This poem, written just before the Vilnius ghetto was established, is a call to resistance in the face of Nazi persecution. The theme of Jewish revolt is one that would for obvious reasons permeate a good deal of Sutzkever's work from the 40s. There is much about this piece, as a Yiddish poem, as a Jewish poem, that could be said in explication. It takes a quasi-biblical and prophetic tone throughout. Its multi-textured allusions subvert pious tradition and supplant it with ideals of secular Jewish resistance in this world. Even the word ×’×Ö·× ×’ "way, course, manner of walking" seems loaded in context. I could probably fill several pages with detailed commentary. Maybe sometime I will actually do just that. (Poems like this are why The Modern Yiddish Poem Itself is a book that desperately needs to be written. Presumably by somebody whose knowledge of the language and literature is not so uneven, gap-strewn and idiosyncratic as my own.)Liberties in translation? Yes, I took them, as I often do on days when I have more sense in me. No, that "sword" in line 4 has no precise warrant (so much as generalized inspiration) in the original. I did what seemed to work for the text in English. (I'm still wondering if I ought to have rendered the first line as "The heart's voice said: thou shalt believe...")A Voice From The HeartBy Abraham Sutzkever
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
A voice said from the heart: believeIn the already debased wordJustice! The lion's heir must heaveAgainst enslavement with the sword.
There is a way. Its destinationIs memory's wild primeval wood. But there's a germ that spreads contagion Of a millennium in your food.
You'd have your suffering make sense? Make of yourself the things it tells.Hear as grandfathers waken sonsAs stormblades in the bronze of bells.
There is a way: rise, stride. Wayfarer!Strike down the stumbling stones and live. Death will forgive you any error.Slavishness it cannot forgive.
- Vilna, July 1941
The Original:
×Ö· ×©×˜×™× ×¤Ö¿×•×Ÿ ×”×ַרץ
××‘Ö¿×¨×”× ×¡×•×¦×§×¢×•×•×¢×¨
×Ö· ×©×˜×™× ×¤Ö¿×•×Ÿ ×”×ַרץ ב×ַפֿעלט מיר: גלייב
×ין שוין פֿ×ַרשוועכטן וו×ָרט גערעכטש×ַפֿט
דער ווײַטער יורש פֿון ×Ö· לייב
מוז ×•×•×™×“×¢×¨×©×¤Ö¼×¢× ×™×§×Ÿ זײַן ×§× ×¢×›×˜×©×ַפֿט
ס׳××™×– ד×Ö¸ ×Ö· ×’×Ö·× ×’. עס ליגט זײַן ציל
×ין ווילדן ×ורוו×ַלד פֿון זכּרון.
ס׳××™×– ×ויך פֿ×ַר×ַן ×Ö·×–×Ö· ב×ַצילֹ,
וו×ָס טר×ָגט ×“×¢× ×¡× ×¤Ö¿×•×Ÿ ×˜×•×™×–× ×˜ ×™×ָרן.
×ון זוכסטו פֿ×ַר דײַן פּײַן ×Ö· זין–
פֿ×ַרוו×Ö·× ×“×œ זיך ×ין ×יר ×Ö·× ×˜×¤Ö¼×œ×¢×§×¢×¨,
×ון הער ווי זיידעס וועקן זין
ווי שטורעמהעק ×ין בר×Ö¸× ×“×– פֿון גלעקער.
ס׳××™×– ד×Ö¸ ×Ö· ×’×Ö·× ×’. ××™×– קלעטער, שפרײַז,
קויף ×ויס ×“×¢× ×“×•×¨×•×ªÖ¿×“×™×§×Ÿ שטרויכל.
דער טויט ××™×– מוחל יעדער גרײַז,
× ×ָר זײַן ×Ö· ×§× ×¢×›×˜ ××™×– ער × ×™×˜ מוחל.
×•×•×™×œ× ×¢, יולי 1941
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