Writing in Tongues: Translating Yiddish in the Twentieth Century

Appendix B. Twelve Translations of Yankev Glatshteyn’s “A gute nakht, velt”

113 Appendix B Twelve Translations of Yankev Glatshteyn’s “A gute nakht, velt” Joseph Leftwich, The Golden Peacock, 1939 Good night, big world, Great big stinking world. Not you, but I bang the door and break off the latch. With a long gabardine, With a flaming yellow patch, With proud step and mien, At my own command I go Back to the ghetto. All apostate traces I stamp out, obliterate, In your dust and mire I sprawl, Praise, praise, praise, Crippled Jewish life. I bar your unclean cultures, world, I erect against them a wall. Though you are waste and desolate, I make myself dusty with your dust, Miserable Jewish life. Good night, world, you may keep for all it matters to me, My liberators of humanity, My Christs and Marxes and all they would do, Keep the baptized blood they gave to you. I have hope though he delay 114 Appendix B Our redeemer will come one day, And there will be Fresh leaves upon our ancient tree. I want no comforting, no pity, I go back to my own city, From Wagner’s heathen music to my own Biblical chant. Sad Jewish life, I kiss you, I weep with the joy of coming back to you. Moshe Spiegel, Chicago Jewish Forum, 1967 Back to the crooked alleys and the flickering lamp wicks— Good night, great world, Huge, reeking world. It is not you but I Who slam the gate! In pride and of my own free will, In my long gabardine with its blazing yellow badge, I go back to the ghetto. I tread down all apostate traces. I bathe in your dust, O maimed Jewish life. Back to my lighted kerosene and its shadows, Back to the crooked alleys and the flickering lamp wicks, Back to my Scriptures, my tractates of the Holy Law! With my lantern I return once more To the unending pilgrim search for truth and mercy. I retreat with deep-felt joy To the dim light of the ghetto. Good night, world. I leave to you Our mankind liberators; Keep our Christs, and our Marxes, And riot in the baptized blood of their aftermath. Though God still tarries, still I cherish the hope That one day He will show Himself once more; One day, once more, green leaves will rustle Upon the ancient tree. Appendix B 115 I want no condolences; Back to my house of refuge, Back from the pagan Wagnerian thunder, to my single sacred chant I will retrace my steps. O bereaved Jewish life, Bending crippled under your load of sorrow, I weep for the joy of coming back to you . . . Ruth Whitman, Delos, 1968 Good night, wide world, big stinking world. Not you but I slam shut the gate. With a long gabardine, with a fiery yellow patch, with a proud stride, because I want to, I’m going back to the ghetto. Wipe away, stamp out every vestige of conversion. I roll around in your refuse— praise, praise, praise— hunchbacked Jewish life. Damn your soiled culture, world. I wallow in your dust even though it’s forsaken, sad Jewish life. German pig, cut-throat Pole, Rumania, thief, land of drunkards and gluttons. Weak-kneed democracy, with your cold sympathy compresses. Good night, electrified arrogant world. Back to your kerosene, candle shadows, eternal October, minute stars, to my crooked streets, humped lanterns, my sacred pages, my Bible, my Gemorra, to my backbreaking 116 Appendix B studies, to the bright Yiddish prayerbook, to law, profundity, duty, justice,— world, I walk gladly towards quiet ghetto light. Good night. I’ll make you, world, a gift of all my liberators. Take back your Jesus-Marxists, choke on their courage. Croak over a drop of our christianized blood. For I have hope, even if He is delaying, day by day my expectation rises. Green leaves will yet rustle on our sapless tree. I don’t need any consolation. I’m going back to my very beginnings, from Wagner’s pagan music to melody, to humming. I kiss you, disheveled Jewish life, the joy of coming is weeping in me. Whitman, The Selected Poems of Jacob Glatstein, 1972 Good night, wide world, big stinking world. Not you but I slam shut the gate. With a long gabardine, with a fiery yellow patch, with a proud stride, because I want to, I’m going back to the ghetto. Wipe away, stamp out every...