Kadya Molodovsky

1894–1975

The Yiddish poet Kadya Molodovsky was born in Bereza Kartuska, a small town in Belarus, where she received a broad Hebrew and secular education. She taught in Jewish schools and children’s homes in Poland and Russia, both before and after World War I, and produced celebrated Yiddish children’s verse that continues to delight Israeli children in Hebrew translation. In 1935, she joined the expatriate Polish-Yiddish colony of writers in New York, where the focus of her poetry shifted; she was sensitive to the problematic status of women in traditional Jewish life, as well to as her own role as a creative writer. She also voiced the plight of impoverished Jewish workers and their families. Molodovsky, along with her husband Simkhe Lev, published a little magazine, Svive (Surroundings), which provided a forum for a number of important writers, including Isaac Bashevis Singer, and in which she serialized her autobiography.

Entries in the Posen Library by This Creator

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Fallen Leaves

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Words forsaken—fallen leaves, Let the wind scatter you, And let me forget you. I will remain like a wintry tree Behind closed eyes, still And silent. Both the night will cradle me, ay-lu, And the…

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Women-Poems I, II, VI

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The women of our family will come to me in dreams at night and say: Modestly we carried a pure blood across generations, Bringing it to you like well-guarded wine from the kosher Cellars of our…

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My Day

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My day— Is punctured like a sieve, And ridiculed like a whim. May winter whiteness blossom, May autumns turn gray, May summers whistle— Become nightingales. When a rye-wind Would have twisted my…

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Alphabet Letters

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In the Bronx, in Brooklyn and in New York City, My cousins all have stores. Seven cousins with seven stores, like commandments. Business people with long lists of going bankrupt. And my family-name…

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A White Poet

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For H. Leyvik New York. A white poet stood on the hundred-and-fourth floor. The sky and an iron city Engaged in a conversation. A thirsty “forever” marched on In bewildered Disorganization. New York…

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God of Mercy

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O God of Mercy Choose— another people. We are tired of death, tired of corpses, We have no more prayers. Choose— another people. We have run out of blood For victims, Our houses have been turned into…