Above the Jewish street, a grey cloud hovers,
spread like a dead horse across the sky.
Friday is a day of hurry and yelling –
Above the Jewish street, a grey cloud hovers,
grey due to the sorrow
that arises from the stinking gutters.
A Jew with hungry eyes,
his shoulders atremble at a shadowy gate,
shouts and gesticulates:
For sale! For sale — warm socks!
And lads stand over baskets of rotten apples,
women with bowed legs
run around with garlic, with onions,
their hands beseeching
for the sake of a penny.
From the butcher shops wafts the stench
of entrails and spleens.
A black funeral heads to the cemetery
with clamor and screams.
A Jew with swollen, decrepit boots
splashes in the mud
and huffs and schleps a heap of slaughtered fowl
with twisted-together necks.
Blind beggars stand near the gates,
bang their canes and awaken
the hard pavement.
The Song Remains
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.
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My Simple Sisters
Borekh Olitzki (Baruch Olitzky)
My simple sisters,
(more…)
my shepherdesses and seamstresses
with their blond braids
call to me from the sidewalks of Łodz
to make benches and straw roofs.
Bunched up on bundles
of the September amber
and the sway of dahlias,
they stretch their hands in supplication
to the dusky profile of my name:
who will play on bleeding panpipes
the sadness of captivated flocks
and the groans of hinges
when bad folk take the gold
of wheat and corn? -
The Encounter
Miryem (Miriam) Ulinover
Cocky on your walk in town, hail
(more…)
to me on your way.
You stop, and startled, you exclaim:
“This girl’s hair turned gray!” -
Mushroom Gathering
Miryem (Miriam) Ulinover
A golden day mid-week —
(more…)
and what else would maidens seek?
“Mushroom gathering we will go!”
Baskets rustle and pink cheeks glow.
They sing of joy and how bright the sun,
they gather together and do a count:
the magnate’s woods is divvied up.
There’s chatter and a meeting’s set
a plot of land for each girl’s basket,
a plot of forest-loneliness.
They join up, split and disperse.
A forest seemingly empty, still,
yet pulsing with life and truly filled! -
Lifted Up
-
Eternal Flame
Hinde Nayman
Between hills and above valleys stars
(more…)
glittered late into the night,
and I arrived at a cottage that,
like a shriveled mushroom,
stood in the middle of the marketplace,
its low threshold, a smooth stone,
and its walls, enchanted and white.
An eternal flame was lit inside,
and a gilded bird had its wings outspread,
and a flower grew in an earthen pot,
its crown, like green velvet, stretched wide.
But its soil had become parched,
so with a pitcher in hand
I watered the thirsty soil,
and I watered the thirsty stem,
and with the pitcher I sang
a song of love and eternity. -
Dowry
Hershele (Hersh Danielewicz)
Work, girlies, work!
(more…)
Work through day and night;
sew up blouses, little frocks,
then dress up to the nines! -
A Letter
Miryem (Miriam) Ulinover
Time for me to get going…
(more…)
enough playing the fool:
sitting around and hoping
for a hot glance from you.