וואָס וועט זײַן? וואָס וועט זײַן? —
What will be? What will be? —
Work 109 of 440
Page 124. 'House of Mourning' conclusion: The portrait speaks, telling the speaker to occupy the empty bed. No one comes now — only the portrait watches the occupied bed. The dead man becomes one with the portrait, the mourning complete. 'There Where I Am Not Yet' (Dort Vu Ikh Bin Nokh Nishto): A profound poem of spectral self-visitation. The speaker's wife and newborn child sleep; she doesn't see him unbind clothes for his 'far journey' (death). Every night for one minute he sees himself in his form. Sometimes he puts on the clothes and extends the minute — then the white clothes turn red as if dyed in blood. Whose blood? Wife's? Child's? He carries a hidden guilt with frozen patience. Night after night a commanding voice says: 'In your ready white clothes, dress yourself once and for all.' The shroud awaits; the speaker rehearses his own death nightly, guilty perhaps of survival, or of leaving.
וואָס וועט זײַן? וואָס וועט זײַן? —
עס וועט גאָרנישט ניט זײַן —
עס קוקט אַ פּאָרטרעט
מיר אין פּנים אַרײַן.
ער קוקט און ער רעדט:
זאָל דײַן גוף פֿאַרנעמען דאָס ליידיקע בעט.
וואָס וועט זײַן? וואָס וועט זײַן? —
עס וועט גאָרנישט ניט זײַן —
מען שטייט נישט בײַ דער טיר,
און מען קומט נישט אַרײַן:
און נאָר דער פּאָרטרעט —
ער קוקט און באַוואַכט דאָס פֿאַרנומענע בעט.
דאָרט וואו איך בין נאָך נישטאָ
שלאָפֿט מײַן פֿרוי, און נעבן איר
מײַן נאָרוואָס געבוירן קינד —
קליידער פֿאַר מײַן ווײַטן וועג
זעט זי נישט ווי איך צעבינד.
איך צעבינד און קלייד זיי אָן
און צוריק דערנאָך באַהאַלט:
אײן מינוט אין יעדער נאַכט
זע איך זיך אין מײַן געשטאַלט.
טרעפֿט אַמאָל, איך קלייד זיך אָן
און פֿאַרלענגער די מינוט —
ווערט די ווײַסקייט פֿון מײַן קלייד
רויט ווי אָפּגעפֿאַרבט אין בלוט.
וועמענס בלוט? מײַן פֿרויס? מײַן קינדס?
איך טראָג אין זיך אַ שולד
אַ באַהאַלטענע אין קלעם
מיט פֿאַרגליווערטן געדולד. —
ווײַל עס קלינגט מיר נאַכט נאָך נאַכט
אַ באַפֿעלנדיקער קול:
— אין דײַן גרייטן ווײַסן קלייד
טו זיך אָן אויף אַלעמאָל.
Vos vet zayn? Vos vet zayn? —
es vet gornisht nit zayn —
es kukt a portret
mir in ponem arayn.
Er kukt un er redt:
zol dayn guf farnemen dos leydike bet.
Vos vet zayn? Vos vet zayn? —
es vet gornisht nit zayn —
men shteyt nisht bay der tir,
un men kumt nisht arayn:
un nor der portret —
er kukt un bavakht dos farnumene bet.
Dort Vu Ikh Bin Nokh Nishto
Shloft mayn froy, un nebn ir
mayn norvos geboyrn kind —
kleyder far mayn vaytn veg
zet zi nisht vi ikh tsebind.
Ikh tsebind un kleyd zey on
un tsurik dernokh bahalt:
eyn minut in yeder nakht
ze ikh zikh in mayn geshtalt.
Treft amol, ikh kleyd zikh on
un farlenger di minut —
vert di vayskayt fun mayn kleyd
royt vi оpgefarbt in blut.
Vemens blut? Mayn froys? Mayn kinds?
Ikh trog in zikh a shuld
a bahaltene in klem
mit farglivеrtn geduld. —
Vayl es klingt mir nakht nokh nakht
a bafеlndiker kol:
— In dayn greytn vaysn kleyd
tu zikh on oyf alemol.
What will be? What will be? —
nothing at all will be —
a portrait looks
into my face.
It looks and it speaks:
let your body occupy the empty bed.
What will be? What will be? —
nothing at all will be —
no one stands at the door,
and no one comes in:
and only the portrait —
it looks and guards the occupied bed.
There Where I Am Not Yet
My wife sleeps, and beside her
my just-born child —
clothes for my far journey
she doesn't see how I unbind.
I unbind and put them on
and afterward hide them back:
one minute every night
I see myself in my form.
Sometimes I put them on
and extend the minute —
the whiteness of my clothes becomes
red as if dyed in blood.
Whose blood? My wife's? My child's?
I carry in me a guilt
hidden in distress
with frozen patience. —
Because it rings to me night after night
a commanding voice:
— In your ready white clothes
dress yourself once and for all.
Page 124. 'House of Mourning' conclusion: The portrait speaks, telling the speaker to occupy the empty bed. No one comes now — only the portrait watches the occupied bed. The dead man becomes one with the portrait, the mourning complete. 'There Where I Am Not Yet' (Dort Vu Ikh Bin Nokh Nishto): A profound poem of spectral self-visitation. The speaker's wife and newborn child sleep; she doesn't see him unbind clothes for his 'far journey' (death). Every night for one minute he sees himself in his form. Sometimes he puts on the clothes and extends the minute — then the white clothes turn red as if dyed in blood. Whose blood? Wife's? Child's? He carries a hidden guilt with frozen patience. Night after night a commanding voice says: 'In your ready white clothes, dress yourself once and for all.' The shroud awaits; the speaker rehearses his own death nightly, guilty perhaps of survival, or of leaving.
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