Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Song of a Jewish Poet in 1943 lyrics

Am I then the last poet singing in Europe? Am I making song now for corpses and crows? I'm drowning in fire, in gunk, in the swamps, Imprisoned by yellow patched hours as they close. I bite at my hours with the teeth of a beast By a mother's tear strengthened. Through teardrops I see The heart of a million rise forth from the bones Of long-buried brothers in gallop toward me. And I am that heart of a million, one chosen To guard the songs they left behind as they fell, And God, whose estates Man has put to the torch, Goes hidden in me as the sun in a well. Be open, my heart! Know that your hallowed hours Shall bloom in posterity's mind. Check their fear, And lend all your strength unto their mighty will. Become in your sorrow their herald, their seer. Make song from down under, make song from the swamps As long as a mother's tear lives, let the breeze Bear your voice to the ear of your bone-buried brethren To the ghetto in flames, to your folk overseas.