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With this collection, we intend to launch a particular trend in Yiddish poetry which has recently emerged in the works of a group of Yiddish poets. We have chosen to call it the Introspective…
Oh white spirit—
My princess!
The spring rips,
Tears at your dress.
The air is full of spring’s fame
Crowned with florets
Carrying its perfume
Spring’s fresh scents.
Bringing your death,
My white…
For Zishe LandauQuiet, 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 nightHe’ll ride up on a white horseHeard by no…
Deep in the woods stands my tent,
No one will discover me,
Late at night and at first dawn,
I hear the revel of the spring
From the deep roots underneath,
To the moss-covered trunks,
From…
[The writings of the nineteenth-century maskilic writers] Perets Smolenskin and Yitsḥok Erter opened cracks in the faith of Hasidic young men [like Asch himself]. Their life of [Talmud] study without…
The sunset grew bold: it insisted on staying
In the Red Sea at night, when the innocent pink
Young fawns delicately make their way
Downhill to the palace of water to drink.
They leave their silken…
The German occupation with its huge system of ghettos, concentration camps, death camps, and more cannot be represented in a normal human tongue. No depictions, documents, and images can…
Who cares if eternity won’t know me,
if no one ever watches my footsteps—
but now, right now, when hearts are burning,
I come with fists in my song.
Of course I’d like to sing myself away,
to cry…
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…
Everything will remember
That I was here.
The ships will be the color
Of my clothing,
The birds will use my voice for singing,
The fisherman on the rock
Will ponder my poem,
The river
Will follow my…