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.

  • Khayim Semiatitski

    Sleep my child my dear at rest
    your father will no longer sell
    raisins and almonds
    Aye Liew Liew Liew Liew

    On the way he was beaten,
    when riding to the village
    to buy a little calf and corn –
    bloody, beaten he was carried home

    Sun is laughing on your cradle
    but I close doors and windows tight,
    the white sheep ran away in fear
    Aye Liew Liew Liew Liew

    Crying? Hard for you to sleep
    On a little pillow of hard straw?
    the feathers haven’t run away
    bad hands have made it so

    Quietly comes the cow from field
    the little sheep makes happy sounds
    in evening red I will feed you well today
    Aye Liew Liew Liew Liew

    Don’t cry, father did not ride far away
    though his parting was intense
    he only took little with him
    to the country mart

    Sleep my child my dear at rest
    your father will no longer sell
    raisins and almonds
    Aye Liew Liew Liew Liew

    (more…)

  • Borekh Olitzki (Baruch Olitzky)

    1.
    June walks around the forest with the sun
    as if he held a red fruit in his mouth
    and hangs onto every tree with love
    and tenderly caresses every plant

    (more…)

  • Borekh Gelman

    The train takes me away
    in the lonely unknown
    my heart is so tense
    unknown is the way…

    (more…)

  • Miryem (Miriam) Ulinover

    Oo-hoo-hoo wind in the chimney
    I hear a sadness time
    I hear a black, dark dead long note
    The chimney sweeper’s own love song

    Did not know of joy to sing
    did not know except one thing
    Black are hands and black the face
    blackened life is in this place

    Where eyes can hardly move up there
    black are chimney sweepers hands and hair
    never smoked when I was with her
    The flame of love was grand

    How I loved this lovely maiden
    loved her day and night
    She was pure and lovely
    and the flame burned bright

    Oh the wind was frightening
    sad and hurting from his threat
    she sought safety by the fire
    and she sits there yet…

    Oo-hoo-hoo how wind did rumble
    Oo-hoo-hoo blowing with alarm
    She, collapsed, sits by the fire
    trying to stay warm…

    (more…)

  • Mordche (Mordechai) Gebirtig

    Hey little lambs come here faster
    I’ll welcome you with a little song
    A shepherd began singing
    and a maiden joined him along

    (more…)

  • H Veber

    On an evening twilight corner
    flames arise with thousand eyes
    and the sky blue and blueness
    the wandering Romani wildness
    the moon

    (more…)

  • Hersh Veber (1904-1943) was born in Jasło (Yaslo). He had a religious upbringing, and later studied mathematics at Kraków University. He published his first poem in 1930, and continued to publish poems in a number of journals and periodicals. During the Nazi occupation he was confined in the Janów ghetto. He was murdered in Drohobycz along with other Jews from neighbouring ghettos.

    (more…)

  • Y L Kohn

    My “shul” is my poor home
    the yard, the streets of the city;
    the streets surrounding were like stone tablets
    like stone tablets marked with blood

    (more…)

  • Miryem (Miriam) Ulinover

    Good night to you my little village
    and a good forever…
    Does a leaf rustle on the tree?
    Or does sorrow sing everywhere?

    (more…)

  • Motl Kozlovski

    Sirens cut the air in two
    a late whore hurries down a side street
    weary bodies wake from here to China
    and homeless streetcars ring in the day

    So how, in what way can I praise you
    sadness lives long in your street miles
    clouds hang gray over your red gates
    from chimneys smoking up the sky

    Seldom a ray sneaks in from somewhere
    people run, rushing as if chasing someone
    pale women – sick birds lurk on side streets
    and days of wrath arrive in convoy

    Łódź you’re called the Polish Manchester
    you brag about your factory streets
    while in your cellars and your attics
    your sons and daughters choke
    with worry and defeat

    (more…)