The Fires of Broadway
I
The gleaming fires of Broadway, friendlessly the moon hangs behind them, stillness hangs with her upon a tall roof and both look detachedly upon the fiery highway.
I walk dreamily amidst dances of flaming walls, bedazzled by waves of light and faces — and old yearnings, like shadows, fall upon me and carry me away ghostlike, somewhere a-far.
Far far away in my native town the night now reigns in a blue glow; gripped by frost, mute, and golden the moon, so large and full, gazes sadly down on the old synagogue.
In the centre of its court stands the old cold synagogue, enmeshed in a golden dream as in a veil; above — sky-blue, infinite expanse; below — blue snowshine scintillates and dazzles so.
The white remote childhood wafts over me for a time, I feel a joyous, deep, soulful peace; a childlike happiness suddenly befalls me amidst the fire-glamour of Broadway.
II
Silence descends upon my footsteps and accompanies me in the greyness like the night-hour. And gloomily a-weary, I murmur and ask: what was the noise and whither has it all gone?
Perhaps I'm only dreaming of Broadway's turmoil? Perhaps the strange uproar is but an echo? I see myself yet a child, shut in a synagogue, full of vaults and shadowy nooks .
I stray beneath arches all the night long, my every move and sound is multiplied a thousandfold, thousand echoes reach me at the slightest rustle.
How it twitches with action, and yet it is void! How fully it resounds with agitation, and yet there is a heavy silence. How gruesome the day twixt shadowed walls, to stray bedazzled to the evil end.
Is it the morning that is roseate to me in the synagogue windows above? Will the sexton come and open yet the door? I feel like weeping and I am frightened by my voice, lest it resound hollowly a thousand times.
The gleaming fires of Broadway, friendlessly the moon hangs behind them, stillness hangs with her upon a tall roof and both look detachedly upon the fiery highway.
I walk dreamily amidst dances of flaming walls, bedazzled by waves of light and faces — and old yearnings, like shadows, fall upon me and carry me away ghostlike, somewhere a-far.
Far far away in my native town the night now reigns in a blue glow; gripped by frost, mute, and golden the moon, so large and full, gazes sadly down on the old synagogue.
In the centre of its court stands the old cold synagogue, enmeshed in a golden dream as in a veil; above — sky-blue, infinite expanse; below — blue snowshine scintillates and dazzles so.
The white remote childhood wafts over me for a time, I feel a joyous, deep, soulful peace; a childlike happiness suddenly befalls me amidst the fire-glamour of Broadway.
II
Silence descends upon my footsteps and accompanies me in the greyness like the night-hour. And gloomily a-weary, I murmur and ask: what was the noise and whither has it all gone?
Perhaps I'm only dreaming of Broadway's turmoil? Perhaps the strange uproar is but an echo? I see myself yet a child, shut in a synagogue, full of vaults and shadowy nooks .
I stray beneath arches all the night long, my every move and sound is multiplied a thousandfold, thousand echoes reach me at the slightest rustle.
How it twitches with action, and yet it is void! How fully it resounds with agitation, and yet there is a heavy silence. How gruesome the day twixt shadowed walls, to stray bedazzled to the evil end.
Is it the morning that is roseate to me in the synagogue windows above? Will the sexton come and open yet the door? I feel like weeping and I am frightened by my voice, lest it resound hollowly a thousand times.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.