Naftul

Перевод Александра Муртазаева.

“Oh sing, Naftul!” they all plead at once,
For him to helplessly shrug.
He barely held out to see this cell,
But here he ran out of luck.
No point in running when death is near
And follows close like a loyal wife,
But they are asking to sing him here
As if his music was life.

Come say Naftul, where’s your booming voice,
How come you ended up here?
The songs you sang at the synagogue
To city’s adoring ear?
Remember how the Aggadah‘s read,
The candles burn, and the satin shines.
And isn’t it sweet, to think of it now
In the year of nineteen thirty-nine?

And so rose Naftul and his cough was gone,
His face like chalk and his beard jet-black.
He sang as clear as he's never sung,
He sang like he did way back.
He heard the bustle of busy squares,
And the voice of his did not quiver once.
He saw his daughters, his daughters fair,
His sons, his wonderful sons.

He saw a brother betray his kin
Without batting an eye,
An execution squad closing in
On a schoolteacher at night?
He saw as clear as the morning sky
What is to come for his blood and land.
The cancer ward and the doctor’s coat,
Canadian passport check stand.

He saw the joyless faraway lands,
My face he saw on the train.
And next to him, barely daring to breathe,
The Solicam prison again.
How desperately they all ask for a song!
One cannot ignore their plea.
And the night did smoke, and the night did beat,
For the morning to never be.