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.

  • Ber Horovits

    Not just once
    will you stand at my window
    on wild stormy nights
    bathing your pale blood
    in the anguish of past joy.

    And I will sit with my devoted wife
    hand in hand
    and say:
    – Is this then a night of phantoms?
    Cover up, Lyuba, cover up our child
    in case it awakens and takes fright.
    Rock it, rock it.

    As if guarding against something
    vicious
    she will rock it
    and nestle her dear little head
    against my broad chest.

    And beneath my windows
    along with the wild baying of dogs
    a crying full of sorrow
    of regret and longing
    will drown in the brutal wind.

    /MK

    (more…)

  • Miryem (Miriam) Ulinover

    When dear summer makes its appearance,
    dresses lighten, bright and pleasant;
    I’m the sole one, an exception,
    sheathing myself in a bold red garment.

    Sighting my dress must be merited:
    so when I take a walk about
    I choose to roam as far as possible,
    making my Bobe seek me out.

    My dear Bobe is nearly blind –
    my dress to her, a mere speck of red.
    I have to work to challenge her –
    leaving is easy, coming back takes time.

    So I’d lose myself at play outside,
    gawking at each passing ride,
    or wrapping myself around a tree
    while my Bobe sat, missing me.

    Until a butterfly looming large and red
    comes into her distant view.
    Her half-extinguished gaze brightens then,
    and my blind Bobe can come greet me too.

    /MK

    (more…)

  • Moyshe Shimel (Maurycy Szymel)

    Summer. Nights are round as moons.
    I love the windswept grasses and the face
    of a woman
    walking on silver paths in the forest depths.

    It’s blue
    and profound loneliness
    streams from underfoot –
    the night is full of all that rustles and blooms.
    And how good it is now like this
    just as before writing a poem
    about windows open to the wind, to night,
    and about white hands on eyes that are closed.

    /MK

    (more…)

  • Mordkhe (Mordechai) Gebirtig

    On the wall, left of my bed
    my daughter’s portrait hangs
    frequently during the night I think of her
    and see her lovely face
    and hear her talk with me…

    “Daddy dear, it’s been so long
    since we have been together
    this war for sure cannot last long
    I promise I will come to you
    I hear spring knocking at your door”
    I see her smiling sweetly speaking love above my bed
    My daughter’s Shifreleh’s Portrait

    Kraków, 2 December 1939

    (more…)

  • Borekh Gelman

    Like a sinking ship in a deep wavy sea
    my little home sank unsteady and alone
    and like hungry dogs in an empty market
    mice ran around crying steadily at night

    (more…)

  • Motl Kozlovski

    The birch tree in the corner of my yard
    trembles with every leaf ashamed
    every branch longs for sun and dew
    in the shade of big locked doors

    (more…)

  • Sholem Zhirman

    Little children mischief makers
    on your tip-toes come right here
    let your old grandma sleep
    I have a story about a bear…

    (more…)

  • Hershele (Hersh Danielewicz)

    By the clear waters
    stands a crooked cottage
    there in that little place
    is lovely Zlatke’s home

    Her cheeks – little roses
    her smile is dimpled
    her eyes so alive
    tender and loving

    (more…)

  • Borekh Olitsky (Baruch Olitsky)

    Not prophets, apostles
    not extinguished suns
    not unfortunate mountains and valleys
    have come to warn, to tell –
    quiet, simple folk representations
    brothers with hammers, sheers, awls
    have printed the warning signs
    and posted them on streets and corners
    brothers probably stand now behind bars
    like stunned pale statues
    and may be mistaken
    their bones are already overgrown with grass
    let’s not go there

    (more…)

  • Ber Horovits

    Tonight, in a dream
    there came to me
    a young lover
    who tenderly look me by the hand

    (more…)