Creator Bio
Chaim Grade
1910–1982
A novelist and poet, Chaim Grade is considered one of the giants of Yiddish literature, particularly in the postwar period. Born in Vilna, Grade was educated in the yeshivas of the moralist musar movement, which emphasized extreme ethical piety and harsh introspection. Although he left this milieu at the age of twenty-two, the religious ideology of his early years left an undeniable imprint on his later work. A member of the literary group Yung-Vilne (Young Vilna), Grade achieved quick success both as a poet with a distinctive, prophetic voice and as an award-winning novelist. After the war, Grade settled in the United States, where he published his most famous works, both poetry and novels. These explored themes such as survival and guilt, rage and remembrance, the sacred and the profane, and the failure of both secularism and religion to respond adequately to the Holocaust. He is perhaps best remembered for his later novel-length portrayals of Vilna Jewry, richly described in all its complexity and color.
Entries in the Posen Library by This Creator
Primary Source
Lullaby
Hush little baby. Forty-six years now
the night has rocked itself in my empty cradle
Now a gray head is rocked to sleep with the same tune:
Standing at the cradle’s head
No angel with two white wings…
Primary Source
The Weeping of Generations
On the white garments of my great-grandfather
the cross of the middle ages flames anew.
My great-grandfather sits at the seder,
holding a staff from a wild almond tree
to rouse the forefathers.
Not…
Primary Source
A Child
I have a friend, a teacher, with shaggy hair black as pitch.
He has a child (his wife is still a child too)
and when he comes home, difficult and gloomy,
she runs to meet him, like a quivering wave:…
Primary Source
Fall in Vilna
Yom Kippur, when the narrow alleys of the shulhoyf
cradle the small shtibls, pious and scared,
householders hurry with their taleisim
and old men shuffle along in their socks—
I feel the narrow…
Primary Source
My Mother
The cheeks collapsed and the eyes half-shut,
My mother listens as her knees sigh:
The whole morning under the winter sky
She ran about to every market.
So let us now at the gate of the wall
Sleep…
Primary Source
My Quarrel with Hersh Rasseyner
“Reb Hersh,” I finally said, “as I sat here listening to you, I sometimes thought I was listening to myself. And since it’s harder to lie to yourself than to someone else, I will answer you as though…
Primary Source
Elegy for the Soviet Yiddish Writers
I weep for you with all the letters of the alphabet
that made your hopeful songs. I saw how reason spent
itself in vain for hope, how you strove against regret—
and all the while your hearts were…