דאָרט בײַם ברעג פֿון װעלדל
Shmerke Katsherginski [Shmerke Kaczerginski] / שמערקע קאַטשערגינסקיLingua: Yiddish
![Shmerke Katsherginski [Shmerke Kaczerginski] / שמערקע קאַטשערגינסקי](img/art/t2811202.jpg?1622926367 "Shmerke Katsherginski [Shmerke Kaczerginski] / שמערקע קאַטשערגינסקי")
דאָרט בײַם ברעג פֿון װעלדל
שטײט אַן אַלטער בױם.
שעפּטשען זײַנע בלעטער,
אַז מען הערט זײ קױם.
שעפּטשען און דערצײלן
װי עס שטאַרבט אַ העלד,
װען עס פֿאַלן קױלן
איבער װאַלד און פֿעלד.
דאָרט לעבן בױם פֿון װעלדל,
ליגט אַ פּאַרטיזאַן.
בלעטער אים פֿאַרשטעלן,
ס'איז אַ קראַנץ פֿאַראַן.
ליגט ער, הערט ניט, זעט ניט,
דוכט זיך שלאָפֿט אַצינד,
װיגט דער װינט אַ װערבע,
טוליׅעט װי אַ קינד.
איבער אים, געבױגן,
זײַן אַלטע מוטער װײנט,
לײד אין אירע אױגן
און דאָס האַרץ פֿאַרשטײנט:
“איך האָב דיך געבױרן,
זיך מיט דיר געפֿרײט,
איצטאיז אַלץ פֿאַרלױרן,
ס'קבר דײַנס איז גשײט.
קוק אױס מײַנע טרערן,
פֿיל װי ס'האַרץ טוט װײ,
כ'װעל שױן קײן מאָל הערן,
דיך ניט זען, אָ װײ!
האָסט געהאָט אַ טאַטן,
אױך געװען אַ העלד,
האָבן שטיל אים בלעטער
אױך פֿאַרװיגט אךן פֿעלד.
שטײט אַן אַלטער בױם.
שעפּטשען זײַנע בלעטער,
אַז מען הערט זײ קױם.
שעפּטשען און דערצײלן
װי עס שטאַרבט אַ העלד,
װען עס פֿאַלן קױלן
איבער װאַלד און פֿעלד.
דאָרט לעבן בױם פֿון װעלדל,
ליגט אַ פּאַרטיזאַן.
בלעטער אים פֿאַרשטעלן,
ס'איז אַ קראַנץ פֿאַראַן.
ליגט ער, הערט ניט, זעט ניט,
דוכט זיך שלאָפֿט אַצינד,
װיגט דער װינט אַ װערבע,
טוליׅעט װי אַ קינד.
איבער אים, געבױגן,
זײַן אַלטע מוטער װײנט,
לײד אין אירע אױגן
און דאָס האַרץ פֿאַרשטײנט:
“איך האָב דיך געבױרן,
זיך מיט דיר געפֿרײט,
איצטאיז אַלץ פֿאַרלױרן,
ס'קבר דײַנס איז גשײט.
קוק אױס מײַנע טרערן,
פֿיל װי ס'האַרץ טוט װײ,
כ'װעל שױן קײן מאָל הערן,
דיך ניט זען, אָ װײ!
האָסט געהאָט אַ טאַטן,
אױך געװען אַ העלד,
האָבן שטיל אים בלעטער
אױך פֿאַרװיגט אךן פֿעלד.
inviata da Bartleby + CCG/AWS Staff - 7/3/2011 - 11:51
Lingua: Yiddish
La trascrizione del testo in caratteri latini:
DORT BAYM BREG FUN VELDL
Dort baym breg fun veldl,
Shteyt an alter boym.
Sheptshen zayne bleter,
Az men hert zey koym.
Sheptshen un dertseyln
Vi es shtarbt a held,
Ven es faln koyln
Iber vald un feld.
Dort lebn boym fun veldl,
Ligt a partizan.
Bleter im farshteln, –
S'iz a krants faran.
Ligt er, hert nit, zet nit,
Dukht zikh shloft atsind, –
Vigt der vint a verbe,
Tulyet vi a kind.
Iber im, geboygn,
Zayn alte muter veynt,
Leyd in ire oygn
Un dos harts farshteynt:
"Ikh hob dikh geboyrn,
Zikh mit dir gefreyt,
Itst iz alts farloyrn,
S'keyver dayns iz greyt.
Kuk oys mayne trern,
Fil vi s'harts tut vey,
Kh'vel shoyn keyn mol hern,
Dikh nit zen, o vey!
Host gehat a tatn,
Oykh geven a held,
Hobn shtil im bleter
Oykh farvigt in feld."
Dort baym breg fun veldl,
Shteyt an alter boym.
Sheptshen zayne bleter,
Az men hert zey koym.
Sheptshen un dertseyln
Vi es shtarbt a held,
Ven es faln koyln
Iber vald un feld.
Dort lebn boym fun veldl,
Ligt a partizan.
Bleter im farshteln, –
S'iz a krants faran.
Ligt er, hert nit, zet nit,
Dukht zikh shloft atsind, –
Vigt der vint a verbe,
Tulyet vi a kind.
Iber im, geboygn,
Zayn alte muter veynt,
Leyd in ire oygn
Un dos harts farshteynt:
"Ikh hob dikh geboyrn,
Zikh mit dir gefreyt,
Itst iz alts farloyrn,
S'keyver dayns iz greyt.
Kuk oys mayne trern,
Fil vi s'harts tut vey,
Kh'vel shoyn keyn mol hern,
Dikh nit zen, o vey!
Host gehat a tatn,
Oykh geven a held,
Hobn shtil im bleter
Oykh farvigt in feld."
inviata da CCG/AWS Staff - 26/4/2013 - 23:17
Lingua: Inglese
Traduzione inglese dal programma 2007 delle celebrazioni del Yom Hashoah presso la Duke University di Durham, North Carolina.
AT THE EDGE OF THE FOREST
There, at the edge of the forest,
Stands an ancient tree.
Softly its leaves whisper –
They are scarcely heard.
They whisper, and they tell
Of a hero, how he died,
When bullets rained down on him
Over wood and field.
There, by the tree in the forest,
Lies a partisan,
Covered by its fallen leaves,
Like a wreath upon.
He lies there, does not see or hear,
He seems to be asleep;
A breeze blows through a willow,
Clinging like a child.
Bending over, by his side,
His aged mother weeps,
Her old eyes are filled with pain,
Her heart is dead with grief:
"It was I who gave you birth,
With you I rejoiced,
But everything is lost now,
For your grave awaits.
Look, my tears are flowing,
Feel my aching heart,
Never will I hear your voice,
Or see you more, alas!
Once you had a father,
He was a hero, too,
Now, blowing leaves will rock you both,
In the silent field."
There, at the edge of the forest,
Stands an ancient tree.
Softly its leaves whisper –
They are scarcely heard.
They whisper, and they tell
Of a hero, how he died,
When bullets rained down on him
Over wood and field.
There, by the tree in the forest,
Lies a partisan,
Covered by its fallen leaves,
Like a wreath upon.
He lies there, does not see or hear,
He seems to be asleep;
A breeze blows through a willow,
Clinging like a child.
Bending over, by his side,
His aged mother weeps,
Her old eyes are filled with pain,
Her heart is dead with grief:
"It was I who gave you birth,
With you I rejoiced,
But everything is lost now,
For your grave awaits.
Look, my tears are flowing,
Feel my aching heart,
Never will I hear your voice,
Or see you more, alas!
Once you had a father,
He was a hero, too,
Now, blowing leaves will rock you both,
In the silent field."
inviata da Bartleby - 7/3/2011 - 11:52
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Testo di Petr Mamaichuk
Musica di Leonid Shokhin
La canzone originale in russo – di cui non so trovare il testo - fu probabilmente scritta durante l’assedio di Leningrado, quando Shokhin ed il poeta Mamaichuk si incontrarono in un ospedale militare.
Shmerke Kaczerginski la traspose in yiddish nel 1943, dopo essersi unito ai partigiani sovietici.
Nel cd “Rise up and fight! Songs of Jewish Partisans” (1996)
Testo trovato sul programma 2007 delle celebrazioni del Yom Hashoah presso la Duke University di Durham, North Carolina.
Una canzone che Kaczerginski imparò da un partigiano sovietico, tal Vanya, la tradusse in yiddish e così divenne uno dei brani più amati e cantati anche dai partigiani ebrei che, dopo la fallita insurrezione del ghetto di Vilnius del 1943, erano fuggiti dalla città per riunirsi chi coi polacchi chi con i sovietici, le cui forze congiunte liberarono la città del 1944:
“Strana e meravigliosa è l’immagine che ho davanti: vedo eroi resi duri come querce dalla vita nella foresta, uomini forti che non batterono ciglio quando venne il momento di uccidere, fare a pezzi, distruggere. E qui nella penombra, diventano sentimentali come donne, e riversano i loro sentimenti d’amore e di desiderio in canzoni che loro stessi hanno creato o rimodellato da melodie pre-guerra. Vanya cantava con più passione di tutti gli altri, anche se altre voci erano più belle. Da lui ho imparato una canzone che ora canto tutto il tempo. L’ho anche tradotta, con lievi modifiche, in yiddish. Ora anche gli altri compagni la cantano sempre.”
(Shmerke Kaczerginski, da “Ikh bin geven a partizan”, 1952)