און דער, וואָס דאַרף קומען
And he who must come
Work 116 of 440
Page 131. 'Blind Fogs' conclusion: He who must come with riders has long already arrived through blind fogs — perhaps death, perhaps the Messiah unrecognized. Tear your eyes open, fly on roads of blind fogs. 'The Weeping of All Houses' (Dos Geveyn fun Ale Hayzer): A poem of unbearable grief. Crossing the threshold, the unspoken, unlamented, incomprehensible weeping of husband and wife throws itself on the speaker — the weeping of all houses. As if he were the only one who can quiet mourning, reconcile enmity, call back death. A thousand hands pulled him door to door, begging: come in. Now he stands in the hall and bows — but perhaps he imagined someone weeping? The couple are different today: he in dark brown suit, she wrapped in green shawl. They should have stood up for a guest, but they do not move.
און דער, וואָס דאַרף קומען
מיט רײַטער, געשפּאַנען —
איז לאַנג שוין געקומען
דורך בלינדע טומאַנען.
פֿאַררײַס דײַנע אויגן,
פֿאַרגיכער די שפּאַנען.
און פֿלי אויף די וועגן
פֿון בלינדע טומאַנען.
דאָס געוויין פֿון אַלע הײַזער
גלײַך — אַריבערטרעטנדיק די שוועל —
אַ וואָרף געטאָן האָט זיך אויף מיר דורך אַלע צימערן
דאָס נישט אַרויסגעזאָגטע, נישט אַרויסגעקלאָגטע,
נישט פֿאַרשטענדלעכע געוויין פֿון מאַן און ווײַב —
דאָס געוויין פֿון אַלע הײַזער.
אַזוי ווי איך וואָלט זײַן דער איינציקער געשאַפֿטער,
וואָס קאָן
באַוויינעס אײַנשטילן,
פֿײַנטשאַפֿט איבערבעטן,
טויט צוריקרופֿן.
טויזנט הענט אַרומגעקלאַמערט האָבן מיך,
געצויגן מיך פֿון טיר צו טיר,
געבעטן: קום אַרײַן, קום אַרײַן.
און איצט — איך בין שוין אַן אַרײַנגעקומענער;
איך שטיי שוין אינעם זאַל און נייג זיך. —
(זאָל זיך מיר געווען נאָר אויסגעדאַכט,
אַז עמעצער האָט דאָ געוויינט?)
ביידע — ער און זי,
מאַן און ווײַב —
זײַנען זיי הײַנט אַנדערע ווי נעכטן:
ער — אין טונקל־ברוינעם אַנצוג,
זי — אַן אײַנגעוויקלטע אין גרינער שאַל.
דאַרפֿן האָבן זיי באַדאַרפֿט זיך אויפֿשטעלן,
ווי עס פֿירט זיך, אַז עס קומט אַרײַן אַ גאַסט,
אַז עס קומט אַרײַן אַ גאַסט און נייגט זיך — —
Un der, vos darf kumen
mit rayter, geshpanen —
iz lang shoyn gekumen
durkh blinde tumanen.
Farrays dayne oygn,
fargikher di shpanen.
Un fli oyf di vegn
fun blinde tumanen.
Dos Geveyn fun Ale Hayzer
Glaykh — aribertetndik di shvel —
a vorf geton hot zikh oyf mir durkh ale tsimern
dos nisht aroysgezоgte, nisht aroysgeklоgte,
nisht farshtendlekhe geveyn fun man un vayb —
dos geveyn fun ale hayzer.
Azoy vi ikh volt zayn der eyntsiker geshafter,
vos kon
baveynes aynshtiln,
fayntshaft iberbеtn,
toyt tsurikrufn.
Toyznt hent arumgeklamert hobn mikh,
getsoygn mikh fun tir tsu tir,
gebetn: kum arayn, kum arayn.
Un itst — ikh bin shoyn an arayngekumener;
ikh shtey shoyn inem zal un neyg zikh. —
(Zol zikh mir geven nor oysgedakht,
az emetser hot do geveyt?)
Beyde — er un zi,
man un vayb —
zaynen zey haynt andere vi nekhtn:
er — in tunkl-broynem antsug,
zi — an ayngeviklte in griner shal.
Darfn hobn zey badarft zikh oyfshteln,
vi es firt zikh, az es kumt arayn a gast,
az es kumt arayn a gast un neygt zikh — —
And he who must come
with riders, harnessed —
has long already come
through blind fogs.
Tear open your eyes,
quicken your steps.
And fly on the roads
of blind fogs.
The Weeping of All Houses
Just — crossing the threshold —
thrown upon me through all the rooms
the unspoken, the unlamented,
the incomprehensible weeping of husband and wife —
the weeping of all houses.
As if I were the only one created
who can
quiet mourning,
reconcile enmity,
call back death.
A thousand hands clasped around me,
pulled me from door to door,
begged: come in, come in.
And now — I am already one who has entered;
I stand already in the hall and bow. —
(Could I have only imagined
that someone here was weeping?)
Both — he and she,
husband and wife —
today they are different from yesterday:
he — in a dark brown suit,
she — wrapped in a green shawl.
They should have stood up,
as is customary when a guest enters,
when a guest enters and bows — —
Page 131. 'Blind Fogs' conclusion: He who must come with riders has long already arrived through blind fogs — perhaps death, perhaps the Messiah unrecognized. Tear your eyes open, fly on roads of blind fogs. 'The Weeping of All Houses' (Dos Geveyn fun Ale Hayzer): A poem of unbearable grief. Crossing the threshold, the unspoken, unlamented, incomprehensible weeping of husband and wife throws itself on the speaker — the weeping of all houses. As if he were the only one who can quiet mourning, reconcile enmity, call back death. A thousand hands pulled him door to door, begging: come in. Now he stands in the hall and bows — but perhaps he imagined someone weeping? The couple are different today: he in dark brown suit, she wrapped in green shawl. They should have stood up for a guest, but they do not move.
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