דאָס ליד איז געבליבן
A Letter from the Shtetl Softly the clock sounds its mournful tick-tock, / in the so still home with its ashen walls … / The sadness is painful, the silence is laden, / the hours drag slowly from one to the next… Read more…
About Simkhe Don Simkhe Don (1904-1942) was likely born in Pułtusk, and published many poems in the period between the two world wars. Very little is known about his life, other than his published poems. He was murdered by the Nazis in either Warsaw or Majdenek. His name in the original collection of The Song Remains – דאָס… Read more…
To the Porter My gaze races after the clock’s hands, / my ear quivers on time’s pulse, / and though this clamorous Warsaw / has swept me far away, / so very far … Read more…
In the Courtyard A summer morning. Five AM, / and so the courtyard awakens. / Things get humming, animated, / off they run to feed the chickens. Read more…
Spring 1942 And lo and behold Spring has indeed arrived – / Hey, sky – be joyful. Be joyful – / you’re fresh, newborn, and lie in a blue golden cradle / rocked by the gentle wind. Read more…
About Simkha-Bunim Shayevitch (Simkhe-Bunim Shayevitsh) Simkha-Bunim Shayevitch (1907-1944) was born in Łęczyca (Lentshits) into a poor religious family that moved to Łódź. He was ordained as a rabbi, but never practiced. He learned to make gloves, and wrote prolifically. His father and mother died shortly after being confined in the Łódź Ghetto. His lost his wife and youngest child when… Read more…
I Listened Closely to my Soul I listened closely to my soul, / and heard, from afar, the song / of men striding with purpose, / their steps ringing on the hard earth. Read more…
About Dovid Kenigsberg Dovid Kenigsberg (1891-1942?) was born in Busk, Galicia, and studied on Brody (Brod) and Czernowitz (Chernivtsi). He worked as a bookkeeper in Lwów (Lvov / Lviv / Lemberg). His first piece was printed in the collection Yungt in 1909, and he published his first poetry collection Lider, an 1912. Read more…
A morning Morning hangs on the windows, blue / and fragrant with lilac and jasmine. / My lips tremble and pay quiet tribute to / everything that is young and green. Read more…
The Little Town A little town full of life’s travail / escorts the procession to the grave; / and a world is roused by a mother’s lamentation: — My Feygele, where are you being taken? Read more…