Ballads of Itzik Manger

...behind her, incognito, comes the old king, and then His Excellency the fool...

...All night long they weave with gnarled fingers, using their own white hair for thread, their dark eyes sparkling with cold fire...

...He bows gracefully and kisses her hand...

...A carriage stands ready...

...As he walks along, leading his goat by a rope, the birds sing, crickets chirp, all of nature seems at prayer...

...You know the end, don't you...

...The Ballad of the Blue Jugs Carrying blue jugs, three white-haired mothers glide toward the well: maybe they'll find their good fortune there, in its deep waters...

...And as he flies the Jew sings: "Where now...

...Poverty and weeping have tricked these old eyes...

...The old town fool grins...

...Up into the clouds he flies, beard and ear-locks whirling with the winds...

...Let's go and bring it home, this red autumn evening...

...Outside the Rabbi's house the grave waits for the happy couple...

...says the old Jew...

...If your God revealed himself to you three times and still you can't see Him— why, then, dog's blood for you, Mr...

...In 1952 he settled in New York City...

...I won't go with you"—but the ring glows deep red...

...A shadow cast by a wanderer crosses the window-pane...

...The fool's cap flames red: "I give my laughter...

...and all four of them dance together for joy: the father and mother, and the grave, and the little daughter (may she live a long life...

...Back to your hovel...

...The peasant throws his head back and whistles again, so loud the fir tree shakes...

...After the rise of Nazism he fled Eastern Europe, spent most of World War II in Paris and London, and then migrated to America...

...The slender Lady in Green glides along the sidewalk...

...Who will weave my bridal veil...

...and opposite them, across the wet roof-tops, crawls an old ugly spider, the dawn...

...Murder and weeping have tricked these old eyes...

...and to my uncle Shya...

...I am the great darkness," he says, "millions of years old...

...three angry masks confront them, mask against mask...

...Debauchery," the Jew mutters...

...cries the grave...

...And all at once the Jew feels himself being carried upward...

...The jugs weep for their weary hands...

...and sinking to his knees, he offers his rusty crown for his life...

...This is my territory and my hour...

...Farewell, my bargain...

...On the church-steps sprawls Vassil, the town fool...

...Weep, my orphan girl," says the grave, "weep, if you want to have a little daughter...

...screams through the night air...

...Dog's blood, Mr...

...Nobody needs you, with your weak legs and white beard...

...The young bride weeps: "My thread has run out...

...Ballad in C Major Late at night, far from town, the old Jew meets a peasant...

...The Ballad of Hannelleh the Orphan Hannelleh the orphan (may she live a long life...

...in the middle...

...A white bird circles overhead: "Your good fortune sleeps in a marble tower, above gilded marble stairs...

...The orphan girl cuts her daughter from her I mother's grave...

...With velvet fingers she closes each mother's eyes...

...Hey there, old man...

...said Shya the chicken-merchant...

...The old Jew stumbles away...

...Regards to my wife Zlotteh (may she live in peace...

...A bargain...

...Come down, my bride," he calls softly, "I've prepared a black marble home for you in the corn-fields...

...Hey there, Mr...

...He also wrote important works in prose— essays and stories, some of them widely anthologized...

...Softly the first mother says, "Our good fortune must be close at hand...

...Get on home...

...And there's the Milky Way, the royal road to the Creator—how can he think of wife or goat now, or of his poor town of Zabeltov, where misery struts like a whore in the marketplace...

...it weeps in a grey hut...

...and a play, Hotz-mach Shpiel, recently performed with great success in Israel...

...If you're one of them respectable godly folks, then watch out, Mr...

...Now I have a name to live after me...

...The moon wanes, the morning-star lights up another blue dawn, and the white-haired mothers vanish like smoke with the night...

...The ballads translated here come from a large collection of Manger's Songs and Ballads (1952...

...They are an attempt to indicate something of Manger's rare gift for blending the modern and the antique, for combining private vision with communal experience, and for using sophisticated techniques to arrive at a purity of tone, a directness of speech and appeal that attests both to the power of the folk traditions he drew on and to his own creative genius...

...They have been on exhibit in Canada, and are now part of the permanent collection of the Jewish Public Library of Montreal, Canada...

...Soon her bridegroom will arrive from the far-off land of Poland...

...I've become a wanderer through space and time, a restlessness between God and man, a melody swinging from the horn of the moon...

...Hours pass, the girl waits—until a dark stranger rides by, carrying a black satchel...

...and off they go, the happy couple with their daughter, trailing the slender thread that ties them to the grave...

...Dry your tears, child...

...Where to, old man...

...Stars dance around him, slender and silvery, a pleasure to behold...

...The white-haired mothers glide pale and frightened, as though in mourning...

...How will it all end, you ask...

...Moment/44 The Ballad of the Jew Who Found a Half-Moon in a Cornfield A Jew leads his goat home to Zabeltov...

...The lady with red umbrella leads the way...

...Again the peasant whistles into the night, so loud and shrill the fir tree trembles...

...A wounded swallow flies toward her from the depths of the corn-field, one of its wings bloodied by a sharp thorn...

...But the jugs tremble in their weary hands...

...Tomorrow her mother will weep—but after all, a mother's tears...

...Three knives flash before them...

...A grey bird flies by: "A wicked step-mother torments your good fortune...

...He beams...

...Suddenly, the Jew stops short...

...Softly the girl sobs: "It won't come off my finger...

...On black horses, a horde of nightriders gallops by...

...Three knives flash sharp...

...So the Jew whirls and flies, and mountains, hills, and valleys fly beneath, quiet villages, hay-cocks, turning wind-mills, hospitals and huts...

...But how long can a celebration last...

...Just walking," says the Jew...

...My name is Hannelleh Havenot, dear sir, your beloved bride...

...the fool's command pierces the night air: "One, two, three—up, up, arise...

...the Lady in Green weeps beside him...

...The jugs tremble in their weary hands...

...November Ballad Midnight...

...Near a chestnut tree he pauses to say his evening prayers...

...Suddenly, "Halt...

...He picks it up, and every bush and tree turns silver-bright, the roadways light up, and beetles, gnats, butterflies flutter toward him...

...The peasant grins...

...Cheerfully the Jew walks homeward, dancing a little now and then, and the goat leaps along behind him...

...Farewell, child, we must leave now...

...Where to...

...The king puts on his red crown, the fool his red cap, and the three continue forward: the lady with red umbrella followed by king and fool, three red crowns in chase, dancing their ghost-dance...

...And in the mirror the young bride sees her face grow white and whiter, like the veil...

...By the light of the morning-star, the bride stands before the mirror...

...Seven old women limp silently into the house, their eyes soft as evening shadows...

...Farewell, father and mother...

...Ballad September night...

...They know only one thing: far, far from here...

...Poverty," the Jew mutters...

...We will weave your bridal veil...

...The lady with red umbrella pleads: "I have a bed, a slender body, and a hot night...

...Debauchery and weeping have tricked these old eyes...

...Only I exist, and the forest, and the wolf-packs swooping down on you...

...Somewhere in the dark woods an owl hoots I » 1 the command for the first dance to begin...

...He died during a visit to Israel in 1969...

...Yid—dog's blood...

...In the evening her mother's grave comes calling...

...Blushing, Hannelleh scrapes the grass-blades from his clothes, brushes the worm from his nose, and then, of course, she curtsies...

...Terrified, the Lady falls to her knees and begs forgiveness for her sins—for the faded cherry tree and the abandoned Spring winds...

...Go on, get home...

...And in the moonlight clouds sail by, like silver ships, and in every ship a naked woman waves, wistfully, as a queen waves when she sails away forever from her native land...

...Who knows, maybe I'll see God somewhere along the road...

...Far beneath, the goat stands and gapes...

...But how can you reason with the winds, when they've decided to catch a Jew on the road, a simple, ordinary Jew, and lead him a merry chase...

...I have invented you, sister, with your black braids and gold shoes...

...Seven tears fall into the mother's grave (you need only seven for a daughter), and in the twinkling of an eye a daughter blossoms— no one has seen her like since the world began...

...A silver horse-shoe flashes in the corn-field...

...But here I stand fast, and stretch my hands to Thee—like two psalms, my God, to Thee...

...they come out together, he in a black top hat, she with a bouquet of white roses...

...she takes his arm...

...Manger was internationally known for his poetry...

...Maybe, who knows...

...he cries...

...Again the clouds sail by like silver ships, and in every ship a child sits, clutching a piece of bread, while "Robbery...

...The lady laughs...

...The peasant grins...

...So what if the sun is setting in the West—it isn't the world that's setting, is it...

...The king trips over a beggar-child asleep on the side-walk, dreaming pyramids of hot corn-bread...

...Adolph Diamond at your service, my love, your destined, well-groomed bridegroom...

...Crime...

...But prayers over, he must hurry: there are still seven miles to go...

...we don't need you any more...

...On the church-steps sprawls Vassil, the town fool, his dirty white beard tousled in the wind...

...The king, pale as death, cries "Betrayal...

...Brother, let's go...

...What else is there to do, when the moon's red and blossoms fall...

...and off they go to the Chief Rabbi—Rabbi Moses, of Star Alley— with the grave hopping behind them...

...the wedding gift lies in the satchel...

...steel knives flash between their teeth...

...the pale girl and the dark stranger ride off together to the train...

...But here I stand, my God, and stretch my hands to Thee...

...Sacvan Bercovitch is Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Columbia University...

...He received many honors and awards, among them the Lamed Prize...

...Slowly the door opens...

...Seven tears fall into the grave (you need only seven for a bridegroom...

...A rare goat, a treasure—he paid seven brand new dollars for it...

...Just walking...

...The illustrations are by Sylvia Ary, a leading Canadian artist...

...Tomorrow night he'll hang himself, his face toward the wind, while the stars twinkle on the roof of his clay hovel...

...They never existed," the town fool laughs...

...The Ballad of the Red Ring On the veranda, a girl with flushed cheeks embroiders a wedding gift...

...village and river, bridge and mill fade behind them, the houses where their cradles stood, the orchard where their love once bloomed under the cherry tree...

...today I was betrothed by a swallow...

...What next...

...The Lady sobs gently, like a flute: "I want to go home, to my village, my people...

...The veil shimmers white as snow upon the table...

...With her shears the orphan girl cuts him from her mother's grave...

...But here I stand fast, my God, stretching my hands to Thee, like two psalms...

...Surely, the dark stranger meant no harm...

...It alights for an instant on the girl's finger, bringing her a red ring of blood, and departs into the night...

...Well, I can tell you this much: the Jew of Zabeltov sends you his best regards, and asks you to keep quiet about this, so that his better half won't find out...

...The seven old women spin and weave, until the yellow lamp-light flickers and a quiver of wings announces the dawn...

...and in the twinkling of an eye a bridegroom blossoms— no one has seen his like since the world began...

...Weep, my orphan child," says the grave, "weep, if you want a bridegroom...

...The callous bridegroom turns and says, "Time to go, mother-in-law...

...Blueness streaks the window-pane, and as the blueness spouts fire, the veil flutters coolly, with dead white wings...

...Says the Jew: "Gentlemen, listen" (talking to the winds), "if I'm really destined for a miracle, if I'm rid of the earth once and for all, then what's the point of all this whirling about...

...And now they arrive at the grave-side, their eyes shining...

...Faster and faster they whirl, until Midnight whispers, "It's time to sleep...

...A black bird perches at the edge of the well: "Your good fortune sleeps in some far-away field, under a tomb-stone...

...The grave blocks their way...

...Or by the light of our grandchildren's golden hair," says the third mother softly...

...Hours pass, her mother calls her to sleep, but the girl sits on the veranda, embroidering the wedding gift, waiting...

...She knows that the cherry tree no longer blooms, and that once, long ago, it was May...

...The peasant throws his head back and whistles into the night...

...And she gives the wedding gift to the stranger...

...and they dance, silent and pale, like princesses who have at last found their way back to their father's castle...

...The second murmurs, "We may find it by the light of the first star of evening .. .," and her kerchief shadows her tears...

...has blond eyes, a long blue braid, and a dead mother...

...No...

...a novel, The Book of Paradise...

...The Ballad of the Bridal Veil Midnight tolls, twelve black strokes...

...If God revealed himself to me three times," he thinks, "in the whore, the child, and the murderer, then it must be the end of the world...

...Murder," the Jew mutters...