by leyzer volf, translation by jordan finkin ddish studies ... g e ve b : a jou r na l of yi ddi sh...

Evigingo

by Leyzer Volf, translation by Jordan Finkin

In geveb: A Journal of Yiddish Studies (October 2016)

For the online version of this article: [http://ingeveb.org/texts-and-translations/evigingo]


EVIGINGO

Leyzer Volf translated by Jordan Finkin

Introduction: Leyzer Volf (né Mekler; 1910-1943) was a flamboyant and prolific poet, known not only for his energetic performances but also for his parodies, comic spoofs, and satiric edge. A member of Yung Vilne , an important group of Yiddish modernists, Volf was deeply devoted to Jewish cultural engagement with both world culture and the natural world around his beloved city, Vilna.

Though he began publishing his work in 1926, his first book, Evigingo , appeared in 1936; very few copies of the original are extant. Written over three days in November of 1934, this long poem, of some 400 lines, is composed entirely—but for one line—in trochaic tetrameter, and printed in a Romanized orthography apparently of his own devising. (A key to the Romanization appears on the title page verso.) An exoticized grotesque of modernity, this Yiddish Hiawatha of sorts presents the tale of the aged Gutamingo, who travels from his forest primeval through a telescopic view European history in search of a son, the eponymous Evigingo, to care for his legacy. Gutamingo of course never finds the son he has been assured is out there. But this pessimistic vision of Volf’s is occluded by a kind of gothic humor—who cannot but laugh at Baron Pantofl’s (“Sir Slipper”) reduction of all new experiences to their presumed Germanic roots—and enigmatic frustration of straightforward interpretation. That frustration may well be the key to understanding a poem about a man looking for a son he never had.

Volf is a compelling character for the strange uniqueness of his poetic vision, the quirky contradictions of his personality (the nervous introvert with the fierce pen name), and his remarkable creative energy and inventiveness. He once famously attempted to set a literary record by writing more than a thousand poems in a single month. Evigingo itself was written over three days. The mesmerizingly regular rhythm of its trochees is well suited for the poem’s narrative scope, in the tradition of nineteenth-century epics like the Kalevala and The Song of Hiawatha . In order to capture the immediacy and energy of the poem I set myself a wolfish challenge of translating it in the same amount of time it took Volf to write. At times Volf’s impishness or his compressed language (owing to the poetic meter) presented translational challenges. With any luck the improvisational tone of some of my solutions to those challenges, designed to emulate the impromptu character of much of Volf’s poem, will echo with some felicity.

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Evigingo

In the deep and dampest jungles In the swamps of Zhabazkhuko

By the blackest river Chungo In the gentle vale Amiko

Lives the aging Gutamingo Dwells the aged Gutamingo,

Dining on the run-down serpents, Eggs of birds and sightless vermin,

Frogs and fish with eyes green-tinted, Squirrels that fly about the treetops,

Mice who tell each other stories, Apes who sit and curse their elders.

Never any hint of childhood Had the aging Gutamingo.

Born of bogs and marshy swampland Right into his bent-boned dotage,

Looking out through bulging frog’s eyes, Standing on two stilt-like stork’s legs,

Hands like old decrepit serpents Hair like thorns gone stiff and grizzled.

In the water he sleeps standing; When he walks the apes yell, laughing:

“There he goes, that Gutamingo, Aging, clumsy, awkward lunkhead!”

Casting nuts right at his head are All the squirrels, those playful pranksters.

Only elder greying lion Looks at him with admiration,

Aging Gutamingo keens to Him in deepest dimming twilight: “Woe is me, my years declining!

Harder now it is for me to Stride through jungles, sweep through swamplands

Seeking food to pass through teeth that Old age now has caused to crumble.

Harder still to down a stork one Morning and a bear that evening.

Got to cook it on the fire, Roasted meat I ought to render For my son upon the brazier—

Woe is me, for sons I have none! Who will take my bones and cast them

Far into the swamp to let them Soon be made into a nest for

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Tall and leggy storks to grow from? Through the boulders in the valleys

Who will set these eyes to seeing Where the big grey wolves are hidden As they start their nighttime hunting?

Who will plant this hair unruly With the thorns and spiky grasses, Lest a bird should fall by mishap Risking an abrupt impalement? Who will sow my teeth upon the

Hills so they might grow, becoming Lissome, graceful, sweet young saplings—

Brides for all the gentle breezes? Woe is me, for sons I have none! Woe is me, for sons I have none!”

And the elder graying lion Sat for quite some time in silence,

Thumping his great tail and squinting Those two eyes so gold and icy.

Suddenly came his rejoinder In a voice subdued by oldness:

“Walk for thirty nights southeastward Without rest and without water

Then you’ll find the seven hillocks, One is higher than the others. On that hill, upon a boulder,

Sits the owl Onakumis, Seven eyes set in her forehead,

Topped her horn with thirteen fingers. Speak one word to her but slowly,

Very slowly: Evigingo! There you’ll find the cure you’re seeking. Luck be yours, old friend, and courage.”

Aging Gutamingo lingered, Stroked the fleece of that grey lion,

Thanked him well and then departed, Setting forth on foot southeastward

Without rest and without water. Thirty days have passed already

Yet no seven hills are sighted Nor the owl Onakumis.

Hills there are, but more than eighty Crags like teeth some hand had sharpened.

Over all those rocks there wanders Moon, the daughter of the nighttime.

“Moon, oh daughter of the nighttime,” Aging Gutamingo asks her,

“Dearest daughter, can you tell me

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Where to find the seven hillocks Of the owl Onakumis?

I must find her, I must ask her: Evigingo! Evigingo! ”

Moon responds serenely, walking On her little feet so golden,

“Where the winds all number thirteen O’er the barren teeth of fury,

Where love goes to weep unhurried, Near a fig tree by the water

Where the drunken stars all caper, Just that way, through swamp and sorrows,

Yesterday upon a picket Sat the owl Onakumis.

Tell her surely: Evigingo! ” Thanking her the old man parted

Seeking once again the owl. Stones bestrew his path aplenty, Poisoned arrows buzz about him;

Crimson winds and azure boulders Milked by fiends into a basket; Fire splits the ground asunder, Closing up again with thunder.

Gutamingo starts to tire, his Knees like laden ships are lurching.

Forehead to the ground he bows and Then he whispers: Evigingo . . .

Suddenly a burning jungle. Through the falling silver feathers

Of the squat tree’s glowing branches Flies in haste a thin-horned heifer.

“Dearest heifer, goodly goddess, Granting milk to those who hate you,

Tell me where to find the aerie Of the owl Onakumis?

I must find her, I must ask her: Evigingo . . . Evigingo . . . ”

Taking pity on the blind man And his sorry plight the heifer

Gave him milk to drink aplenty From her full and creamy udder. Then she spoke to him serenely,

Making cud of words most grievous: “Seven paths of alabaster

Crisscross eight of gold resplendent, Leading to the palace Bonum

Of the goddess Atenada. Waterfalls make foam as white as

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All the marble of that palace. Apples grow within her orchard

Shining like the moon at harvest. Breasts she has like globes of silver;

When the sun ascends from eastward Brightly shines her hair like honey. Eyes—they are the night and velvet;

Hands—they are two graceful serpents Twining round the form of Eros.

Fall then with your forehead downward By her slender feet, and calmly

Let your plaint come forth unfettered: Evigingo . . . Evigingo . . .

Thanking her the old man parted

On the paths of alabaster. On those paths were sleeping, weary,

Asses hitched to purple wagons, Blood and sweat and full regalia, Cities, temples, columns, idols,

Gold and shame and blood and laughter Jostling in displays disgraceful Rushing to the palace Bonum

Of the goddess Atenada. Though a palace made of marble,

There it stands midst blood and fire. On the cushions in her palace

Lies the comely drunken goddess, Harrowed by some ill affliction

Like a snake some horse has trampled.

Swarthy maidens all surround her, Trembling in tears and terror.

Then the aging man falls prostrate At her feet, that crumbling goddess,

All aquiver he implores her: Evigingo . . . Evigingo . . .

“Evigingo,” says the goddess, Like her dream had found an echo,

“Caverns vast and deep and gloomy, Thorns and suffering of the spirit, Love in pall of blue unbounded, Having neither mind nor body,

Crimson wounds and sable crosses, Cloak of night and hearts afire,

Peaks of houses jut like spearpoints, Doors and windows, slim as fingers, Walled inside the frigid stonework,

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Shut within the rocky marrow, On his feet a chain of iron,

Devil’s pouch his heart containing— Evigingo . . . Evigingo . . .”

Thanking her the old man parted

Once more seeking Evigingo. Roads, now paved, continue onward.

Paths through forest, paths through water, Walking corridors and hallways

Full of books and prayerful friars; Through the sturdy grates he glimpses Pointed spires of towering churches. Ringing bells and moaning beggars, In the square the bonfires burning,

From the flames come hands imploring All the thronging crowds of people Fallen to their knees with passion.

As he walked the old man knew not

Whom to ask nor whom to plead with; Far too frightened were the people

Even to express their terror. Men on horseback, clad in armor,

Thrust their long and sharpened lances, Just in case you speak or question,

Should you wish to gain some knowledge . Servants, horses, slaves, and barons Fill up cities, towns, and hamlets. In the taverns—wine and women,

On the farmlands—blood and scourges. Aging Gutamingo sitting

Once within a little tavern, Weary from the road he puts his Bindle underneath his chair and

Begs a little glass of wine to Warm his stiff and chilly body. Suddenly a man sits down and In his hand he holds a goblet

Full of wine, or is it fire? This suspicious looking giant

Wears a crimson hat with seven Long and slender peacock feathers,

Twinkling like a bright blue fire. Rings he wears upon his fingers,

Studded full with giant gemstones Glinting all the rainbow’s colors;

Sporting narrow grass-green breeches

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Woven through with threads of silver. In his hand—a leather horsewhip,

Bossed with studs both bronze and copper. That he’s drunk is most apparent;

On his lips, both coarse and shameless, Flits about a clammy smile,

Like a frog upon a tree trunk. “Herr Baron von Pan Pantofl!” So he makes his introduction,

Clinks his glass against the tumbler Of astonished Gutamingo.

After noisy draughts he opens, “Tell me what you want—I’ll give it!

Such a splendid mood as I’m in, Unbelievably first-rate, that

Each one of your heart’s desires I will grant this very minute . . .”

Through a haze of stupefaction Aging Gutamingo stammered,

Evigingo . . . Evigingo . . . “Eviginko?” asks the baron,

Lord Pantofl looking doubtful. “What is that? Some kind of creature?

Prehistoric? Or medieval? Evi . . . gingo . . . evig . . . evig . . .

A Germanic word, that’s certain . . . Germanistics! Good! You’ve got it! Let me just write down a message

To my friend Adviser Goethe, To homunculus and Faust.

For official stamps you’ll have to Go and see M’sieur Napoleon,

King of Spain and King of Prussia, Of Katarrha Blindekishke. This dividing up of Europe

Leaves you carved in fourths Helvetic. (Phew! My head has started spinning

Like the earth in solar orbit!) After that last expedition,

In a bottle of Champagne that Got put down and corked in Poland

By some wild, untamed viceroy Over Afric Lithuania,

Kept by Boney in his waistcoat, On the isle of Illhhyena . . .”

There he lies and dozes calmly, Wrapped in chemistry’s rich swaddling,

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As a yawn he lets out smoothly: Evigingo . . . Evigingo . . .

Gutamingo took in hand the

Letter that was meant for Goethe, Setting out upon the paths to Germany and on to Weimar.

But the path is long and slippery As it leads down into valleys.

Long have Goethe’s bones been buried; Karl Marx has now arisen.

As their crimson blouses flutter In the streets the workers struggle.

Peoples steel themselves for war, and Armored ships, and blood, and madness.

Gutamingo is exhausted From his journey, wanting only Respite for his weary bones and

Sleep—a sleep both deaf and ceaseless. Earth cannot permit such slumber When so full of flame and terror.

All the fields bear mounds of corpses, Human flesh engulfing cities.

Earth, defiled, mourns while heaven Weeps through all the bombs and warships.

For a moment things grow brighter: Moscow soars—a free bird flying;

Sweeping five-year plans her pinions, And her tail a massive banner

Moistened with the blood of heroes.

Dredged in dust from roads and trailways Gutamingo comes to Moscow.

Standing in Red Square one evening, Right before the corpse of Lenin, Gutamingo smiles and whispers:

Evigingo . . . Evigingo . . .

“Are you kidding? Are you cursing?” Says the sentry to the old man.

“What’s this mingo ? What’s a shmingo ? This is only Comrade Lenin.

I’m his guard! So get a move on. Go see Comrade Mirograyev,

He’ll explain the whole caboodle . . . Evigingo . . . Shmevigingo . . .”

Thanking him the old man leaves to

8


See Professor Mirograyev. Known to all so all direct him: There upon that jutting hillock Stands a great columnar tower.

Clouds and billows swirl and spiral All around its crimson summit. Found within that lofty tower

There are tables, people, children Made of metal, fur, or wadding. In his fur coat stands Professor

Mirograyev eating moon-plums, Chatting with the planet Mars and

Cracking friendly jokes with Venus. By his ear our earth goes spinning

Round and round around a bobbin. Stars are peeking through the window,

Laughing through their bright refraction.

“How are you, dear Gutamingo? Dear old friend, how are you doing?

How’s your son—if I remember Right his name is Evigingo?

Good, then I will make you younger. Sit, and take a rest a moment.” Then he opens up a cupboard—

Human hearts it holds, still living. “Choose yourself a heart, my dearest,

Choose yourself a heart, choose quickly; Done! And now you will be younger, Fresher, with more vim and vigor, Get you back to work, go quickly, You have just become a worker!

Now you want some wings?—Come off it! What do you need wings for, Comrade?

Have a seat inside this cannon, Light the fuse, you’ll see the heavens!

Here’s the moon, you’re standing on the Sour cream that forms her surface.

Now you’re on the sun that flows with Sticky, sweet, and golden honey.

Dunked down in the wonder-water You’ll become a naked child,

Sprouting little leaf-like winglets. There amongst the stars you’ll flutter,

Then yourself a star becoming. Now just come back down a little

To this simple earth of ours. I will graft new glands inside you,

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Steeped within the vintage Vinum Gummilapumup the febrile. You’ll become a titan hero.

You will cull the earth of peas of Which you’ll make a green-pea porridge.

Just one puff from you will snuff out All the stars and moon together.

Rub your aching shoulder with the Sun just like a mustard plaster.

Darkness will conceal the world, there’s Nothing but your aching shoulder.

Sick of me by now you must be. Let me give you just a sniff of

Smellmeallaroundum talcum— Lo, you will become a granule, From a granule to a powder, From a powder to a zephyr,

From a zephyr to a breath, and From a breath into a sud, and

From a sud into a bubble. All that will be left is lather.

Lather—luster—larynx—nothing. In the nothing you’ll be nothing;

I will gather up the nothing And I’ll make a brand-new nothing,

Earth and water, air and fire, From a bit of tin the moon, and

From a bean a little child. When I’m gloomy I demolish.

When I’m sad I go creating

World and welkin, Girl and gamin,

Gutamingin, Evigingin.

(Vilne, November 2-4, 1934)

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Evigingo

In di fajchte tife dzchungles, af di zumpn zshabazchuko,

baj dem shvarcn vaser tshungo, vos in vejchn tol amiko — lebt der alter gutamingo,

vojnt der alter gutamingo, esn est er alte shlangen, fejgl-ejer, blinde verim,

zshabes, fish mit grine ojgn, veverkes, vos kenen flien,

majzlech, vos dercejln majses, malpes, vos farshtiln zkejnim. nit gehat hot er kejn jugnt —

cajt der alter gutumingo. zumpn hobn im geborn

alterhejt mit krume bejner, zshabes zajnen zajne oign,

bushlen — zajne fis fun fleker, zajne hent — vi alte shlangen, zajne hor — vi groje derner. shtejendik in vaser shloft er, ven er gejt, di malpes lachn: — Oto Gejt er, gutamingo, der cedrejter alter flokn!

un di vevriklech di shtifers varfn nislech im in ponim;

nor der grojer lejb der eltster hot noch farn altn opshaj un der alter gutamingo klogt far im in tifn ovnt: — vej cu majne alte jorn!

shver iz mir shojn umcushprajzn in di dzshunglen, af di zumpn, zuchn szpajz far majne cejner, vos cebreklen zich fun altkajt.

a butshan in dem frimorgn un a jungn ber in ovnt.

ch'darf shojn brenen afn fajer, far majn zun in rojtn fajer

darf ich zajn a shtik gebrotns — vej cu mir, ich hob kajn zun nit!

ver vet majne bejner lekn,

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zej cevarfn in di zumpn, shtorchn zoln nemen shprocn hojch fun majne alte bejner?

ver vet majne ojgn lejgn in di toln arum felzn,

lajchtn zoln zej far groje blinde velf af nacht-gejegn? ver vet majne hor farflancn

cvishn derner, harte grozn — tomer vet a fojgl faln,

zol er nit ceshtochn vern? ver vet majne cejn farzecn af di berglech, vaksn zoln

vajse shlanke zise bejmlech — junge kales far di vintn?

vej cu mir, ich hob kajn zun nit! vej cu mir, ich hob kajn zun nit!

un der grojer lejb der eltster iz gezesn lang, geshvign,

mitn ek geklapt, gezshmuret mit di gele kalte ojgn

un zich pluclung opgerufn mit a kol, fartojbt fun altkajt:

— drajsik necht af dorem-mizrech gej on opru un on vaser,

vestu trefn zibn berglech, ejner hecher fun dem cvejtn;

af a felz fun hechstn bergl zict di sove onakumis, zibn ojgn in ir shtern,

drajcn finger af ir horn. zog cu ir ejn vort pamelech, gor pamelech: evigingo ! —

un du vest geholfn vern. gej mit glik un zorg nit, alter.

hot der alter gutamingo lang geglet dem lejb dem grojen, im gedankt un zich gezegnt, zich gelozt af dorem-mizrech

gejn on opru un on vaser. drajsik necht zajnen avek shojn.

un nito di zibn berglech un di sove onakumis.

berglech zajnen do, nor achcik,

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shpicike, vi sharfe cejner, un af zej gejt um levone,

tochter fun der nacht, levone: — tochter fun der nacht, levone —

zogt der alter gutamingo— efsher vejstu, libe tochter, vu di zibn berglech zajnen

fun der sove onakumis? ch'darf zi hobn, ch'muz zi fregn:

evigingo! evigingo! ruik entfert di levone,

gejendik af gele fislech: — vu di vintn zajnen drajcn

af di hojle cejn fun corn, vu di libe vejnt gelasn,

af a fajgn-bojm bajm vaser, vu di shtern tancn shiker,

glajch un glajch, durch zump un zorgn, ejernechtn af a flokn

zict di sove onakumis, zog ir zicher: evigingo!

dankt der alter un er lozt zich vajter gejn di sove zuchn.

shtejndldik der veg, di fajln zshumen giftik in der luftn.

rojte vintn, bloje felzn melkt der tajvl in a kerbl, s'efnt zich di erd mit fajer

un farmacht zich mit a duner. mid iz gutamingo, s'vign

zich di kni vi shvere shiflech, s'nejgt zich cu der erd zajn shtern

un er flistert: evigingo... pluclung: a farbrenter dzshungl

af di gliendike cvajgn fun a grobn bojm in faln flit a ku mit dine herner in di federn fun zilber.

— libe ku, du gute getin, vos du gist gor milch dajn sojne.

zog mir, efsher vejstu vu di sove onakumis nechtikt?

ch'muz zi hobn, ch'muz ir fregn: evigingo... evngingo...

s'hot di ku gehat rachmones

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afn hartn blindn zokn, un zi hot im milch gegebn

fun ir fuln vajsn ajter, un zi hot gezogt gelasn,

kajendik di shvere verter: zibn vegn fun albaster

krejcn iber acht fun gingold, jogn zich cum palac bonum

fun der getin atenada. un der palac iz fun marmor, vajs vi shojm fun vaserfaln;

in ir sod di shvere epl lajchtn vi levones fule;

ire brist—vi zilber-kojln, ven di zun gejt uf in mizrech,

ire hor fun heln honik, ire ojgn—nacht un samet, ire hent vi carte shlangen arum libesgot farflochtn;

vestu faln afn shtern, nont cu ire klejne fislech

un arojsklogn gelasn: evigingo... evigingo...

dankt der alter un er lozt zich af di vegn fun albaster. mide shlafn af di vegn,

ajngeshpant in purpur-vogns. ejzlen, blut un shwejs un cirung,

shtet un templen; zajln, geter, blut, gelechter, gold un shande, jogn zich noch rum un koved, jogn zich cum palac bonum

fun der getin atenada; un der palac iz fun marmor,

nor in blut un flamen shtejt er, un di palac af di kishns

ligt di shejne getin shiker, fun a krankajt ufgefresn,

vi a shlang fun ferd cetrotn. arum ir di shvarce mejdlech

citern in shrek un trern.

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falt der alter cu di fislech

fun der durchgefojlter getin un er flistert un er bet zich:

evigingo... evigingo ... vi a hemshech fun ir cholem,—

hejln tunkele un lange, derner un neshome — lajdn,

bloje libe on a grenec, on a guf un on a zinen,

clomim shwarce, vundn rojte, mantlen - nacht un hercer-fajer,

hajzer shpicike vi shpizn, tirn, fencter — shmol vi finger —

un in kalter vant farmojert, mitn march cum shtejn geshlosn,

af di fis — a kejt fun ajzn un dos harc in tash fun tajvl —

evigingo... evigingo... dankt der alter un er lozt zich

vajter zuchn evigingon. vegn cien zich geflastert.

vegn —vald un vegn —vaser, un er gejt durch koridorn

ful mit bicher un monachn, durch di harte gratn kukt er af di hojche kloster-shpicn. gleker klingen, betler klogn,

shajterhojfns af di plecer, betndike hent in fajer

un der ojlem in hislaves af di kni aropgebojgn.

gejt der alter un er vejs nit vemen fregn, vemen betn;

ale hobn epes mojre verter afn lip cu brengen.

rajter af di ferd, bapancert, shtechn zich mit lange shpizn, tomer redstu, tomer fregstu,

tomer vilstu epes visn. diner, ferd un knecht, baronen

filn ojs di shtet un derfer. in di shenken — vajn un vajber,

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af di felder — blut un bajtshn. zict der alter gutamingo

ejnmol in a klejnem shejnkl; mid iz er fun weg. di torbe lejgt er unter zich arunter un er bet a glezl rojtvajn oncuvaremen di glider.

pluclung zect zich a parszojn cu cu zajn tishl mit a glezl

ful mit vajn ci gor mit fajer? epes a fardechtik-hojcher,

in a rojtn hut mit zibn pave-federn vi bloje

lange dine flater-flamen; af di finger trogt er ringen ful mit grojse ejdlshtejner

regnbojgndik ceblicte; shmole hojzn trogt er, grine, durchgevebt mit zilber-fedim

un in hant — a bajtsh fun leder, ajngeshmidt in bronz un kuper.

shiker iz er kentik zejer; af di grobe freche lipn

shpringt arum a fajchter shmejchl, vi a zshabe af a bretl.

— her baron fon pan pantofl! — shtelt er for zich farn altn, klapndik zajn gloz on glezl

fun dershtojntn gutamingon, trinkt er hilchik, nacher zogt er:

— vos iz dajn bager — un ch'gib dir ! ch'bin ict in a zojer, zojer

ufgelejgter guter shtimung un dajn jetvider farlang vet

momental farvirklecht vern ... shtamlt gutamingo shojn vi durch a nepl fun fargesung:

evigingo... evigingo... — eviginko? — fregt er iber

der parshojn baron pantofl — vos iz dos?.. aza min chaje? prehistorje? ... mitlelter?... evi ...gingo... evig... evig...

a germanish vort... ich vejs shojn... germanistik!.. gut! bakumst es!

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ch'vel dir onshrajbn a brivl cu majn frajnt gehejmrat gete,

homunkulus un her faust. noch a shtempl vestu gejn cum msje napoleon fun frankrajch,

kinig iber prajsn, shpanje un katara blindekishke; di cetejlung fun ejrope

vet dich fertlen in shvejcarje, (fu! es drejt zich mir in kop shojn

vi di erd arum der zun shojn!) noch der lecter ekspedicje, in a fleshl fun shampanjer,

fest farkorkevet in pojln fun a vildn vicekenig

iber afrikaner lite, baj napoleon in vestl,

afn indzl krankechjene — ligt er un er drimlt ruik

in di vikelech fun a chemje — af a shlitn fun a genec —

evigingo... evigingo... gutamingo hot genumen

s'brivl cum gehejmrat gete un gelozt zich af di vegn

kajn germanje un kajn vajmar, nor der veg iz lang un glitshik

un er firt arop in toln. gete iz shojn lang geshtorbn, karl marks iz shojn gekumen,

arbeter in rojte bluzes flatern in kamf af gasn.

felker grejtn cu milchome, pancer-shifn, tojt, shigoen.

gutamingo iz farmatert shojn fun langn gang, er vil shojn,

ojscien di kalte bejner, shlafn, shlofn tojb un ejbik.

nor di erd — zi lozt nit shlofn, ful iz zi mit grojl un fajer. mejsimberg af ale felder,

shtet in mentshnflejsh farzunken. s'klogt di erd geshendt, der himl vejnt mit bombes un mit shifn. ejn sekund nor vert es heler —

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moskve flit — a frajer fojgl, fliglen — brejte finf-jor-plener

un der ek — a shvere fone, ajngenect in blut fun heldn.

mitn shtojb fun tojznt vegn

kumt kajn moskve gutamingo. afn rojtn plac in ovnt

shtejt er farn tojtn lenin un er shmejchlt un er flistert:

evigingo ...evigingo...

— vos-zshe redstu? vos-szhe sheltstu — zogt der vach-soldat cum altn — voser mingo? velcher shmingo?

do iz nor der chaver lenin un ich hot im! trog zich vajter.

gej cum chaver mirograjev, er vet dir shojn alc derklern...

evigingo... shmevigingo... dankt der alter un er lozt zich

cum profesor mirograjev. ale vejsn un me vajzt im: dortn afn hojchn bergl

shtejt a zajl, a riz, a turem; arum rojtn kop fun turem

drejen zich arum di volkns. inevejnik in dem turem

gejen tishn, mentshn, kinder fun metak, fun pelc un vate.

der profesor in a pelcl est a flojm fun der levone,

redt zich mitn mars un viclt zich mit der planet venere.

af a shpulik baj zajn ojer drejt zich undzer erd arumet,

shtern kukn in di fencter, shitn zich un lachn lichtik.

— a vos machstu, gutamingo ?

alt-getrajer frajnd, vos machstu? un vos macht dajn zun der liber

mitn nomen evigingo? gut, ich vel dich machn jinger.

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zec zich, ru zich op a rege — un er efnt uf a kastn

ful mit lebedike hercer: klajb zich ojs a harc, majn liber, klajb zich ojs a harc, nu gicher;

fartik! icter verstu jinger, kreftiker, gezinter, frisher,

shtel zich cu der arbet, flinker, bist an arbeter gevorn!

icter vilstu fliglen? — bite! nor vos darfstu, chaver, fligen?

zec zich in harmat, ich gib a shos — du flist cu al di heln !

ot bistu af der levone, smetene iz do der bodn,

un ot bistu af der zun shojn, zis iz zi un gel vi honik.

ch'tunk dich op in vundervaser — un a kind bistu a nakets,

klejne fligelech vi bletlech — un du flaterst cvishn shtern biz du verst alejn a shtern.

icter kum curik arunter af der proster erd a bisl.

ch'flanc dir ajn di frishe drizn, ufgehodevet in vinum

gumileklirum kadachas un du verst a riz, a giber,

du cerajbst di erd af arbes un du kochst an arbet-kashe, un du gist a bloz — farleshn

zich di shtern, di levone; mit der zun vi mit a zeneft.

rajbstu ajn dajn kranke plejce. fincter vert in ale rojmen,

gornisht, nor dajn kranke plejce. un du bist mir shojn deresn,

nem ich un ich gib dir shmekn shmekmir um etumarumet —

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un es vert fun dir a grajpl un fun grajpl vert a pulver

un fun vintl vert a vintl un fun vintl vert an otem un fun otem vert a blezl un fun blezl vert a burbl.

un fun burbl blajbt a shojml , shojml—shimer—gorgl—gornisht, gornisht verstu in dem gornisht; nem ich gornisht uf mit gornisht un ich mach a najem gornisht,

erd un vaser, zun un fajer, a levone fun a blechl un a jingl fun a bebl.

vert mir umetik — cemach ich, vert mir trojerik — bashaf ich

erd un himl, mejdl—jingl, gutamingl, evigingl.

2—4 november 1934

Vilne

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by leyzer volf, translation by jordan finkin ddish studies ... g e ve b : a jou r na l of yi ddi sh...

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