemen shiltn, az yidish iz tfu.
Ikh ze nokh haynt dem tsuk fun zayne glider,
un fun zayne oygn dem shnaydikn shtol,
ven er flegt leyenen in kafe far undz lider,
un a fargliveter blaybn zitsn mitamol.
Azoyfil yeride iz geven in zayn zitsn,
azoyfil bavustzayn fun goyrl, un oykh makht,
nit tsu veln zikh betn, nit tsu veln zikh shitsn
antkegn onkum fun eybiker nakht.
Er flegt zikh a heyb ton, keyn „gud bay
A dream of a holy life shone forth,
and it seemed that here comes the answer:
but in order to live holy one must give life,
it appears, something more than sung words.
And the sorrow became sick and swollen,
and loneliness ate the heart like poison,
and there was longing for legendary distant once,
for not-here-ish dry land and sea.
And there was no one who would comfort,
and say a word as a friend to a friend:
a curse lay upon the oldest and boldest
to be dark and hate everyone.
Those Morris Rosenfeld years!
I am happy, my friend, that you
were not a witness to Rosenfeld's rage,
how he would suddenly begin cursing, that Yiddish is phooey.
I still see today the twitch of his limbs,
and from his eyes the cutting steel,
when he would read poems to us in the café,
and suddenly remain sitting frozen.
So much decline was in his sitting,
so much consciousness of fate, and also power,
not wanting to beg, not wanting to protect oneself
against the arrival of eternal night.
He would rise, not say "good bye,"
and all of us would feel to shame and disgrace,
how all, all, all songs lament
across the whole earth, in every language.
Last I saw him in Crotona Park,
he was standing with a hunched head
under an autumn tree, and a full moon
threw upon him light sheaf after sheaf.
Page 392. 'A briv fun Amerike' continuation: 'a kholem fun a heylik lebn' (a dream of holy life) shone forth, but to live holy requires more than 'gezungene reyd' (sung words). Sorrow grew 'krank un geshvoln' (sick and swollen); 'elnt... vi sam' (loneliness like poison) ate the heart. Longing for 'nit-doike yabshe un yam' (not-here-ish land and sea — Hebrew 'yabshe'). No one to comfort; 'a klole' (a curse — Hebrew) on the oldest and boldest to hate all. 'Yene Moris Rozenfeldishe yorn!' (Those Morris Rosenfeld years!) — crucial literary-historical reference. Morris Rosenfeld (1862-1923), the renowned Yiddish sweatshop poet. The friend was not witness to 'Rozenfelds tsorn' (Rosenfeld's rage), how he'd curse 'az yidish iz tfu' (that Yiddish is phooey — despair at the language's future). He remembers 'dem tsuk fun zayne glider' (the twitch of his limbs), 'shnaydikn shtol' (cutting steel) of his eyes, reading 'lider' in the café, then freezing. Such 'yeride' (decline — Hebrew) in his sitting, consciousness of 'goyrl' (fate — Hebrew), not wanting to beg or protect against 'eybiker nakht' (eternal night). He'd leave without goodbye; all felt 'shand un shmokh' (shame and disgrace), all songs lamenting. Last seen in 'Park Krotona' (Crotona Park, the Bronx) under an autumn tree, 'fule levone' (full moon — Hebrew) throwing light 'snop nokh snop' (sheaf after sheaf).
← / → previous & next poem·1–4 toggle columns·hover a line to align all versions