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Gassing the woodchucks didn’t turn out right.
The knockout bomb from the Feed and Grain Exchange
was featured as merciful, quick at the bone
and the case we had against them was airtight,
both exits…
I forget meticulously
I forget scrupulously
my native landscape
my daily landscape
I forget the ragged
I forget the billowy
clouds in a sky
clouds over a town
I forget to the end
I forget…
When I was twelve, I read The Diary of Anne Frank.
I identified with her having to live
stories above a busy street
over a business, and having to keep quiet
for hours at a time.
I’d pad about on…
I think of my father who believes
a Jew can outrun fate by owning land.
Slave to property now, I mow
and mow, my destiny the new Egypt.
From his father, the tailor, he learned not
to rent but to own…
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…
Burning kisses now are born
Within his heart for his chosen—
And, landing on red little lips,
Immediately are frozen.
Then a frisky little horse
Overturns the sleigh—
A snowy, stony canopy
Buries…
Farewell, farewell,
Tomorrow I depart.
I’ve sewn myself a pack
And had my hair cut off.
I’ve got myself a belt
That’s tethered to my chains,
Said good-bye to all my neighbors
Through the wall that…
With this number, Di yugend passes into new hands—the hands of its writers.
It is no secret that Yiddish writers, especially young Yiddish writers—and most of the contributors to this monthly journal…
Laboring women, suffering women
Women who languish in factory and home—
Why stand at a distance, why build not our temple
Of humanity’s joy, and of freedom sublime?
Help us to bear the red banner…
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…