Gedicht
Chaim Nachman Bialik
On a Summer’s Day
When high noon on a summer’s daymakes the sky a fiery furnace
and the heart seeks a quiet corner for dreams,
then come to me, my weary friend.
A shady carob grows in my garden –
green, remote from the city’s crowds –
whose foliage whispers secrets of God.
Good my brother, let’s take refuge.
Pleasure and tenderness let us share
in the sweet hidden prime of noon,
and the mystery golden rays reveal
when sunlight pierces the rich shade.
When the black cold of a winter’s night
bruises you with its icy pinch
and frost sticks knives in your shivering flesh,
then come to me, blessed of God.
My dwelling is modest, lacking splendour,
but warm and bright and open to strangers.
A fire’s in the grate, on the table a candle –
my lost brother, stay and get warm.
When we hear a cry in the howling storm
we will think of the destitute starving outside.
We will weep for them – honest pitiful tears.
Good friend, my brother, let us embrace.
But when autumn approaches with rain and cloud
and the roof leaks and there’s moth in the heart
and the desolate world sinks, sullen, in mire,
then merciful brother, leave me alone.
I would be alone in the barren time
when the heart withers in slow decay.
Unseen. Unknown. No stranger understands.
Let me grieve alone in my silent pain.
© Translation: 1981, Ruth Nevo
From: Chaim Nachman Bialik: The Selected Poems
Publisher: Dvir, Tel Aviv, 1981
From: Chaim Nachman Bialik: The Selected Poems
Publisher: Dvir, Tel Aviv, 1981
ON A SUMMER'S DAY
From: Shirim
Publisher: Dvir, Tel Aviv
Publisher: Dvir, Tel Aviv
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Gedichten van Chaim Nachman Bialik
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ON A SUMMER'S DAY
From: Shirim
On a Summer’s Day
When high noon on a summer’s daymakes the sky a fiery furnace
and the heart seeks a quiet corner for dreams,
then come to me, my weary friend.
A shady carob grows in my garden –
green, remote from the city’s crowds –
whose foliage whispers secrets of God.
Good my brother, let’s take refuge.
Pleasure and tenderness let us share
in the sweet hidden prime of noon,
and the mystery golden rays reveal
when sunlight pierces the rich shade.
When the black cold of a winter’s night
bruises you with its icy pinch
and frost sticks knives in your shivering flesh,
then come to me, blessed of God.
My dwelling is modest, lacking splendour,
but warm and bright and open to strangers.
A fire’s in the grate, on the table a candle –
my lost brother, stay and get warm.
When we hear a cry in the howling storm
we will think of the destitute starving outside.
We will weep for them – honest pitiful tears.
Good friend, my brother, let us embrace.
But when autumn approaches with rain and cloud
and the roof leaks and there’s moth in the heart
and the desolate world sinks, sullen, in mire,
then merciful brother, leave me alone.
I would be alone in the barren time
when the heart withers in slow decay.
Unseen. Unknown. No stranger understands.
Let me grieve alone in my silent pain.
© 1981, Ruth Nevo
From: Chaim Nachman Bialik: The Selected Poems
Publisher: 1981, Dvir, Tel Aviv
From: Chaim Nachman Bialik: The Selected Poems
Publisher: 1981, Dvir, Tel Aviv
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