Lullaby [Itzik Manger - Trans. by Lera Auerbach]

Itzik Manger (1901-1969) was widely considered as a poet with a unique style among his peers. In the 1930s, he moved to Warsaw and later to Paris, escaping Nazi persecution. After the war, he continued to reflect on the destruction of European Jewry during the Holocaust. In his final years, he lived in Israel.

“LULLABY”

Ikh vel dikh nisht ufvekn,
saydn a foygl,
vos veyst, du host goldene oygn.
Er vet zikh shteln af dayn bet:
er hot zikh mit a yuni-nakht farvet
(zi iz sheyn un gayvedik on a shir),
az du bist toyznt mol shener fun ir.

Ikh vel dikh nisht ufvekn,
saydn a vint,
vos vet arayn durkh а shpare geshvind.
Тu epes a vint,
vos vil visn, tsi s’iz shener faran 
fun volkns, shtern un hint.

Ikh vel dikh nisht ufvekn,
saydn a boym,
vos vet royshn tsu shtark in dayn troym.
Der boym iz der eltster boym in vald,
a kayme-lon fun toyznt yor alt.
Tu epes a boym,
vos vil visn, tsi s’iz sheners faran
fun zayn roysh, fun zayn bli, fun zayn troym.

Ikh vel dikh nisht ufvekn,
saydn a regn,
vos vet kumen a groyer fun vegn un shtegn
un klapm in shtub mit di finger.
Der regn is nokh a yunger.
Ersht nekhtn iz er a prints geven,
haynt iz er farkisheft: eyn shmeykhl fun dir — 
un er vert tsurik vos geven.

Ikh vel dikh nisht ufvekn,
saydn a malekh,
vos vet kumen tsu flien fun a mehalekh 
af a vaysn levone-shtral 
un knien ba dayn geleger 
un zingen: “Shvester, shvesterl mayn!
Vos ken nokh shener un shener zayn 
fun dir un fun mir”.

. . . . . .

Sha, ikh vel mit a goldenem rigl 
farriglen di tir.

— “Lullaby” by Itzik Manger

 

“LULLABY”

I will not wake you up.
Perhaps, only a bird,
who knows your golden eyes,
will stand on your bed-post.
The bird had made a bet with June’s Night
(which is beautiful and maddeningly arrogant)
that you are still a thousand times more beautiful.

I will not wake you up.
Perhaps, only the wind
may quickly penetrate the cracks.
What will you do with the wind –
it wants to know if there is anything more beautiful
than clouds, stars, and dogs.

I will not wake you up.
Perhaps, only a tree
will rustle noisily in your dreams.
The tree – most ancient in the forest –
may be a thousand years old.
What will you do with the tree –
it wants to know if there is anything more beautiful
than its noises, its blossoms, its dreams.

I will not wake you up.
Perhaps only the rain,
will come, all gray from its travels.
It will tap on the house with its fingers.
The rain is still young.
Only yesterday it was a prince,
today it is enchanted. Just one of your smiles —
and it will become himself again.

I will not wake you up,
Perhaps only an angel
flying from far away
on a white moonbeam
will kneel at your bedside
and sing: “Sister, my little sister,
what could be more beautiful
than you and I.”

. . . . . .

Hush, with a golden bolt   
I’ll lock the door.

— “Lullaby” by Itzik Manger (Translation by Lera Auerbach)

Comments

[Anne Harding Woodworth]

Lovely translation of a to an infant, showing subtly a parent’s desire to wake the baby up, but reminding himself over and over that he won’t wake her up. He will leave any nudging to outside natural forces, even as he decides to lock the door with one of them.

[Tim Seibles]

A truly lovely and loving poem. I must keep it.

[Dr. Sylva Portoian]

Congrats... Itzik Manger
Very hearty weaved stanzas
Very innocent imaginations
Despite the suffering he had...
I like to read more of his poems
I rarely get affected by English poems
but his soul was different
Innocent Poetic... He wanted to fly ...
Affected me so much ...
That left me to poet in my stile..
Congrats... Itzik Manger

[Emily Fragos]

Excellent translation of a poet I don't know.