מײַן טאַטע
My Father
Work 203 of 440
Page 246. 'Lider fun Umkum' new poem 'Mayn tate' (My Father). The father 'from that world' meets the speaker and asks: 'My son, what are you doing here?' The speaker says nothing, but grasps the father's bony, 'grave-like' hand and leads it seven times (ritual number of completion) over his own eyebrows, lips, cheeks. After the seventh time, 'when through all my limbs penetrates the smell of his eternity,' the speaker says: 'Thank you, Father.' Then — 'a moment — he is not there.' Passersby wonder at 'the new freshness blooming on my cheeks, the new purity resting on my eyebrows, the new stillness descending from my lips.' The dead father's blessing transforms the living son. The fingers from the grave bring renewal, not death.
מײַן טאַטע
זײַן טאַטע —
פֿון יענער וועלט —
אַז ער באַגעגנט מיך,
פֿרעגט ער מיך:
זון מײַנער,
וואָס טוסטו דאָ? — — —
זאָג איך ניט,
ענטפֿער ניט
גאָרנישט אים.
איך כאַפּ אים אָן נאָר
פֿאַר זײַן האַנט,
פֿאַר זײַן ביינערדיקער,
און פֿיר דורך
זיבן מאָל
מיט די פֿינגער זײַנע
מיט די קבֿרדיקע —
איבער מײַנע ברעמען,
איבער מײַנע ליפּ,
איבער מײַנע באַקן.
און נאָכדעם, נאָכן מאָל
nאָכן זיבעטן,
אַז דורך אַלע מײַנע אבֿרים
דרינגט אַדורך
דער ריח פֿון זײַן אייביקייט,
זאָג איך:
אַדאַנק, טאַטע. —
אַ רגע. — ניטאָ אים.
מענטשן, פֿאַרבײַ, וואונדערן זיך
אויף דער נײַער פֿרישקייט, וואָס נעמט בליִען אויף מײַנע באַקן,
אויף דער נײַער לויטערקייט, וואָס נעמט רוען אויף מײַנע ברעמען,
אויף דער נײַער שטילקייט, וואָס נעמט אַראָפּזינגען פֿון מײַנע ליפּ.
Mayn tate
Zayn tate —
fun yener velt —
az er bagegnt mikh,
fregt er mikh:
Zun mayner,
vos tustu do? — — —
Zog ikh nit,
entfer nit
gornisht im.
Ikh khap im on nor
far zayn hant,
far zayn beynerdiker,
un fir durkh
zibn mol
mit di finger zayne
mit di kvardike —
iber mayne bremen,
iber mayne lip,
iber mayne bakn.
Un nokh dem, nokhn mol
nokhn zibetn,
az durkh ale mayne eyvorim
dringt adurkh
der reyakh fun zayn eybikeyt,
zog ikh:
A dank, tate. —
A rege. — Nito im.
Mentshn, farbay, vundern zikh
oyf der nayer frishkeyt, vos nemt blien oyf mayne bakn,
oyf der nayer loyterkeyt, vos nemt ruen oyf mayne bremen,
oyf der nayer shtilkeyt, vos nemt aropzingen fun mayne lip.
My Father
His father —
from that world —
when he meets me,
he asks me:
My son,
what are you doing here? — — —
I say nothing,
answer nothing
to him.
I only grasp him
by his hand,
by his bony one,
and lead through
seven times
with his fingers
with the grave-like ones —
over my eyebrows,
over my lips,
over my cheeks.
And afterward, after the time
after the seventh,
when through all my limbs
penetrates
the smell of his eternity,
I say:
Thank you, Father. —
A moment. — He is not there.
People, passing by, wonder
at the new freshness that blooms on my cheeks,
at the new purity that rests on my eyebrows,
at the new stillness that descends singing from my lips.
Page 246. 'Lider fun Umkum' new poem 'Mayn tate' (My Father). The father 'from that world' meets the speaker and asks: 'My son, what are you doing here?' The speaker says nothing, but grasps the father's bony, 'grave-like' hand and leads it seven times (ritual number of completion) over his own eyebrows, lips, cheeks. After the seventh time, 'when through all my limbs penetrates the smell of his eternity,' the speaker says: 'Thank you, Father.' Then — 'a moment — he is not there.' Passersby wonder at 'the new freshness blooming on my cheeks, the new purity resting on my eyebrows, the new stillness descending from my lips.' The dead father's blessing transforms the living son. The fingers from the grave bring renewal, not death.
← / → previous & next poem·1–4 toggle columns·hover a line to align all versions