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1919, Jacob Glatstein

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Stranger's eyes don't see How in my small room I open a door And begin my nightly stroll among the graves (How much earth -- if you can call it earth -- does it take to bury smoke?) There are valleys and hills and hidden twisted paths, enough to last a whole night's journey. In the dark I see shining towards me faces of epitaphs wailing their song. Graves of the whole vanished Jewish world blossom in my one-man tent. And I pray: Be a father, a mother to me, a sister, a brother, my own children, body-kin, real as pain, from my own blood and skin. be my own dead, let me grasp and take in these destroyed millions.

At dawn I shut the door to my people's house of death. I sit at the table and doze off, humming a tune. The enemy had no dominion over them. Fathers, mothers, children from their cradles ringed around death and overcame him. All the children, astonished, ran to meet the fear of death without tears, like little Jewish bedtime stories. And soon they flickered into flames like small namesakes of God.

Who else, like me, has his own nighttime dead garden? Who is destined for this, as am I? Who has so much dead earth waiting for him, as for me? And when I die who shall inherit my small house of death and that shining gift, an eternal deathday light forever flickering?

— Jacob Glatstein, Nightsong (translated from Yiddish by Ruth Whitman)

#yom hashoah #jacob glatstein #poetry #quotes #i will come back to this every year #because it speaks to me more than any other piece of shoa literature #those are my gardens #those are my dead

Quand je commence le matin à m’assembler Il me manque toujours Quelques petites vis, de la taille D’un éclat de diamant Et j’en ai bien besoin pour m’ajuster. Où suis-je allé hier, sur quels chemins ? Où me suis-je assis ? étendu ? Où suis-je tombé ? Dilapidé sans doute, Peut-être simplement dévoré tout le jour, Oui les hommes sont à eux-mêmes Des cannibales, Ils dévorent leurs propres vis. Tant pis. Je me raccorde en gémissant, Je ne sortirai pas Avant d’être rassemblé. Quoi qu’il arrive à un homme, Il ne faut pas qu’on s’aperçoive Qu’il est adroitement construit. Des failles sont restées béantes, Pour la morsure du remords, le chagrin ou le châtiment, Le froid, la chaleur, les maux. Les gonds qui me supportent Me persifflent Tout au long du jour, A chaque pas, De petites amours dorées, Des douleurs de dix-huit carats, Avec quoi je rassasie pourtant (ou presque) Chaque joie. Les petites douleurs ont leur propre chanson, Dans le tissu serré du quotidien Leur sens est – vie, Et l’on doit bien par la pensée admettre Que chaque petite souffrance Est une offrande.

Jacob Glatstein

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Praying the Sunset Prayer

I'll let you in on a secret about how one should pray the sunset prayer. It's a juicy bit of praying, like strolling on grass, nobody's chasing you, nobody hurries you. You walk toward your Creator with gifts in pure, empty hands. The words are golden their meaning is transparent, it's as though you're saying them for the first time. If you don't catch on that you should feel a little elevated, you're not praying the sunset prayer. The tune is sheer simplicity, you're just lending a helping hand to the sinking day. It's a heavy responsibility. You take a created day and you slip it into the archive of life, where all our lived-out days are lying together. The day is departing with a quiet kiss. It lies open at your feet while you stand saying the blessings. You can't create anything yourself, but you can lead the day to its end and see clearly the smile of its going down. See how whole it all is, not diminished for a second, how you age with the days that keep dawning, how you bring your lived-out day as a gift to eternity.

Jacob Glatstein

(Source: http://suchstuff.blogspot.com/)

#poetry #poem #jacob glatstein #prayer

Old Age by Jacob Glatstein

Thin and see-through, The affections of old age. At length You move precariously, unsure On your limbs as on the earth. Calculating away You are economizing your strength, And sense the sting of every destined day.

You regret having overlooked the view Of so many sunsets in your climb. And flowers, trees and grass Incise their thorny songs in you. You tread life like glass. Shadows get a deeper meaning to your mind. You receive a cool smile like a gift. You grow Stingy with God's flowing bounty of time.

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