שווײַגט ער אַ ווײַלע און זאָגט:
He is silent a while and says:
Work 135 of 440
Page 156. 'He' (Er) continuation: Christ's lament intensifies. His eyes are red from sleeplessness — he has lost track of time. He accepts that what happened 'probably could not have happened otherwise.' He wants only to taste sleep, to find a hard threshold for a pillow. His lips form a hysterical smile; crippled hope floats in his eye; his fingers with neglected nails convulse. The poet thinks: what does he want from me, this 'faliker' (leper/outcast)? Christ speaks of Mary: his father is still God, but his mother denies her motherhood, wants to remain a virgin. The memory that disgusts him: how she kissed him dying, tortured, with hot peaceful lips — as if she were his bride, not mother. That kiss erased all other memory. He pounds her threshold begging: go confess on all the streets. A shocking subversion of Christian iconography — Christ resenting the Virgin Mary's kiss.
שווײַגט ער אַ ווײַלע און זאָגט:
„— אַז די ווײַסלעך פֿון מײַנע אויגן זײַנען רויט
פֿון נישט־שלאָפֿן, איך ווייס שוין נישט פֿון ווען:
אַז וואָס עס איז געשען מיט מיר אַמאָל, אַמאָל,
האָט אַנדערש דאָך מסתּמא נישט געקענט געשען:
אַז וועלן וויל איך נאָר איין זאַך — דעם טעם פֿון שלאָף פֿאַרזוכן,
דעם טעם פֿון שלאָף, און גאָרנישט מער:
אַז זוכן זוך איך נאָר אַ שוועל פֿאַר אַ צוקאָפּנס,
אַ האַרטע שוועל און גאָר נישט מער.
Shvaygt er a vayle un zogt:
'— Az di vayslekh fun mayne oygn zaynen royt
fun nisht-shlofn, ikh veys shoyn nisht fun ven:
az vos es iz geshen mit mir amol, amol,
hot andersh dokh mistome nisht gekent geshen:
az veln vil ikh nor eyn zakh — dem tem fun shlof farzukhn,
dem tem fun shlof, un gornisht mer:
az zukhn zukh ikh nor a shvel far a tsukopns,
a harte shvel un gor nisht mer.'
Oyf zayne lipn loyft durkh a histerisher shmeyخl,
in zayn oyg shveblt oyf a tsekripltе hofenung.
Zayne finger mit sharfe farlozenе negl
heybn on shtilerheyt konvulsirn.
Er shtarkt zikh un klamert tsuzamen di finger,
shtrekt oys zayn tsuzamengetsoygеnem haldz
un ikh her vi er gorglt arunter
a dervorgеnem shlung.
Trakht ikh far zikh:
vos vil er fun mir —
der faliker?
Shvaygt er a vayle un zogt:
'— Az mayn foter — got in himl, iz nokh alts mayn foter,
un mayn muter leyknt alts nokh op ir mutershaft,
un vil biz haynt tsu tog nokh zayn a yungfroy.
Du veyst nisht vi es eklt mikh di dermonung
vi zi hot mikh a shtarbndikn, a tsepayniktn
gekusht mit heyse royike lipn,
azoy vi zi zol zayn mayn kale, nisht mayn mame.
Di eyn dermonung, — vayl mer gedenk ikh gornisht, gornisht.
Fun ire lipn der barir hot alts tsemisht,
farfintstert, opgemekt fun mayn zikorn.
Vi kon ikh ir fargebn, zog, mayn tifn tser,
vos mer vi ir barir gedenk ikh gornisht?
Fun demolt on keyn tog fargeyt nisht
ikh zol nisht opshlogn ir shvel un betn zikh:
'— Oyf ale gasn gey aroys un zay zikh moyde,'
He is silent a while and says:
'— That the whites of my eyes are red
from not sleeping, I no longer know since when:
that what happened to me once, long ago,
probably could not have happened otherwise:
that want I want only one thing — to taste the taste of sleep,
the taste of sleep, and nothing more:
that seek I seek only a threshold for a pillow,
a hard threshold and nothing more.'
Over his lips runs a hysterical smile,
in his eye floats up a crippled hope.
His fingers with sharp abandoned nails
begin quietly to convulse.
He steadies himself and clamps together his fingers,
stretches out his contracted neck
and I hear how he gurgles down
a strangled swallow.
I think to myself:
what does he want from me —
the leper?
He is silent a while and says:
'— That my father — God in heaven, is still my father,
and my mother still denies her motherhood,
and wants until today to still be a virgin.
You don't know how the memory disgusts me
how she kissed me dying, tortured
with hot peaceful lips,
as if she were my bride, not my mother.
The one memory, — because more I remember nothing, nothing.
From her lips the touch confused everything,
darkened, erased from my memory.
How can I forgive her, say, my deep sorrow,
that more than her touch I remember nothing?
From then on not a day passes
that I do not pound on her threshold and beg:
'— Go out on all the streets and confess,'
Page 156. 'He' (Er) continuation: Christ's lament intensifies. His eyes are red from sleeplessness — he has lost track of time. He accepts that what happened 'probably could not have happened otherwise.' He wants only to taste sleep, to find a hard threshold for a pillow. His lips form a hysterical smile; crippled hope floats in his eye; his fingers with neglected nails convulse. The poet thinks: what does he want from me, this 'faliker' (leper/outcast)? Christ speaks of Mary: his father is still God, but his mother denies her motherhood, wants to remain a virgin. The memory that disgusts him: how she kissed him dying, tortured, with hot peaceful lips — as if she were his bride, not mother. That kiss erased all other memory. He pounds her threshold begging: go confess on all the streets. A shocking subversion of Christian iconography — Christ resenting the Virgin Mary's kiss.
← / → previous & next poem·1–4 toggle columns·hover a line to align all versions