The Full Pomegranate

Poems of Avrom Sutzkever

Avrom Sutzkever, Richard J. Fein

• Publisher: Excelsior Editions
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9781438472508, 9781438472492
• eBook ISBN: 9781438472515
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Middle Eastern Poetry
• Index: Literature

Yiddish writer Avrom Sutzkever (1913–2010) was described by the New York Times as "the greatest poet of the Holocaust." Born in present-day Belarus, Sutzkever spent his childhood as a war refugee in Siberia, returned to Poland to participate in the interwar flourishing of Yiddish culture, was confined to the Vilna ghetto during the Nazi occupation, escaped to join the Jewish partisans, and settled in the new state of Israel after the war. Personal and political, mystical and national, his body of work, including more than two dozen volumes of poetry, several of stories, and a memoir, demonstrated the ways in which Yiddish creativity simultaneously balanced the imperatives of mourning and revival after the Holocaust. In The Full Pomegranate, Richard J. Fein selects and translates some of Sutzkever's best poems covering the full breadth of his career. Fein's translations appear alongside the original Yiddish, while an introduction by Justin Cammy situates Sutzkever in both historical and literary context.

FROM Collected Poems,
VOLUME ONE

(1963)

Siberia

IN THE VILLAGE

1

Sunset on icy blue paths.

Sweet dozing colors in my soul.

A little house shines across from the valley

covered with the snow of sunset.

Wonderwoods swaying on windowpanes,

magic sleighs chiming in a circle.

Cooing of doves in the little attic,

cooing at my face. Under ice,

striped through with dazzling crystals,

the Irtysh quivers, half real.

Under speechless domes

a world blooms—a child of seven years.

סיביר

אין כוטער

א

.זונפֿאַרגאַנג אױף אײַזיק בלאָע װעגן

.זיסע דרעמלפֿאַרבן אין געמיט

ס׳לײַכט פֿון טאָל אַ שטיבעלע אַנטקעגן

.מיט אַ שנײ פֿון זונפֿאַרגאַנג באַשיט

,װוּנדערװעלדער הױדען זיך אױף שױבן

.צויבער־שליטנס קלינגען אין אַ קרײַז

,אױפֿן פּיצל בױדעם װאָרקען טױבן

,װאָרקען אױס מײַן פּנים. אונטער אײַז

דורכגעשטרײַפֿט מיט בליציקע קרישטאָלן

.צאַפּלט דער אירטיש אין האַלבער װאָר

אונטער אױסגעשװיגענע קופּאָלן

.בליט אַ װעלט—אַ קינד פֿון זיבן יאָר

2

In the light-dark snowed-under

village of my childhood in Siberia

blossoms bloom from shadows’ eyes—

countless quicksilver blossoms.

The moon flings its dazzle into

dimmed, extinguished corners.

My father—white as the moon,

the stillness of snow in his hands.

He slices the black bread with the gleaming

merciful knife. His face blues.

And with freshly cut thoughts

I dip my father’s bread in the salt.

ב

אינעם ליכטיק־טונקעלן, פֿאַרשנײטן

,כוטער פֿון מײַן קינדהײט אין סיביר

,בליִען פֿון די שאָטן־אַפּלען—קװײטן

.קװעקזילבערנע קװייטן אָן אַ שיעור

אין די װינקלען אָפּגעלאָשן מאַטע

.בלאָזט אַרײַן לבֿנה איר געבלענד

,ווײַס וױ די לבֿנה איז דער טאַטע

.שטילקײט פֿונעם שנײ—אױף זײַנע הענט

ער צעשנײַדט דאָס שװאַרצע ברױט מיט בלאַנקן

.רחמימדיקן מעסער. ס׳פּנים בלױט

און מיט נײַ צעשניטענע געדאַנקען

.טונק איך אינעם זאַלץ דעם טאַטנס ברױט

3

Knife. Father. Smoky kindling.

Childhood. Child. A shadow takes the violin

down from the wall. And thin-thin-thinner

snowsounds fall upon my head.

Quiet. It’s father playing. And the sounds—

engraved in air, just as a silvery

blue breath in the frost suspended

over the moon-glazed snow.

Through a furry frieze of ice on the pane,

a wolf smells the flesh of music.

Quiet. In our dovecote a pigeon

pecks through an eggshell—peck-peck.

ג

.מעסער. טאַטע. רױכיקע לוטשינע

קינדהײט. קינד. אַ שאָטן נעמט אַראָפּ

ס׳פֿידעלע פֿון װאַנט. און דין־דין־דינע

.שנײענקלאַנגען פֿאַלן אױף מײַן קאָפּ

—שטיל. דאָס שפּילט דער טאַטע. און די קלאַנגען

אױסגראַװירט אין לופֿטן, וױ אין פֿראָסט

זילבערלעך פֿון אָטעם בלאָ צעהאַנגען

.איבער שנײ לבֿנהדיק באַגלאָזט

דורך אַן אײַזיק אָנגעפּעלצטן שײַבל

.שמעקט אַ װאָלף צום פֿלײש פֿון דער מוזיק

שטיל. אין אונדזער טױבנשלאַק אַ טײַבל

.פּיקט זיך פֿון אַן אײעלע, פּיק־פּיק

AT DAWN

The marker-paws some animal

has sown like roses in the snow

were barely gilded from above

when the sun—unknown, new—

cast its spearlike cry.

Below still darkens. Forest roots

grind their teeth deep in the ground.

The dog, hitched to the sled,

vents living steam. The steam meets

glowing chimney smoke and

a human breath rising from the scene—

until a te...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Note on Selection and Arrangement
• Note on Translation
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• From Collected Poems, Volume One (1963)
• From Collected Poems, Volume Two (1963)
• From Square Letters and Magical Signs (1968)
• From Ripe Faces (1970)
• From The Fiddle Rose (1974)
• From Twin Brother (1986)
• From The Heir of Rain (1992)
• From Shaken Walls (1996)
• Sporadic visitant …
• Afterword
• Notes
• Back Cover