Mani Leib

1883–1953
Mani Leib was the pen name of the American Yiddish poet Mani Leib Brahinsky. Born in Nizhyn in the Russian Empire, now Ukraine, he ended his formal education at the age of eleven, when he was apprenticed to a bootmaker. While still in his teens, Mani Leib was twice arrested for revolutionary activities. He emigrated in 1905, spent a year in England, and settled in New York in 1906. He worked throughout his life as a shoemaker. A central figure in Yiddish poetry’s first avant-garde, New York’s Di Yunge (The Young Ones), Mani Leib proved that Yiddish could be used to create poetry of delicacy, subtlety, and beauty. His poetry was remarkable for its sound, using alliteration, cadence, repetition, and sibilance to create effects both of stillness and harmony and of love, joy, and bravado, as in “I Have My Mother’s Black Hair.” Leib also wrote much poetry for children. His weird and joyful story of a fearless heder boy, “Yingl-tsingl-khvat,” became a classic and made its way to East European Yiddishist circles, where it was illustrated by the great cubo-futurist and constructivist artist El Lissitzky in 1918.

Entries in the Posen Library by This Creator

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I Am the Knight

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I am the knight of yearned-for blue On God’s rosy, holy ways. My yearning is white like milk and dew And sweet as the honey-rain. My armor, my sword—my word and my blood. My sign—the green of cedar…

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The Machine

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The machine, the tool. Walls without bricks—my cage. My hands’ holy blood Drips from the walls. But the blood of my soul Drips beyond the threshold Both out there and in here Drips the blood of…

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You, My Master

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You, my master, my hidden enemy! I see you hidden In the wind that is around all, in all, everywhere: In my uneasy sleep, in my dark fear at morning, In my labors by day, in my bread and my salt. C…

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I Am . . .

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I am Mani Leyb, whose name is sung— In Brownsville, Yehupets, and farther, they know it: Among cobblers, a splendid cobbler; among Poetical circles, a splendid poet. A boy straining over the…

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Sing More Softly

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Let no one cross my threshold, Nor disturb my silence; I no longer wish to hear The noise of people and speech From them I crawled away In tears, into my corner, To listen at last in quiet To the…

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Yingl-tsingl-khvat

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I have a story here to tell To all my children—you as well. Hush, dear friends, be very still— Hear my story, if you will. There’s a land that’s quite remote, Beyond the reach of train or boat; Even…

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I Have My Mother’s Black Hair

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I have my mother’s black hair and green eyes, my father’s delicate thin hands and blood that sings and flares, blood of grandfathers—Jews along the Dnieper; on my head, the many nights with friends s…

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Quiet, Quiet

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For Zishe Landau Quiet, quiet, no loud talk! Stand bent over, pale and dark, Crouched up in a ball of pain, Shut up—holding your breath in. Out of the deep night He’ll ride up on a white horse Hear…

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I Am the Creeper

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I am the creeper, the wild one Climbing your garden hedge, Reaching, a red one, a wild one, Up to your window ledge; To inhale your dress’ rustling As on your floor I lay, To pale in the light of…