David Vogel

1891–1944

The peripatetic Hebrew novelist, short-story writer, and poet David Fogel (Vogel) was born in Satanov (now Sataniv, Ukraine), lived in Vilna and L’viv in his youth, and settled in Vienna in 1916. He left for Paris in 1925 and then in 1929 sailed to Palestine but left a year later. He returned to Paris in 1932 after stays in Warsaw, Vienna, and Berlin. Though he worked primarily as a poet, Fogel also wrote compelling and intricate prose, most notably the Hebrew psychological novel Married Life. Written between 1929 and 1939 and republished from manuscripts in 1986, it recounts the pathological love affair between a Jew and a well-born non-Jew in post-World War I Vienna. One of the few significant Hebrew writers to remain in Europe in the interwar era, as the Hebrew literary center shifted decisively to Palestine’s Yishuv (the Jewish settlement), Fogel also maintained an idiosyncratic voice that in its introspective, pessimistic, and Decadence-infused sensibility fell largely on deaf ears in the Hebrew literary sphere. It was only later, from the 1950s on, that Fogel’s poetry and, later, his prose drew renewed attention in Israeli literary life. The Nazis arrested and murdered Fogel in 1944.

Entries in the Posen Library by This Creator

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Married Life

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On his way home Gurdweill tried without success to find the reason for Lotte’s strange behaviour. He went over everything he had said in her house in his mind: there was nothing that could have…

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I Saw My Father Drowning

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I saw my father drowning In surging days. His weak hand gave a last white flutter In the distance— And he was gone. I kept on alone Along the shore, A boy still, With small, thin legs, And have…

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When Night Draws Near

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When night draws near your window, come to him naked. Softly will he ripple and darken round your still beauty, touching the tips of your breasts. I shall stand with him there, a stray wanderer…

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With Gentle Fingers

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With gentle fingers The rain is softly Playing sad melodies On the black instrument of night. We are sitting in the darkness, Each in his own house (The children have fallen asleep) Listening…

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The Golden Noon of the Desert

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The golden noon of the desert beats down silently On the fields of sand. Weary skies Move palely Over the stillness. The sun’s step Strides silently in golden shoes. Camel footsteps cover the…