The Song Remains – דאָס ליד איז געבליבן

The Song Remains

People of the Warsaw Ghetto merged with a map of the Nazi occupation of Poland

דאָס ליד איז געבליבן

Welcome to our collection of Yiddish poems with English translations from Nazi German occupied Poland. We’ll be publishing one new poem per week into 2027, so be sure to subscribe to get free weekly updates.

  • Chayim Semiatitski (Khayim Semiatitsky)

    At the tips of trees, days die,
    at the tips of trees, magnificent dawns arise –
    I am also a tree – and it will be the same for me.

    On rivers, clouds swim – dark ships of days,
    and white seagulls, tethered to sunrays –
    I am also a river – and it will be the same for me.

    Mists have wiped away the fields’ green and the sky’s blue;
    when a day brightens, the green weeps drops of dew –
    I am also a field – it will always be this way for me.

    If a child sees something bad in a dream,
    it cries out in the midst of sleep,
    if a child sees something good in a dream,
    it laughs aloud in the midst of sleep,
    I am also a child, and every day is a dream of mine,
    so it will be the same for me.

    Translated by Miri Koral

    (more…)

  • Ber Horovits

    Like a sick bird
    returned to its former nest,
    Mother, I arrived from the wide world
    for your simple sustenance.

    You wept and laughed
    out of sheer delight
    and over your child’s “good” fortune
    you sighed at night.

    And the next morning
    you circled my bed
    on tiptoes
    and smiled proudly,
    and gave my hair a stroke.

    On tiptoes, you smiled
    and kept talking freely
    to have me think you’re happy,
    to calm and comfort me
    to offer me surcease.

    Translated by Miri Koral

    (more…)

  • Shloyme (Shlomo) Burshteyn

    The bleak autumn wind keens,
    keeping the trees, naked and grey, from sleep.
    It has tangled in their branches,
    unable to escape.
    The trees, powerless to offer release,
    bestowed all their gold in a heap
    for the wind to doze off in their embrace.

    Translated by Miri Koral

    (more…)

  • Alter Kacyzne (Alter-Sholem Katsizne)

    From leaf to leaflet, from little straws and clay
    I made myself a pallet, built myself a home.
    Now wicked breezes blow – the frosts are on their way,
    now it’s wretchedness and woe —
    driven from our nest.

    No home, no roof, at night nowhere to rest.
    In this chill and snow, who will warm us now?
    Who, oh, who will show us mercy now?
    No home, no path, black nights, days desolate.

    Our nest shattered and our wings bound
    with no home, no path, oh, no home!

    We roam and we wander
    over sea and land
    from one place to another
    on roads unknown.
    From all the dark corners, there blows a furious chill.
    From all the grim corners, a ferocious world torments.

    No home, no roof, at night nowhere to rest.
    In this chill and snow, who will warm us now?
    Who, oh, who will have mercy on us now?
    No home, no path, black nights, days desolate.

    Our little nest is shattered and our wings bound
    with no home, no nest, and no home.

    Translated by Miri Koral

    (more…)

  • Misha Troyanov

    1.

    How light are my steps.
    Tender winds waft on white wings,
    flutter in the blue air,
    binding, connecting the skies
    to the sunny pavement.

    (more…)

  • Shmuel Zaromb

    1

    On the red surface of the still waters
    of my melancholy,
    your submerged curly black head
    came swimming out.

    (more…)

  • Shmuel Zaromb (1896-1941) was born with the name Moyshe-Tsvi Fayntsayg in Brok, Podlaskie Voivodeship. He was educated in a traditional cheder (Jewish primary school) and later studied at the Ostrow Yeshiva. He went into hiding in the First World War to avoid being drafted, moved to Łomża (Lomzhe), and adopted his new name.

    He became well-versed in world literature, and started writing and publishing poetry.

    In 1924 he moved to Warsaw and became active in the Labor Zionist movement. He began writing more prolifically, and “…made his way, as if unnoticed, into the front ranks of the great pléiade of poets, story-tellers and essayists who in those years transformed the capital of Poland into one of the most important cultural-creative centres in the Jewish world.”

    At the beginning of the Second World War, Zaromb fled to Białystok along with many other Warsaw Jews, but was not permitted to stay, and ended up in Nieśwież.

    He was murdered by the Nazis along with the other four thousand Jews of Nieśwież on 30 October 1941.

    Sources:

  • Miryem (Miriam) Ulinover

    When to my little town I made my way
    for the very last stay
    you, my grandmama, showed me
    something quite assuredly…

    (more…)

  • Yakov Shudrikh

    The water in the well has become much clearer,
    the aged linden tree appears to be younger.
    I am restless, as solace keeps eluding me,
    not certain if I should be crying or singing.

    (more…)

  • Rokhl Kramf (Rachel Krampf)

    Today I witnessed
    an old fella’s weeping;
    in a fold of his cheek
    a tear got stuck,
    unable to reach
    his white beard.

    (more…)