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(Written at the end of 1939 in Havana—with thoughts about Poland)
Our poor nest eternally atremble
in the wind.
What will happen now, in bloody storm,
mayn kind?
Now, in bloody storm . . . ?
The…
For my child, today, it is so easy
to make the awful discovery, that people kill
and are killed: both things and people
speak the language of the red angel.
My child asks me: Why are people being…
A messenger’s coming to you today.
I’m the one who sent him.
He’s bringing a bag of gifts.
Don’t bolt the door on him.
He’s bringing a bag of gifts.
I collected and watched them.
He’ll lay them at…
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…
It’s hard to be clever these nights,
And useless to be modern.
Useless to smile knowingly and observe with melancholy
The language bastardisms of history:
“The government of the Republic is delivered…
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 Movement…
Literature cannot survive, cannot develop freely and expansively, if it depends on an underdeveloped reader, if it satisfies the spiritual-aesthetic needs only of those who have no access to the…
With regard to the life and fate of the remaining Jews, located at present in the Occupation Zones of Germany, you hear at every step the words: “sheyres hapleyte” [saving remnant], “sheyres hakhurbn”…
It’s one in the morning. I’m writing this poem
in a train station.
What does poetry have to do with trains?
I came here unexpectedly
traveling the wrong way.
Telling the story is risky:
I was…
For two minutes we gazed at each other
In curious silence.
When politeness nudged me in the shoulder,
I introduced myself:
A man, the crown of creation.
The grasshopper
Was not overwhelmed.
He kept…