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World War II Poems and Holocaust Poems - VI - Chaim Nachman Bialik, Erich Fried After My Death by Chaim Nachman Bialik translation by Michael R. Burch Say this when you eulogize me: Here was a man—now, poof, he's gone! He died before his time. The music of his life suddenly ground to a halt... Such a pity! There was another song in him, somewhere, But now it's lost, forever. What a pity! He had a violin, a living, voluble soul to which he uttered the secrets of his heart, setting its strings vibrating, save the one he kept inviolate. Back and forth his supple fingers danced; one string alone remained mesmerized, yet unheard. Such a pity! All his life the string quivered, quavering silently, yearning for its song, its mate, as a heart saddens before its departure. Despite constant delays it waited daily, mutely beseeching its savior, Love, who lingered, loitered, tarried incessantly and never came. Great is the pain! There was a man—now, poof, he is no more! The music of his life suddenly interrupted. There was another song in him But now it is lost forever. On The Slaughter by Chaim Nachman Bialik translation by Michael R. Burch Merciful heavens, have pity on me! If there is a God approachable by men as yet I have not found him— Pray for me! For my heart is dead, prayers languish upon my tongue, my right hand has lost its strength and my hope has been crushed, undone. How long? Oh, when will this nightmare end? How long? Hangman, traitor, here's my neck— rise up now, and slaughter! Behead me like a dog—your arm controls the axe and the whole world is a scaffold to me though we—the chosen few— were once recipients of the Pacts. Executioner! My blood's a paltry prize— strike my skull and the blood of innocents will rain down upon your pristine uniform again and again, staining your raiment forever. If there is Justice—quick, let her appear! But after I've been blotted out, should she reveal her face, let her false scales be overturned forever and the heavens reek with the stench of her disgrace. You too arrogant men, with your cruel injustice, suckled on blood, unweaned of violence: cursed be the warrior who cries "Avenge!" on a maiden; such vengeance was never contemplated even by Satan. Let innocents' blood drench the abyss! Let innocents' blood seep down into the depths of darkness, eat it away and undermine the rotting foundations of earth. Hear, O Israel! by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch When we were the oppressed, I was one with you, but how can we remain one now that you have become the oppressor? Your desire was to become powerful, like the nations who murdered you; now you have, indeed, become like them. You have outlived those who abused you; so why does their cruelty possess you now? You also commanded your victims: "Remove your shoes!" Like the scapegoat, you drove them into the wilderness, into the great mosque of death with its burning sands. But they would not confess the sin you longed to impute to them: the imprint of their naked feet in the desert sand will outlast the silhouettes of your bombs and tanks. So hear, O Israel… hear the whimpers of your victims echoing your ancient sufferings… "Hear, O Israel!" was written in 1967, after the Six Day War. What It Is by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch It is nonsense says reason. It is what it is says Love. It is a dangerous says discretion. It is terrifying says fear. It is hopeless says insight. It is what it is says Love. It is ludicrous says pride. It is reckless says caution. It is impractical says experience. It is what it is says Love. An Attempt by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch I have attempted while working to think only of my work and not of you, but I am encouraged to have been so unsuccessful. Humorless by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch The boys throw stones at the frogs in jest. The frogs die in earnest. Bulldozers by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch Israel's bulldozers have confirmed their kinship to bulldozers in Beirut where the bodies of massacred Palestinians lie buried under the rubble of their former homes. And it has been reported that in the heart of Israel the Memorial Cemetery for the massacred dead of Deir Yassin has been destroyed by bulldozers... "Not intentional, " it's said, "A slight oversight during construction work." Also the murder of the people of Sabra and Shatila shall become known only as an oversight in the process of building a great Zionist power. Villagers of Deir Yassin were massacred in 1948 by Israeli Jews operating under the command of future Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin. The New York Times reported 254 villagers murdered, most of them women, children and elderly men. Later, the village cemetery was destroyed by Israeli bulldozers as Deir Yassin, like hundreds of other Palestinian villages, was destroyed. Sabra and Shatila in Beirut, Lebanon were Palestinian refugee camps destroyed during Israel's invasion of Lebanon in 1982. It has been estimated that up to 3,500 people were murdered. An International Commission concluded that Israelis were, directly or indirectly, responsible. The Israeli government established the Kahan Commission to investigate the massacre, and found another future Israeli prime minister, Ariel Sharon, personally responsible for allowing militias to enter the camps despite the risk of violence against the refugees. Since 1967 the Israeli Committee Against Home Demolitions has reported more than 24,000 home demolitions: hence the "kinship" of the bulldozers of Israel to those used to destroy Palestinian homes in Lebanon. Keywords/Tags: Chaim Nachman Bialik, World War II, Holocaust, Shoah, genocide, ethnic cleansing, race, racism, antisemitism, evil, brutality, inhumanity, Nazi, Nazis, concentration camps, death camps, war, world, truth, horror, mass murder

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World War Ii Poems and Holocaust Poems - Vi - Chaim Nachman Bialik, Erich Fried

World War II Poems and Holocaust Poems - VI - Chaim Nachman Bialik, Erich Fried After My Death by Chaim Nachman Bialik translation by Michael R. Burch Say this when you eulogize me: Here was a man—now, poof, he's gone! He died before his time. The music of his life suddenly ground to a halt... Such a pity! There was another song in him, somewhere, But now it's lost, forever. What a pity! He had a violin, a living, voluble soul to which he uttered the secrets of his heart, setting its strings vibrating, save the one he kept inviolate. Back and forth his supple fingers danced; one string alone remained mesmerized, yet unheard. Such a pity! All his life the string quivered, quavering silently, yearning for its song, its mate, as a heart saddens before its departure. Despite constant delays it waited daily, mutely beseeching its savior, Love, who lingered, loitered, tarried incessantly and never came. Great is the pain! There was a man—now, poof, he is no more! The music of his life suddenly interrupted. There was another song in him But now it is lost forever. On The Slaughter by Chaim Nachman Bialik translation by Michael R. Burch Merciful heavens, have pity on me! If there is a God approachable by men as yet I have not found him— Pray for me! For my heart is dead, prayers languish upon my tongue, my right hand has lost its strength and my hope has been crushed, undone. How long? Oh, when will this nightmare end? How long? Hangman, traitor, here's my neck— rise up now, and slaughter! Behead me like a dog—your arm controls the axe and the whole world is a scaffold to me though we—the chosen few— were once recipients of the Pacts. Executioner! My blood's a paltry prize— strike my skull and the blood of innocents will rain down upon your pristine uniform again and again, staining your raiment forever. If there is Justice—quick, let her appear! But after I've been blotted out, should she reveal her face, let her false scales be overturned forever and the heavens reek with the stench of her disgrace. You too arrogant men, with your cruel injustice, suckled on blood, unweaned of violence: cursed be the warrior who cries "Avenge!" on a maiden; such vengeance was never contemplated even by Satan. Let innocents' blood drench the abyss! Let innocents' blood seep down into the depths of darkness, eat it away and undermine the rotting foundations of earth. Hear, O Israel! by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch When we were the oppressed, I was one with you, but how can we remain one now that you have become the oppressor? Your desire was to become powerful, like the nations who murdered you; now you have, indeed, become like them. You have outlived those who abused you; so why does their cruelty possess you now? You also commanded your victims: "Remove your shoes!" Like the scapegoat, you drove them into the wilderness, into the great mosque of death with its burning sands. But they would not confess the sin you longed to impute to them: the imprint of their naked feet in the desert sand will outlast the silhouettes of your bombs and tanks. So hear, O Israel… hear the whimpers of your victims echoing your ancient sufferings… "Hear, O Israel!" was written in 1967, after the Six Day War. What It Is by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch It is nonsense says reason. It is what it is says Love. It is a dangerous says discretion. It is terrifying says fear. It is hopeless says insight. It is what it is says Love. It is ludicrous says pride. It is reckless says caution. It is impractical says experience. It is what it is says Love. An Attempt by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch I have attempted while working to think only of my work and not of you, but I am encouraged to have been so unsuccessful. Humorless by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch The boys throw stones at the frogs in jest. The frogs die in earnest. Bulldozers by Erich Fried loose translation by Michael R. Burch Israel's bulldozers have confirmed their kinship to bulldozers in Beirut where the bodies of massacred Palestinians lie buried under the rubble of their former homes. And it has been reported that in the heart of Israel the Memorial Cemetery for the massacred dead of Deir Yassin has been destroyed by bulldozers... "Not intentional, " it's said, "A slight oversight during construction work." Also the murder of the people of Sabra and Shatila shall become known only as an oversight in the process of building a great Zionist power. Villagers of Deir Yassin were massacred in 1948 by Israeli Jews operating under the command of future Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin. The New York Times reported 254 villagers murdered, most of them women, children and elderly men. Later, the village cemetery was destroyed by Israeli bulldozers as Deir Yassin, like hundreds of other Palestinian villages, was destroyed. Sabra and Shatila in Beirut, Lebanon were Palestinian refugee camps destroyed during Israel's invasion of Lebanon in 1982. It has been estimated that up to 3,500 people were murdered. An International Commission concluded that Israelis were, directly or indirectly, responsible. The Israeli government established the Kahan Commission to investigate the massacre, and found another future Israeli prime minister, Ariel Sharon, personally responsible for allowing militias to enter the camps despite the risk of violence against the refugees. Since 1967 the Israeli Committee Against Home Demolitions has reported more than 24,000 home demolitions: hence the "kinship" of the bulldozers of Israel to those used to destroy Palestinian homes in Lebanon. Keywords/Tags: Chaim Nachman Bialik, World War II, Holocaust, Shoah, genocide, ethnic cleansing, race, racism, antisemitism, evil, brutality, inhumanity, Nazi, Nazis, concentration camps, death camps, war, world, truth, horror, mass murder