The Flight of the Albatross: The Art of the Albatros, Issue III

Here’s the third of my three posts showing the cover art and interior illustrations of Albatros.  This third issue, a double issue comprising numbers 3 and 4, was published in Berlin in 1923. 

Here’s Foldari Books’ 2018 catalog description of this combined issue:

“The cover of the last issue (no. 3/4) was created by Henryk Berlewi, the front with a modernist typographic design, the rear with a linocut figure placed in the center.  These numbers contain the most illustrations, many were printed on special paper and mounted onto the pages, among them the reproductions of Joseph Chaikov’s sculptures, and Issachar Ber Ryback’s painting.  It contains a full page and a smaller sized linocut by Berlewi, and other illustrations by Szwarc, Leib Lozowik (Louis Lozowick), Yossef Abu HaGlili and Sterling (?).”

My photograph of the first page in the 1978 Jerusalem reprint…

…and the issue’s first page, from Foldari.  Immediately obvious is the original’s use of red-tinted paper.  Not so in the Jerusalem reprint.

Here’s page two of Foldari’s original copy, showing a painting by Leyb Lozovik (Louis Lozowick) entitled “Space” or “Red Circle”, in the form of a photographic print attached to the page.

However, there’s some confusion going on here!  In the 1978 reprint, in which – at least, in comparison with the Foldari original above – the photograph (evident by the location of the caption and artist’s signature) has been printed upside down.  (Oops.)  

You can view an image of the original painting at the Vilcek Foundation, which describes the painting as “oil on canvas board”, of dimensions 18″ x 15″, with an incorrect creation date of 1924.  Here’s the painting as it appeared in 2018 at the website of Jonathan Boos.  (No longer there in 2024!)   

The Roosevelt Island Historical Society provides the following information about Lozovik: “Louis Lozowick was born in 1892 in Ludvinovka, Ukraine, then part of the Russian empire.  Lozowick’s interest in art began in 1903 when he enrolled in the Kiev Art School.  This early education was a formative experience for Lozowick; he would spend the rest of his career pursuing art studies.

Seeking greater civil and economic liberties, Lozowick followed his brother to New York in 1906.  Lozowick arrived at Ellis Island alone, and was stunned by the modern developments of the growing metropolis.  New York was unlike anything he had seen during his rural upbringing in Russia, with the vertical architecture and industrialized economy.  From 1912 to 1915, Lozowick attended the prestigious National Academy of Design in New York.  He studied under Ivan Olinsky, Emil Carlsen, Douglas Volk, George W. Maynard, and Leon Kroll.  The curriculum was largely academic in tradition, a style that he felt did not accurately portray the modern city.  In 1915, Lozowick began his college studies at Ohio State University, where he graduated in three short years.

He served briefly in the army in 1919 with the U.S. participation in World War I.  Immediately after his discharge, Lozowick embarked on a cross-country trip, visiting major industrial cities of the United States.  The visual landscape of these cities, filled with smokestacks, factories, skyscrapers, and the expanding network of highways, informed his style in the years to follow.

In 1922, Lozowick traveled to Europe like many like-minded artists seeking avant-garde movements.  He first went to Paris, where he studied French at the Sorbonne Institute and surveyed the Cubist masterpieces of Juan Gris and Fernand Léger.  He then went to Berlin, a city vibrant with artists and intellectuals.  Lozowick was drawn in particular to the Russian Constructivists, who championed the machine aesthetic through abstraction and minimalism.  His art career took off in this experimental environment, as he was inspired by the works of El Lissitsky and Kazimir Malevich.

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Red Circle is a series of overlapping architectural forms and geometric shapes.  The repeated window patterns on the starkly linear buildings suggest a landscape of factories; the cylindrical forms at center represent the smoke stacks adjacent to an industrial facility.  The grey palette of the composition is further heightened by the dark shadows cast by the buildings from an unidentified light source.  Four fractured, red circles overlap with the buildings.”

On page 1 appears a linocut by Marek Szwarc, albeit this work has a title: “Friends Cry at The Border”.

Here’s Foldari’s image of the original.  Like other linocuts in Albatros, this piece, too, occupies only a part of the page “real-estate”.

This photographic print of an untitled sculpture by Yosef Tshaykov (Joseph Chaikov) appears on page 3…

…while this is the Foldari image of the same page.

Another work by Yosef Tshaykov (Joseph Chaikov): This photographic print of a bas relief is attached to page 4.

Here’s Yisakhar Ber Ribak’s (Issachar Ber-Ryback) painting, entitled “Still Life with Alef-Beys”, on page 6.  Again, the image is a photographic print attached to the page.

______________________________

This untitled linocut by Henrik Berlevi (Henryk Berlewi) appears on page 14…

…while this Foldari image shows its position and appearance in the original text:

“Funeral Procession”, by Shterling (Sterling?) can be found on page 25, also as a photographic print.

…which is shown in this Foldari image.

This untitled linocut by Yosef Abu HaGlili can be found on page 28…

…and is shown in this image of Foldari’s copy.

And with this untitled linocut by Henrik Berlevi (Henryk Berlewi) on page 30, we see the final work of visual art in Albatros

Here’s how it looks in the Foldari image.  This photo reveals that the issues’ final page, like the cover page, is red-tinted paper.

And so, the final flight of the Albatros has ended.

But perhaps some day it will again take flight?  

An acknowledgement…

I’d like to thank my friend Naomi for Yiddish-to-English translation of the titles of the Szwarc linocut, and, the two paintings: “Thanks, Naomi!”

The Flight of the Albatross: The Art of the Albatros, Issue II

Here’s the second of three posts showing the cover art and illustrations of Albatros.  Like the first, this second issue was published in Warsaw in 1922. 

The following is from Foldari Books’ 2018 catalog description of this issue:

“All illustrations of the second issue (front and rear covers’ Expressionist linocuts, pencil drawing on rear cover, and two inner illustrations) were designed by Marek Szwarc.  This number contains three of Greenberg’s texts “Der mentsh shrayt” (The Man Cries) “Uri Zvi farn tseylem INRI” (Uri Zvi in Front the Cross INRI) whose text is set in the form of a cross, and the blasphemous “Royte epl fun veybeymer” (Red Apples from the Trees of Pain).  Ber Horowitz, Melekh Ravitch, Peretz Markish and Max Erik among others also contributed to this issue.  Because of the scandalous writings, the journal was banned by the Polish authorities, Greenberg was accused of blasphemy and he fled to Germany to escape prosecution, thus the last double-issue was published in Berlin.”

My photo of the cover – featuring a linocut by Marek Szwarc – as published in the 1978 Jerusalem reprint…

…and, the cover of Foldari Books’ copy:

Here are the text of “Uri Zvi in Front of the Cross INRI” (Jesus the Nazarene King of the Jews)”.  This single image is actually a composite of groups of text on pages 3 and 4.  In the original publication, on page 3, the text is arranged and limited to the form of a crucifix.  On page 4, the text is arranged (like text most anywhere!) as successive horizontal lines.  When combined, they form a crucifix and its base.    

Here’s page 3 of Foldari Books’ copy, which clearly shows the quality of paper stock used in the periodical’s publication.  Again, you can see how the text is constructed in the shape of a crucifix, which is surmounted by the text: Uri Zvi / farn tseylem / INRI.  

My photo of an untitled linocut by Marek Szwarc, on page 12…

…and the original, from Foldari.

Another Szwarc linocut, on page 16…

…and the Foldari image of the same page, showing how it occupies only a small part of the page “landscape”.

A third interior (untitled) linocut by Szwarc, on page 20.   It appears (well, it loooks liike!) that one of the figures is blowing a shofar.

…and Foldari’s image of the same page.  Note the far less stylized human figures penciled within right and left margins.  

An acknowledgement…

I’d like to thank my friend Naomi for her assistance with the text associated with the linocuts: “Thanks, Naomi!”

The Flight of the Albatross: The Art of “Albatros”, Issue I

As described in my introductory post, “The Flight of the Albatross – Uri Zvi Greenberg and “Albatros””, this is the first of my three posts presenting the cover art and interior illustrations of Albatros. 

This post focuses on the periodical’s premier issue, which was published in Warsaw in 1922. 

The following description is from Foldari Books’ 2018 catalog:

“The first issue’s striking cover, a bird whose body incorporates the Hebrew letters of “albatross”, on wings that could be seen as the wavy surface of the ocean and chain of mountains, was created by Ze’ev Weintraub (Władysław; 1891–1942).  This number is accompanied with a linoleum-cut by Marek Szwarc, and the pencil drawing on the rear cover.  It includes three texts by Greenberg, a proclamation, an epic poem, and his manifesto to the opponents of the new poetry; Melekh Ravitch’s manifesto “Zibn tezn fun der nayer, naketer dikhtung” (Seven theses for the new naked poetry); Ze’ev Weintraub’s study on art; Henrik Berlewi’s essay on Viking Eggeling’s avant-garde films; and other works by Peretz Markish, Peretz Hirschbein (Perets Hirshbeyn) and Esther Shumaitcher.”

My photo of the cover, as published in the 1978 Jerusalem reprint…

…and, the cover of Foldari Books’ own (signed) copy.  The page is, “…inscribed to Marek Szwarc the chief illustrator of the magazine in Yiddish, the prior “Szwarcn zu Gegebn“ and signed by seven contributors of “Albatros” and other members of the modern Yiddish movement: Grinberg, Daniel Leyb, Peretz Hirschbein, Yehezkel Moshe Neiman, Ze’ev Weintraub, Ber Horowitz and Esther Shumiatcher.”

Here’s the issue’s sole interior illustration, “In the Barn” by Marek Szwarc, on page 8…

…and, here’s the same illustration as displayed by Foldari, which gives a better impression of the quality of paper used in the periodical’s publication, and, the size of the linocut relative to entire page.

Here’s the back cover of Foldari’s copy, which features an illustration, “…in pencil by Szwarc, [with] three figures holding hands, the middle one embraces a Torah scroll, second issues’ rear cover is also amended in pencil with two figures and a head.” 

An acknowledgement…

I’d like to thank my friend Naomi for Yiddish-to-English translation of the title of the Szwarc linocut: “Thanks, Naomi!”

The Flight of the Albatross – Uri Zvi Greenberg’s “In the Crucifix Kingdom”

“I speak to you now:
A poet and Jew in the crucifix kingdom.”

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“And now we descend, we come down from the ladder
We fashioned and raised: the spirit of Europe.
A love, universal, even for Jew-haters.
A kingdom of heaven for all human souls.”

My prior post, “The Flight of the Albatross – Uri Zvi Greenberg and “Albatros””, is an overview of the life and work of the Uri Tzvi Greenberg, one of whose most expressive and impassioned works is the poema “In the Crucifix Kingdom” (Yiddish “In malkhus fun tseylem“; alternate titles “By the Kingdom of the Cross” and “In the Kingdom of the Cross”).  I first learned about Greenberg via Professor Michael Weingrad’s English-language translation of this work, which appeared (still appears!) at Mosaic Magazine under the title  “An Unknown Yiddish Masterpiece That Anticipated the Holocaust – Written in 1923, “In the Crucifix Kingdom” depicts Europe as a Jewish wasteland.  Why has no one read it?“.   

To say that Professor Weingrad’s translation, let alone my “personal” discovery of other works by Uri Greenberg, was for me quietly amazing … astounding … startling (kudos to the age of science-fiction pulps, for those in the know!) would, perhaps, understate the power of Greenberg’s work.  Suffice to say that in 2018 my curiosity led me to review the 1978 Jerusalem reprint of all three issues of Albatros, in order to examine the actual literary venue (well, a reproduction of that venue!) in which this poem first appeared.  You can view the “results” of that review here, for this post comprises images of issue three’s cover, and, the text of “In the Crucifix Kingdom” as it was published in the periodical.  (Ahem … the reprint.)  These images were taken with a 35mm digital SLR (I’m fond of antiques, whether in terms of mechanisms or manuscripts), and, edited for the best possible brightness and contrast.  While they don’t have the visual “texture” associated with images of paper (not uncommonly found in digital images of vintage mid-twentieth century pulp fiction magazines which can be viewed at the Pulp Magazine Archive), the clarity is more than sufficient to appreciate and study the world of the Albatros.  

As I alluded to in my prior post, Greenberg’s poems (specifically, those from the 1920s) expressed the imperative to reclaim and reconnect Jesus – as a man; as a simple fellow Jew – to the Jewish people, as a fully mortal (and only mortal) human being entirely unencumbered by a millennia-and-longer carapace of accumulated religious and cultural mythology.  Such works comprise:

“A World Downward” (Velt barg arop) – 1922
“Mephistopheles” (Mefisto) – 1922
“Before Him” (Lefanav) – 1924
“The Reply” (Ha-ma’aneh) – 1924
“Cut off from all of his brothers, from his blood” (Mehutakh mi-kol ehav, mi-damo) – 1929
“God and His Gentiles” (Elohim ve-goyav)
“The Grave in the Forest” (from “Streets of the River”)
“Proclamation: Leave! (Kruz: tse!)” (from poetry cycle “Earthly Jerusalem”)
“Shortening the Way (Kfitsat ha-derekh)” (final poem in “Earthly Jerusalem”)
“Somewhere in The Fields” (Ergets af felder poem cycle)

The following five lines express this theme succinctly. Though the title of the specific poem is unknown, they’re found on page 68 in Other and Brother – Jesus in the 20th Century Jewish Literary Landscape, edited by Neta Stahl (Oxford, 2013), and are originally from Greenberg, Kol Ketavav (Complete Works), edited Dan Miron (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1991).

“I accuse His children among the nations of defaming my brothers’ image,
with their beard and earlocks, who look like my brother who was born in Bethlehem;
who spoke my Hebrew tongue and prayed to my God on Mount Moriah;
whom Pilate handed over to the cross and who called out to my God
from the cross in Hebrew, and who died and was buried in my and his Jerusalem.”

This theme reaches its ultimate expression and power – visually as much as textually – in the second issue of Albatros, in the 1922 poem “”Uri Zvi in Front of the Cross INRI (Jesus the Nazarene King of the Jews)”, alternately titled “Uri Zvi Greenberg faren Tslav INRI”, “Uri Zvi Farn Tzelem INRI”, and “Uri Zvi farn tseylem”.  You can view this poem in my post about the second issue of Albatros.

I know of two other poets whose works express analogous sentiments.  They are the Canadian Irving Layton, one of whose compilations of poetry – For My Brother Jesus – includes eight such-themed poems, and Jacob Glatstein (…see this essay by Dara Horn…) a collection of whose poems, The Selected Poems of Jacob Glatstein (edited by Ruth Whitman) includes two (“Good Night, World”, and “Mozart”).  Though their works (at least, as evidenced in these books) do not have the geographic setting, linguistic complexity, and particularly the visual imagery inherent to those of Greenberg, their poems are reminiscent of his in expressing the two millennia of anguish endured by the Jewish people in the sometimes allegorical, sometimes actual ,”worlds” of Edom and Ishmael.

And so, we now embark on our journey through a crucifix kingdom.

Here’s the first (cover) page of issue three of Albatros.  I think the stylized / angled title is a linocut by Henrik Berlevi, Marc Schwartz (most likely), or Yossef Abu HaGlili.  

Now, we come to each of the nine pages comprising “In the Crucifix Kingdom”, the poema appearing on pages 15 through 24.  I’ve preceded each image with a few stanzas from Professor Weingrad’s translation, these directly corresponding to the “opening” or uppermost stanzas visible at the top of the image.  As you can see, all the text is arranged in center-aligned columnar format.  The remainder of the translation (not displayed here) can, of course, be found at Mosaic

Being that the pages are consistent in format, little to no commentary need be added beyond this point.

Begin with page 15…

Page 15

Uri Zvi Greenberg – In malkhus fun tseylem

A forest dense and black has grown upon the plains,
And vales of fear and pain deepen in Europe!
The tree-tops writhe in pain, in wild darkness, wild darkness,
And corpses from the branches hang, their wounds still dripping
blood.
(These heavenly dead all have silver faces,
The moons anoint their brains with golden oil – )
And every cry of pain sounds like a stone in water,
While the prayers of the dead cascade like tears into the deep.

Page 16

I will not plant the trees that bear you fruit,
Only my grieftrees are all set stripped and naked
Near you at the cross’s crown.

From dawn to dusk the bells swing back and forth
Upon your towers.
They drive me mad and tear into my aching flesh
Like mouths of beasts.

Page 17

On a wounded body a shredded tallis – the body
Is good in a Jewish tallis – so good in a tallis:
It keeps the wind from blowing sand into the gaping wounds.

A church-bell rings, the young and old grow feverish –
Cool your fever, Jews! I stand watch over the cemetery
With its open graves.
I bear the Jewish mark, a red gash upon my brow.

Page 18

It’s good for you like this, my frozen father.
Your swollen face in the redness of the setting sun.
You are like a sun.

Yet on the Christian street outside by the well
My mother stands and screams into the water down below:
Give me back my head, you wicked folk, it drowns!
What’s the matter, wicked ones? Is my head so dear to you?

Page 19

Ah, what a curse to live out each day the way we live now:
Any minute a fire will break out under our feet,
From under the houses –
What can we do, this terrorized nation of Jews
With wives and children lamenting: woe for our lives!
And a bloody hue spreads across roof and windowpane.

Page 20

The fifteen million walk silently past you,
Bearing their punishment, eyes like black holes.
For ages they’ve carried a word in their blood
Yet they speak not a word to you now—
I speak to you now:
A poet and Jew in the crucifix kingdom.
With blood from their lungs, so many spit out
The griefword, the curse, and they don’t see the sun
Only moons floating white in the watery blue.
So many, so many, they go on and on
Over dry land and sea, and the wooden post too
That has one of ours bound to it
Crying out: my God, my God! into the void—
Punished, punished, the Jews remain silent
And do not say to you what I have said!

Page 21

Now is the time of the eclipse for you in Europe
It gives me some pleasure that your sun is eclipsed.
For thus does blood still flow in the veins,
The odor of sunset arises from clothes—

O your night will turn red at the crown of the cross!
Your skies that lie over the crosses, I hate them
For they are like brass and they weigh on our grief,
A burden of copper:
No rain for us here.
A curse has been placed upon fields stripped bare—

That you should endure what we have endured!

This page has a small variation on a theme of verticality: The text “From the dawn runs a golden wheel” is arranged in a circle. 

Page 22

Birds are flying—such is exile, this marvelous exile:
The great world with its bright and open heart:
At home throughout the world birds fly:

From the dawn runs a golden wheel

The waters of Babylon speak to our feet:
(Evening interrupts. In the air hangs a fog full of tears)
Come to us. You are an orphan. Without a home. That is your pain.
You are weary of travel. The roads go further still.
The shoreline is so vast—lie down and float with the currents
Until we reach the home of every depth and restlessness:
The great and distant sea.

Page 23

Of all black prophecies this is the blackest,
And yet I can feel it in all my bones.
So painful this prophecy, I suffer it always,
Each day in this Christian land of pain.

And now we descend, we come down from the ladder
We fashioned and raised: the spirit of Europe.
A love, universal, even for Jew-haters.
A kingdom of heaven for all human souls.

Page 24

Which red planet should I tell to hover in the sky
When the sun is eclipsed by the void of generations.
When I walk on roads and see my mothers sitting,
How they cradle in their laps their little murdered children
My slaughtered lambs,
My birds,
On the roads of Europe.

East-West-North-South—such fear beneath the crosses!
What then should I do with my good tear-laden arms?
Should I sit also by the roadside under black crosses?
And lull my lambs to sleep,
My birds,
Upon my knees?
Or should I stand and dig a cemetery here in Europe
For my dead lambs,

For my dead birds?

And thus, we come to the end of the “Cruficix Kingdom”.  (Double entendre, eh?)  Three more flights of the Albatros will follow.  

Referentially Speaking…

Uri Zvi Greenberg, at…

… Wikipedia

YIVO

Michael Weingrad, at…

Mosaic Magazine

Portland State University – Harold Schnitzer Family Program in Judaic Studies

investigations and fantasies on Jews and Fantasy Literature

The Federalist

A Few Academic Reference Works about Uri Zvi Greenberg

Galili, Zeev, Uri Zvi Greenberg – The Poet who Predicted the Holocaust (אורי צבי גרינברג – המשורר שחזה את השואה), at Logic in Madness (Zeev Galili’s online column (היגיון בשיגעון -הטור המקוון של זאב גלילי))

Neuberger, Karin – Between Judaism and the West – The Making of a Modern Jewish Poet in Uri Zvi Greenberg’s “Memoirs (from the Book of Wanderings)”, Polin – Studies in Polish Jewry, Volume Twenty-Four – Jews and Their Neighbours in Eastern Europe since 1750, The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, Portland, Or., 2012, pp. 151-169.

Stahl, Neta, “Uri Zvi Before the Cross”: The Figure of Jesus in the Poetry of Uri Zvi Greenberg”, Religion and Literature, V 40, N 3, Autumn, 2008, pp. 49-80

Weingrad, Michael, An Unknown Yiddish Masterpiece That Anticipated the Holocaust – Written in 1923, “In the Crucifix Kingdom” depicts Europe as a Jewish wasteland.  Why has no one read it?, Mosaic.com, April 15, 2015

Otherwise?

Layton, Irving, For My Brother Jesus, McClelland and Stewart Limited, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, 1976

Sherman, Kenneth, Irving Layton and His Brother Jesus, Literature & Theology, V 24, N 2, June, 2010, pp. 150-160

Whitman, Ruth, The Selected Poems of Jacob Glatstein, October House Inc., New York, N.Y., 1972

The Flight of the Albatross – Uri Zvi Greenberg and “Albatros”

Prose and poetry have similarities…  

Both use language to convey information; both can relate a story or present a tale; both are suitable for describing realms of fact or fiction; both can engender within the reader a new perspective of the “world”, whether that be the physical world or the reader’s “interior” world.  And, both can affect the soul. 

Poetry and prose have differences…

The animating and central power of poetry arises from either its ambiguity or its structure, and often both; from the very language used in poetic works, which at its deepest level subordinates pure description to analogy, simile, metaphor, and symbolism; from the way in which poetry affects those facets of the human psyche for which words are either inadequate or irrelevant: the “worlds” of emotion, intuition, and symbolism.

And so, having begun this blog in 2016 (it’s April in the year 2024 – Nisan 5784 in the Hebrew calendar – as this is written) given that the overwhelming majority of my posts thus far pertain to art and illustration in the world of prose – both fiction and non-fiction – it’s now time to venture (allegorically speaking, of course!) to the world of poetry.  And specifically, to the oeuvre of Uri Tzvi Greenberg (or, Uri Tsevi Grinberg; unless quoting other sources, hereafter in this and related posts “Greenberg“) a modernist poet whose works, in Yiddish and Hebrew, were published from 1916 through at least September of 1973 (I’m unsure of the date of his “last” work of poetry). 

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Uri Zvi Greenberg, 1932 (From Zeev Galili’s blog, Logic in Madness (היגיון בשיגעון))

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From YIVO: “Uri Tsevi Grinberg (or Greenberg) was a trailblazer of radical modernism in both Hebrew and Yiddish literatures, one of the leaders of the Revisionist Zionist movement (from 1930), and a member of the first Israeli Knesset.”

Born into a prominent Hasidic town in Galicia, Austria-Hungary on September 22, 1896, and raised in Lemberg (Lwow), he served as an infantryman in the armed forces of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire during the “Great War”, and though unwounded, the horror and impact of that experience would be a significant influence upon his later compositions.  Returning after his military service to the town where he was raised, he moved to Warsaw in 1920, where he resided until forced to leave for Berlin in 1923.  The impetus for his departure was the reaction of Polish authorities to views about Jesus expressed in the poem “Royte epl fun veybeymer” (“Red Apples from the Trees of Pain”)).  He emigrated to the Yishuv (pre-1948 Israel) in the latter half of 1923.  Initially associated with the Labor Zionist Movement and writing for the newspaper Davar, by 1930 he joined the Revisionist Camp, and later, after Israel’s re-establishment in 1948, joined Menachem Begin’s Herut Movement.  As stated at Wikipedia, “Widely regarded among the greatest poets in the country’s history, he was awarded the Israel Prize in 1957 and the Bialik Prize in 1947, 1954 and 1977, all for his contributions to fine literature.  Greenberg is considered the most significant representative of modernist Expressionism in Hebrew and Yiddish literature.” 

The many themes reflected in his poems – well, going by my overview of those works available to me in English! – include (not in any chronological order) the experience, horror, and impact of war upon men (here, Uri Greenberg means all men) and questions of theodicy that inevitably arise from this; one’s intellectual and psychological relationship with the past – the Jewish past – engendered by living within the land of Eretz Israel; the threat and reality of anti-Jewish violence in Eastern Europe, and, the implications of this for the survival of the Jews in those lands; a desire to symbolically reclaim and reconnect Jesus – a simple man; a person – to the Jewish people as a fully mortal human being and distinct individual rather than a man-god, unencumbered from millennia of accumulated non-Jewish religious and cultural mythology; in his latter poems (which seem to be marked by a sense of foreboding, if not gloom), the imperative of maintaining a sense of Jewish pride and solidarity contraposed against (as warned by Nathan Alterman) a “shadow of dullness”: a mysterious and enervating loss of identity and purpose.  And (yes, of course) much more.

He died on May 8, 1981, and is buried at the Mount of Olives Cemetery, in Jerusalem, Israel; the precise location of his grave being shown here.  

I knew absolutely nothing about Uri Greenberg – didn’t even know the man’s name! – until almost exactly nine years ago, when I discovered him by way of Professor Michael Weingrad’s English-language translation of Greenberg’s poem “In the Crucifix Kingdom” (Yiddish “In malkhus fun tseylem“; alternate titles “By the Kingdom of the Cross” and “In the Kingdom of the Cross”) at Mosaic Magazine.  Fortunately still accessible in its entirety, Professor Weingrad’s piece is entitled, “An Unknown Yiddish Masterpiece That Anticipated the Holocaust – Written in 1923, “In the Crucifix Kingdom” depicts Europe as a Jewish wasteland.  Why has no one read it?“, and comprises five sections. 

First, a brief yet substantive biography of Greenberg in terms of the events that steered the course of his life. 

Second, the way in which Greenberg’s clear perception (I believe as valid in 2024 as it was in 1923) of the historical experience of the Jewish people in Europe, within a civilization undergirded by the (only superficially opposed!) foundations of Christianity, and, Enlightenment Liberalism, was the animating force behind his poem, which itself is an,”…indictment of Christian Europe [that] is searing and relentless.” 

Third, the poem’s historical significance in terms of both 20th Century Yiddish Literature and modernism, as well as the interpretation of it as being prophetic of the Shoah, or instead, its many verses as a depiction of Jewish life in interwar Europe, let alone what Professor Weingrad terms “our own moment”. 

Fourth, a brief discussion of technical and linguistic aspects of the poem’s translation.  

Of course, fifth and last is the poem itself.  I shall not “copy and paste” it here, given its very presence at Mosaic and questions about copyright.  (One more time, here’s that link!)  Suffice to say that Professor Weingrad’s translation comprises approximately 490 lines of text, its structure and organization following that of the Yiddish original.  As he states, “I have tried, with a few exceptions, to follow its alternations between iambic sections (“…the rhythm, or meter, established by the words in each line…”) and galloping dactylic ones (“…a long syllable followed by two short syllables, as determined by syllable weight.”)”  

“In the Crucifix Kingdom” is only one of the very many poems comprising Uri Tzvi Greenberg’s body of work.  It is my understanding that – alas! – his collected poems have never appeared in their totality in English.  Fortunately (!), the situation in Hebrew is unsurprisingly different.  Lists of the poet’s books of poetry, and, his writings (the latter edited by Dan Miron and published by Mossad Bialik) can be found here.  The titles of these works, translated to English via Oogle translate, follow: 

Poetry

Great Horror and the Moon (1924)
אימה גדולה וירח

The Rising Ladies (1926)
הגברות העולה

One Vision of the Legions (1928)
חזון אחד הליגיונות

Ancrown – on the Nerve Pole (1928)
 אנקראון על קטב העצבון

Towards ninety-nine – a literary essay (1928)
כלפי תשעים ותשעה – מסה ספרותית

Magen Zone and Son of the Blood Speech (1929)
אזור מגן ונאום בן הדם

House Dog (1929)
כלב בית

The Book of Faith and Faith (1937)
ספר הקטרוג והאמונה

The Streets of the River / The Book of Gods and Power (1951)
רחובות הנהר \ ספר האליות והכח

Writings of Uri Zvi Greenberg, edited by Dan Miron

Volume I Poems, Part One
Great horror and moon

The rising ladies
Ancrown on the nerve pole

Volume II Poems, Part Two
One vision of the legions

House dog
Shield area and speech of the blood

Volume III Poems, Part Three
The Book of Katrog and Faith

Volume IV Poems, Part Four
A collection of poems, 1982-1983

Volume V of Poems, Part Five
The streets of the river, Part I

Volume VI Poems, Part Six
The streets of the river, Part II

Volume VII Poems, Part Seven
The book of pages, part I

Volume VIII Poems, Part Eight
The book of pages, Part II

Volume IX Poems, Part Nine
The circle book

Volume X Poems, Part Ten
Espaklar Poems / Bhai Alma

Volume XI Poems, part Eleven
About time and place

Volume XII Poems, Part Twelve
For section Sela Itam [a]

Volume XIII Poems, Part Thirteen
Keys to volumes I-XIII

For section Sela Itam [b]

Handbook of Drawings
Letter and image (edited by J. Ofrat)

Volume X Essays, Part One

About to appear:
Volume XVI Essays, Part Two

For brevity (!) I’ve listed just thirteen journal and internet references about Uri Greenberg at the “end” of this post, one of which includes Professor Weingrad’s translation.  Notably, Yosef Galron-Goldschlager’s “Lexicon of the New Hebrew Literature” (in Hebrew) has an enormous list of references about Uri Greenberg. 

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Here is a snippet of text about Jewish soldiers in the Austro-Hungarian army from my brother blog, TheyWereSoldiers:  “Yiddish and Hebrew poet, essayist, and writer Uri Zvi Greenberg (Hebrew: אורי צבי גרינברג), during his service in the Austro-Hungarian army.  This photo is from Zeev Galili’s Blog, Logic in Madness (היגיון בשיגעון), within his April 20, 2009 post Uri Zvi Greenberg – the poet who predicted the Holocaust (אורי צבי גרינברג – המשורר שחזה את השואה). 

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Uri Zvi Greenberg, Tel Aviv, Israel, September 15, 1967 (Photo by Dan Hadani, via Wikimedia Commons; Copyright © IPPA 01773-000-18)

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Well, what good is a blog post about Uri Tzvi Greenberg without a examples of his work?  Here are excerpts of two of his poems from 1928.  The first of the two directly relating to his military service in the First World War, while the second may (?) refer to reflections on the poet’s early effort to compose poetry in Hebrew, rather than in Greenberg’s mother-tongue, Yiddish.

The Remembrance of Souls (Hazkarat neshamot)
1928

…feet up on the barbed wire,
Only the thin wail of their life’s dying essence drawn out,
Then they died, very dark.
I stood alone, like the last of the human race fighting in the world,
And I saw my brothers growing legs in the air,
Until they came in their death to kicking in the sky:
I saw the moon, as if alive, scratching its silver face
On the blunted hobnailed soles of overturned soldiers.
This terrible radiance on these nails of the dead who kick the sky
Electrified my life with terror that gleamed unto death.
With eyes of flesh I saw man’s fall, and the Divine in the mystery of fear.
As the last of those who weep, I wept there mightily.
In all my life I shall never weep again as I wept by the waters of the Sava. (5-6)

Now the rain has stopped and the moon has come out, a double moon –
The mounds of bodies in quicklime in the cruelty of this moon’s bright light!!
There is no ladder
standing on the ground and the angels of our youth do not descend it
to overcome the quicklime and to pray a requiem.
We dig out sand and pour over the bodies in quicklime.
Now when there is a mound and our comrades are buried (temunim)
the priest comes… (13)

To my mind both sides of the warring armies
of Emperor and King were enemies to my race and my creed
but the sight of the faces on these bleeding bodies after they died
aroused my compassion and my tears were purer than dew. (15)

These lasses in the fullness of the juice of the fruit of the tree and the vine
stand there in the water that is like pure crystal, gurgling and gurgling and gurgling,
pure, warm and soft, pure and soft… (16)

…while they are the sons, and they are the husbands,
crouching here in a battlefield in a strange land,
the cold of the morning like alcohol in the throat. (16)

References

Greenberg, Uri Zvi, Kol kvite, edited by Dan Miron, Jerusalem, Mossad Bialik, 1992, V. 1, p. 138
From: The Wound of Memory: Uri Zevi Greenberg’s “From the Book of the Wars of the Gentiles”, by Glenda Abramson, Shofar, V 29, N 1, 2010, pp. 5-6, 13, 15, 16

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Between Blood and Blood (Ben Damim le Damim)
1928

Ay ‘tis thus,
This is not my mother-tongue, which I’ve cut
Like a living limb from the soul, from her view,
from her tune, from the smell of her forest.
My poem’s tongue is the blood-tongue of the wandering race,
Which we have silenced for generations with myriad letters
and that even precious qualities are dwarfed in her light.

References

Greenberg, Uri Zvi, Kol Ktavav (Complete Works), Vol. I (Jerusalem, Mosad Bialik, 1990), p. 7.
Stahl, Neta, “ ‘Man’s Red Soup’: Blood and the Art of Esau in the poetry of Uri Zvi Greenberg,” in Mitchell Hart (ed.), The Significance of Blood in Jewish History and Culture (London and New York: Routledge: 2009), p. 162

This sketch of Uri Greenberg accompanies his biography (by Dan Miron) at YIVO, with the following caption: “Portrait of Uri Zvi Grinberg, Warsaw, 1922, by Henryk Berlewi,  This drawing appeared in Grinberg’s book of poetry, Mefisto (Warsaw: Farlag “Literatur-fond” baym Fareyn fun Yidishe literatn un zshurnalistn in Varshe, 1922).  From Joe Fishstein Yiddish Poetry Collection, Rare Books and Special Collections, McGill University Library.”  

Within Dan Miron’s biography of Greenberg at YIVO is a discussion of the poet’s completion in 1921 of a “grand scale poema, or a long sequence of poems, in which the weltanschauung (“…worldview or … fundamental cognitive orientation of an individual or society encompassing the whole of the individual’s or society’s knowledge, culture, and point of view.”) … was expressed in an intensely personal and yet universal philosophical manner … titled “Mefisto”.  This is described by Miron as being “organized around a myth in which an inverted version of the Faust-Mephisto theme as developed by Goethe and the Nietzschean myth of God’s demise were conflated,” the narrator eventually “dimly” realizing that Mephisto is his “own creation, a projection of his own vitiated interiority, a psychological rather than a metaphysical entity.”

Again quoting Miron:

“The publication of Mefisto elevated Grinberg to the rank of a major modernist who could now establish a literary periodical, Albatros (recalling Baudelaire’s famous poem), which was essentially a one-man vehicle.  Most of the three issues (1922–1923) were written by Grinberg himself under various pseudonyms.  They included – as mentioned above – poems, articles, and manifestos, plus the brilliant short story “Royte epl fun veybeymer” (Red Apples of Trees of Pain), which represents Grinberg’s first radical expressionist treatment of his experiences at the Serbian front.  The poet’s main collaborators in Albatros were modernist Jewish artists whose expressionist typographic designs complemented the texts.”

“In 1923, Grinberg had to flee Poland because the Polish censor, scandalized by “Royte epl,” intended to charge him with blasphemous expressions against Christianity.  (According to Wikipedia – referencing Yitshak Ḳorn’s “Jews at the Crossroads” (February, 1983), and “The World of Yiddish, Khulyot 1 (Winter 1993)”, at yiddish.haifa.ac.il) the impetus for this charge was Greenberg’s “iconoclastic depictions of Jesus” in the aforementioned poem.  The magazine incorporated avant-garde elements both in content and typography, taking its cue from German periodicals like “Die Aktion” and “Der Sturm”.)

“(Grinberg) fled to Berlin where he mingled with German and Jewish modernist writers and artists and became friendly with the German Jewish expressionist poet Elsa Lasker-Schüller, whom Grinberg regarded as a Hebrew poet “in captivity,” a latter-day biblical Deborah.  More important, the poet gradually abandoned the nihilistic mood of his Warsaw years.  He became convinced that the fate of European Jewry was sealed.  Zionism was therefore the only way open to Jews who were not ready for a collective suicide.”

The flight of the Albatross (actually, “Albatros”!)

“In the second half of 1923 Grinberg shifted his writing from Yiddish to Hebrew, took leave of his Yiddish readers in the last issue of Albatros, and arrived in Palestine in December of that year, a committed poet-pioneer.  Even before his emigration to Palestine, however, the poet had found himself in the radical camp of Zionist opposition to the leadership of the World Zionist Organization.  He feared that a Zionist leadership that did not openly and vigorously strive to establish a Jewish state in Palestine was bound to fail both politically and financially.  It was clear to him that the leadership of the Zionist movement had to be summarily replaced by a group of young cadres whose sole objective would be to build an independent Jewish state.”

Now…this intrigued me.  I was taken aback by the power, uninhibited moral honesty, and iconoclasm of “In the Crucifix Kingdom” and his other poems (particularly “Uri Zvi in Front of the Cross INRI (Jesus the Nazarene King of the Jews)”, in the latter of which the poet’s searing text is arranged in the form of a crucifix.  I wanted to learn more – much more – about Uri Greenberg and, his Albatros.      

Though images of pages from original runs of periodical can readily be found on the Internet (most often the cover page of all three issues; typically at the websites of booksellers specializing in Yiddish and Hebrew books, or, rare-books-in-general), none of the three issues are available in their entirety in any digital format.  However, to my happy surprise, I discovered that a 1978 reprint of the three issues comprising the publication was (is) available at the New York Public Library, specifically at the Library’s Dorot Jewish Division.  A copy of its catalog entry follows:

Title:
אלבאטראס.
Albaṭros

Publication:
[i.e. 1977 or 1978 738] [ירושלים : בית הספרים הלאומי והאוניברסיטאי ]
[Yerushalayim : Bet ha-sefarim ha-leʻumi ṿeha-universitaʻi, 738 i.e. 1977 or 1978]


Further Details

Additional Authors:
גרינבערג, אורי צבי, 1896-1981
Greenberg, Uri Zvi, 1896-1981.
Publication Date:
Hefṭ 1 (Sept. 1922)-3/4 (1923).
Description:
19, 19, 28 p. : ill.; 36 cm.
Subject:
Yiddish literature > Periodicals

Note:
“Zshurnal far dem nayem dikhṭer un ḳinsṭler oysdruk.”
Linking Entry (note):
Reprint, with new explanatory material inserted, of a journal published 1922 in Warsaw and 1923 in Berlin, edited by U.Z. Greenberg.


Call Number:
**P+ 07-42
LCCN:
78647698
OCLC:
4680020
NYPG07-S2


Title:
Albaṭros.
Alternate Script for Title:
אלבאטראס.

Imprint:
[Yerushalayim : Bet ha-sefarim ha-leʻumi ṿeha-universitaʻi, 738 i.e. 1977 or 1978]
Alternate Script for Imprint:
[ירושלים : בית הספרים הלאומי והאוניברסיטאי, [738 i.e. 1977 or 1978]

Linking Entry:
Reprint, with new explanatory material inserted, of a journal published 1922 in Warsaw and 1923 in Berlin, edited by U.Z. Greenberg.
Added Author:
Greenberg, Uri Zvi, 1896-1981.
Alternate Script for Added Author:
גרינבערג, אורי צבי, 1896-1981.

Research Call Number:
**P+ 07-42 Library has: Hefṭ 1 (Sept. 1922)-3/4 (1923).
**P+ 07-4

Here are further details about the editorial and artistic staff of Albatros, and, the date and place of publication of all three issues, from two perhaps-unusual (?!) sources: A bookseller, and, and auction house.

Bookseller: Foldari Books

First…  In December of 2018, Földvári Books (Hungary) offered an entire set for sale; all since sold.  These particular issues belonged to Marek Szwarc, the periodical’s chief illustrator, and were signed by its seven contributors … “and other members of the modern Yiddish movement: Grinberg [himself], Daniel Leyb, Peretz Hirschbein, Yehezkel Moshe Neiman, Ze’ev Weintraub, Ber Horowitz and Esther Shumiatcher.”  The first two issues were published in Warsaw and the last in Berlin.  Albatros was “named after Baudelaire’s poem, [and] is the most thoroughly Expressionist journal among the Yiddish avant-garde magazines (“Yung Yiddish”, “Ringen”, “Khalyastre”, “Di Vog”) that were published between 1919 and 1924, the golden period of the Yiddish avant-garde.”  (This catalog entry is no longer available.)

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Auction House: Kedem

Second…  A previous (and since closed) Kedem auction of a complete set of Albatros (“lot 182”), states the following: 

First issue, Warsaw, 1922.  Cover designed by Ze’ev (Wladislaw) Weintraub.  With linocuts by Marc Schwartz. 
Second issue, Warsaw, 1922.  Linocuts on the cover and inside the booklet, by Marc Schwartz [Marek Szwarc].
Third and fourth issues, Berlin, 1923.  Linocuts by Henrik Berlevi, Marc Schwartz [Marek Szwarc] and Yossef Abu HaGlili.  Additional illustrations – reproductions of works by Joseph Tchaikov, Issachar Ber-Ryback and other artists.  

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Third…   Kedem Auctions, in its current offer of the three issues (“lot 209”) provides further information about the periodical and its contributors, the following being derived from its catalog description: 

The first issue was dedicated by Uri Zvi Greenberg to Marek Szwarc, and features the manifesto “To the Opponents of The New Poetry” – a revolutionary composition by Greenberg, alongside additional groundbreaking compositions, some of them also written by Greenberg.  This issue features a linocut by artist Marek Szwarc, while the cover was designed by Władysław Weintraub.

As for Marek Szwarc (1892-1958) himself?  Kedem describes him as having been a, “…Jewish-Polish painter and sculptor, born in Zgierz (Poland); associated with the School of Paris.  Szwarc studied at the École des Beaux Arts in Paris and boarded at the artist’s residence La Ruche in the Montparnasse district of Paris, together with Marc Chagall, Chaim Soutine and Fernand Léger.  In 1912, he was one of the founders of the art magazine “Mahmadim”, which was considered the first Jewish art magazine.  He exhibited his first sculpture in 1913 in the Salon d’Automne.  During World War I, he spent some time in Odessa and Kiev (where he met the literary circle of Mendele Mocher Sforim, Achad Ha’am and Bialik and the avant-garde writers headed by David Bergelson), and later returned to Poland, where he was one of the founders of the Yung-Yidish group.  Although he converted to Catholicism [irony; irony], his identity as a Jew never wavered and many of his works dealt with biblical themes.”

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So, I visited the New York Public Library.  And, I took a look.  

Entirely consistent with the New York Public Library catalog entry (no surprise there!), I found that the reprint comprises a single volume; it measures 36 centimeters, or a little over 14 inches, in height.

The first of the three reprinted issues is preceded by a statement denoting its (the reprint’s) publication history…

מהדורה זו יוצאת לאור על-ידי הוצאת בית הספרים
הלאומי והאוניברסיטאי בירושלים, בשנת תשל”ח;
הוכנה בגרפיקה אורות ובדפוס אחוה, ירושלים.
בשלוש מאות וחמשים עותקים מסופררים.
חמשים העותקים הראשונים
הופצו ללא תמורה.

עותק זה מספרו
263

…which translates as…

This edition is published by
the National and University Libraries in Jerusalem, in the year 1978;
prepared by Orot Graphics and Ahava Press, Jerusalem.
In three hundred and fifty numbered copies.
The first fifty copies
were distributed free of charge.

This is copy number
263

…and is followed by this introduction…

עם פרסומו של “אלבאטראס”

עוד בימי מלחמת העולם הראשונה, בעת התהפוכות שבעקבותיה, ובייחוד נוכח הפרעות שפקדו את היהודים באותו הזמן באירופה המזרחית, עלו בשירת יידיש זרמים חדשניים, שהיתה בהם משום תגובה מיידית למאורעות ולזעזועים עצמם. בשירה נועזת ומרדנית ביקש דור של משוררים צעירים, שהתנסה באופן אישי בזוועות המלחמה והפרעות, להביע את מה שעבר עליו, תוך חיפוש אחרי דרכי הבעה התואמות את התמורות הרגשיות – האינדיבידואליות והיהודיות הכלליות כאחד. עם כל ההסתייגויות המתבקשות בדרך כלל מהגדרות כוללניות ומהצמדת תוויות על פי השתייכות לקבוצה או במה ספרותית זו או אחרת, מצטיינות השנים האחרונות של העשור השני וראשיתן של שנות העשירים של המאה, בריבוי ניכר של פרסומים ספרותיים קבוצתיים חדשניים. קבצים ופרסומים פריודיים קצרי ימים צצו באותו הזמן בכל פזוריה של ספרות יידיש, כאשר בכולם מתבלט משקלה הסגולי והכמותי של השירה המגיבה בעוצמה רבה ובקול רם על מה שהעסיק אז את היחיד ואת הציבור כאחד. בקיוב הופיעו הקבצים של אייגנס (1918, 1920), בלודז ראו אור החוברות של יונג¯אידיש (1919), הגליונות הראשונים של אין זיך הפתיעו בניו¯יורק (1920), וחלק מחבורת קיוב חתרכז מחדש בשטראם (1922) המוסקבאי.   

גם בורשה, בירתה של פולין שזה עתה זכתה לעצמאות, עדים אנו לתופעה זו במלוא עוצמתה. אחד הביטויים הראשונים של הרוח החדשה בשירת יידיש ניתן בורשה בכתב-העת רינגען, בחוברת העשירית והאחרונה, מראשית 1922. בחוברת זאת השתתפו בשירתם פרץ מארקיש, שהגיע לורשה מקיוב, מלך ראוויטש, שבא מוינה, ואורי צבי גרינברג, שכבר במחצית השנייה של שנת 1921 כבש בסערה מלבוב הגאליצאית את חסידי השירה הצעירה בספרו מעפיסטא (1921). במהרה החלו להופיע בורשה הפרסומים העצמיים בעריכתם של שלושת המשוררים, שהזדמנו יחד באותה עת לבירתה של פולין. במחצית השניה של שנת 1922 הופיע הקובץ כאליאסטרע (כנופיה), בעריכתו של פרץ מארקיש (הקובץ השני הופיע בפאריז בשנת 1924). באוגוסט 1922 החל מלך ראוויטש לפרסם בעריכתו את החוברות של די וואג (בסך הכל הופיעו שלוש חוברות צנומות – כולן ב-1922). אורי צבי גרינברג הופיע עם הגליון הראשון של אלבאטראס, כתב-עת “להבעה שירית ואמנותית חדשה”, בספטמבר 1922. הגיליון השני של אלבאטראס הופיע בנובמבר אותה שנה והוחרם על ידי השלטונות הפולנים בגלל פגיעה בנצרות, שמצאו ב”רויטע עפל פון וויי-ביימער” של מוסטאפא זאהיב, הוא אורי צבי גרינברג, עורכו של הבטאון. בגלל היותו נתון לאיום במשפט, עקר אורי צבי גרינברג לברלין, ושם הוא הוציא בשנת 1923 את הגליון 3—4, האחרון, של כתב-עת זה.

בפרקי זכרונות ובהערכות ספרותיות מאוחרות קיימת נטייה להציג את ההתפרצות השירית בורשה כהופעתה של קבוצת “כאליאסטרע”, על פי הקובץ בשם זה שבעריכתו של פרץ מארקיש. לשירתם הודבקה התוית של אקספרסיוניזם יהודי.  כיון שכל אחד משלושת המשוררים השתתף זה בבטאונו של זה, במשך כל התקופה שבטאוניהם הופיעו בורשה, התקבל אופים ה”קבוצתי”, כביכול, כעובדה מוסכמת.

אורי צבי גרינברג דוחה מוסכמה זו. ואכן, נראה שקשה להעלות על הדעת גיבוש של דרך שירית משותפת תוך הסכמה הדדית, על פי זימון ארעי וקצר שנמשך כשנה בלבד. אך מעל לכל נדמה, שבחינת שירתם של שלושת המשוררים  שהזדמנו לאותן אכסניות, תעיד יותר על השוני שביניהם מאשר על שותפות שירית או רעיונית. בשלוש החוברות של אלבאטראס, בהן מתבלט מזגו האישי וייחודה של שירתו של אורי צבי גרינברג, ניתן למצוא עדות מובהקת לכך. כאן הופיעה שירתו הנועזת והנוקבת ביותר של המשורר, וכאן הוא נתן ביטוי ל”אני מאמין” האמנותי והרעיוני שלו בשירתו ובהצהרותיו. כמו קודם לכן במעפיסטא, כך גם בביטאונו אלבאטראס, אפשר למצוא כבר את יסודותיה של שירתו המאוחרת של אורי צבי גרינברג בעברית וביידיש גם יחד; שירה, שבצורה כה בולטת מבדילה אותו מעמיתיו למפגש בורשה משנת 1922.

נסתפק כאן בהצבעה על ענין מהותי אחד בלבד. השירה הצעירה ביידיש בתקופה הנידונה היתה ביסודה וברובה שירה אקטיביסטית, למרות מבוכותיה וחיפושיה האינדיבידואליים. מעבר לרצון המכוון לזעזע בשלילותיה ובהתנגדויותיה למוסכמות השולטות בחברה היהודית, הצטיינה שירה זאת, בעת ובעונה אחת, בכמיהה אדירה לאפשרויות של יציאה מן המבוכה שאחזה בה, ובהשתוקקות עזה לפתרונות אישיים וציבוריים. האקטיביזם של מארקיש בא לביטוי באמונתו, שהמהפכה ברוסיה עשויה לפתור את הבעיות שהעסיקו אותו כאדם וכיהודי. זאת, למרות הנימות האמביוולנטיות הברורות בשירותו גם במהלך מהותי ועקרוני זה. אחרים מצאו אפשרויות בפתרונות אוטונומיסטים למיניהם, תוך קבלת הסיסמה של היאחזות יהודית מקומית בארצות הגולה, שנתמצתה במושג של “דאיקייט”. אורי צבי גרינברג נקט עמדה אקטיביסטית אחרת, שהבדילה אותה מכל האחרים, ושלה הוא נאמן עד ימינו אלה. האקטיביזם של א.צ. גרינברג הוביל אותו באופן הגיוני לארץ-ישראל. בכך נבדל האלבאטראס, בצורה חדה מאד, מבטאוניה האחרים של השירה הצעירה ביידיש באותה התקופה. הפואימה עזת הביטוי “אין מלכות פון צלם” והמאמר הפרוגראמאטי “ווייטיקן-היים אויף סלאווישער ערד”, הנילווה לפואימה זאת באלבאטראס הברלינאי, הם גם חשבון-נפש נבואי יהודי ציבורי מחריד ונוקב בעל נימה אישית מובהקת, וגם פרידה של המשורר מאירופה הנוצרית על סף הגשמתו האישית – עליתו ארצה בדצמבר 1923.

           ברוב הבטאונים של המשוררים הצעירים ניכרת השאיפה להידור חיצוני. הם פתחו את בטאוניהם לפני אמנים חדשניים, שסיפקו להם איורים התואמים את רוח התקופה בשירה ובאמנות. גם מבחינה זאת הצטיין אלבאטראס, כי אורי צבי גרינברג המשורר, ידע לדאוג לעיצוב גראפי נאה של פירסומיו. בהופעתן מחדש של שלוש החוברות של אלבאטראס, הנדירות ביותר מזה שנים, מאפשר עתה בית הספרים הלאומי והאניברסיטאי היכרות קרובה עם תקופה סוערת ומרשימה בשירה ובאמנות היהודית. אך מעל לכל, פירסום זה הוא שי יקר לכל מעריציו של אורי צבי גרינברג ושל שירתו.

חנה שמרון

ירושלים, כסלו תשל”ח

…which translates as…

With the Publication of “Albatros”

Back in the days of the First World War, during the upheavals that followed it, and especially in view of the disturbances that befell the Jews at that time in Eastern Europe, innovative currents arose in Yiddish poetry, which were an immediate response to the events and shocks themselves.  In bold and rebellious poetry, a generation of young poets, who personally experienced the horrors of war and disturbances, sought to express what they had gone through, while searching for ways of expression that corresponded to the emotional transformations – both individual and general Jewish.  With all the reservations that are usually required from inclusive definitions and attaching labels according to belonging to one or another literary group or stage, the last years of the second decade and the beginning of the rich years of the century are distinguished by a considerable proliferation of innovative group literary publications.  Short-lived periodical files and publications appeared at the same time in all the scatterings of Yiddish literature, where in all of them stands out the specific and quantitative weight of the poetry that responds with great force and loudness to what occupied both the individual and the public at the time.  In Kiev, Eygens’s [Eygns] files appeared (1918, 1920), in Lodz the booklets of Yung Yiddish [Yung-idish] were published (1919), the first issues of Ein Zeich [In zikh] [אין זיך] surprised New York (1920), and part of the Kiev group refocused on Stram [Der Shtrom] (1922) in Moscow.

In Warsaw, the capital of newly independent Poland, we are witnessing this phenomenon in full force.  One of the first expressions of the new spirit in Yiddish poetry was given in Warsaw in the journal Ringen [Ringen], in the tenth and last booklet, from the beginning of 1922.  In this booklet, Peretz Markish, who came to Warsaw from Kyiv, the King of Ravitch [Melech Ravitch], who came from Vienna, and Uri Zvi Greenberg, who already in the second half of 1921 conquered the followers of young poetry by storm from Lviv in Galicia, in his book Maafista [מעפיסטא Mefisto] (Maafista (1921).  Soon the self-published publications edited by the three poets, who happened together at that time to the capital of Poland, began to appear in Warsaw.  In the second half of 1922, the file appeared as Aliastra (gang) [Khalyastre], edited by Peretz Markish (the second file appeared in Paris in 1924).  In August 1922, King of Ravitch [Melech Ravitch] began to publish the pamphlets of De Waag [Di vog] under his editorship (a total of three slim pamphlets appeared – all in 1922).  Uri Zvi Greenberg appeared with the first issue of Albatross, a magazine “for a new poetic and artistic expression”, in September 1922.  The second issue of Albatross appeared in November of the same year and was confiscated by the Polish authorities because of an attack on Christianity, which they found in “Roite Efel von Wei-Beimer” [“Royte epl fun veybeymer” (“Red Apples of Trees of Pain”)], of Mustafa Zahib, is Uri Zvi Greenberg, the editor of the newspaper [הבטאון].  Because of being threatened with a trial, Uri Zvi Greenberg moved to Berlin, where in 1923 he published issues 3-4, the last, of this magazine.

In chapters of memoirs and later literary evaluations there is a tendency to present the poetic eruption in Warsaw as the appearance of the group “Khaliastra” [“Khalyastre”], according to the file of that name edited by Peretz Markish.  Their poetry was labeled Jewish Expressionism.  Since each of the three poets participated in each other’s concerts, during the entire period that their concerts appeared in Warsaw, the “group” poetry, so to speak, was accepted as an agreed fact.

Uri Zvi Greenberg rejects this convention.  Indeed, it seems that it is difficult to imagine the formation of a common song path with mutual consent, according to a temporary and short summons that lasted only about a year.  But above all, it seems that examining the poetry of the three poets we invited to those hostels, will testify more to the difference between them than to a poetic or conceptual partnership.  In the three booklets of Albatross, in which the personal temperament and uniqueness of Uri Zvi Greenberg’s poetry stand out, clear evidence of this can be found.  Here appeared the poet’s most daring and poignant poetry, and here he gave expression to his artistic and conceptual “I believe” in his poetry and statements.  As before in Maafista [Mefisto], so also in his expression Albatross, one can already find the foundations of Uri Zvi Greenberg’s later poetry in both Hebrew and Yiddish; poetry, which so prominently distinguishes him from his colleagues at the 1922 Warsaw meeting.

We will limit ourselves here to voting on only one essential matter.  Young Yiddish poetry in the period in question was fundamentally and mostly activist poetry, despite its embarrassments and individual searches.  Beyond the deliberate desire to shock with its negations and objections to the conventions that dominate Jewish society, this poetry excelled, at the same time, in its tremendous longing for the possibilities of getting out of the embarrassment that gripped it, and in its strong longing for personal and public solutions.  Markish’s activism is expressed in his belief that the revolution in Russia might solve the problems that preoccupied him as a person and as a Jew.  This, despite the clear ambivalent tones in his service even during this essential and principled course.  Others found possibilities in autonomist solutions of various kinds, while accepting the slogan of local Jewish adherence in the Diaspora lands, which was summed up in the concept of “Daikeit”* [דאיקייט].  Uri Zvi Greenberg took a different activist position, which distinguished it from all the others, and to which he is loyal to this day.  The activism of U.Ts. Greenberg logically led him to the Land of Israel.  In this, Albatross differed, in a very sharp way, from the other poets of the young Yiddish poetry of the same period.  The intense poem with the expression “In The Kingdom of The Cross” [אין מלכות פון צלם] and the programmatic essay “Pain-Home on Slavic Land” [ווייטיקן-היים אויף סלאווישער ערד], which accompanied this poem in the Berlin Albatross, are both a horrific and poignant public Jewish prophetic soul-searching with a distinctly personal tone, and also a farewell of the poet from Christian Europe on the verge of its fulfillment.  The personal – immigrated to Israel in December 1923.

In most of the baton of the young poets, the desire for external compilation is evident.  They opened their towns to innovative artists, who provided them with illustrations that corresponded to the spirit of the time in poetry and art.  Albatross excelled in this respect as well, because Uri Zvi Greenberg, the poet, knew how to take care of a nice graphic design of his publications.  With the reappearance of the three Albatross booklets, the rarest in years, the National and University Library now enables a close acquaintance with a stormy and impressive period in Jewish poetry and art.  But above all, this publication is a precious treasure for all fans of Uri Zvi Greenberg and his poetry.

Hana Shimron

Jerusalem, Kislev 1978

*“Daikeit” [דאיקייט]: “Its a Yiddish term describing a principle of the Bund (A socialist movement that opposed Zionist attempts to gain self-determination or return to Israel, and opposed pan-Jewish identification too).  The principle states that “our home is wherever we live”.  A lot can be said about the Bund, there is nuance to it and its not similar to modern “anti-zionist” left-wing groups.  I of course disagree with it as a Zionist but if that’s what you are into…. go for it” (From here and here at Reddit)

…and this introduction appears as…

But wait; there’s more to come … much more!

Given the significance of Albatros in terms of Yiddish poetry and Jewish modernism, and in light of the stunning visual symbolism associated with “Uri Zvi in Front of the Cross INRI (Jesus the Nazarene King of the Jews)” I thought (and think) that the periodicals’ content – well, at bare minimum its artistic content – would more than merit presentation to the wider world.  To that end, during a visit to the New York Public Library in 2018 (two short years before the 2020 commencement of the metropolis’ Progressively accelerating degeneration), I used a 35mm digital SLR (remember those? – I still have one!) to photograph the art of every issue: Every cover; all linocuts (“a printmaking technique, a variant of woodcut in which a sheet of linoleum is used for a relief surface“).   

I’ve digitally edited my original images, and, have created four blog posts – one illustrating the Yiddish text of Greenberg’s 1923 “In the Crucifix Kingdom (In malkhus fun tseylem) (Weingrad)”, and three others for each issue of Albatros – thus showing each issue’s art.  (For a small and entirely unrelated (!) example of this sort of endeavor, check out my post about Jack Williamson’s novel Darker Than You Think.  Originally published in John W. Campbell, Jr.’s, Unknown in December of 1940, the 1948 book version of which includes a great frontispiece illustration by Edd Cartier.  It gives you an idea.)  

An ironic and frank caveat: I must admit that with the exception of the illustration appearing on the cover of the periodical’s first issue, I’m not at all partial to the style of art displayed in Albatros.  Quite the contrary.  (You can gain an appreciation of the art I do like, elsewhere throughout this blog!)  However, my personal feelings about these works are unimportant in light of their historical significance.  

Thus, you can view the first issue here, the second here, and the third here.

Enjoy, contemplate, or be so perplexed as you desire!

Acknowledgement and References

First, I’d like to acknowledge the assistance of Israel Medad “…a Jew, a Zionist, a Revenant in Yesha and as an inquisitive human being” … and long-time resident of Shiloh, Samaria, Israel.  You can gain many other insights into the poetry, thoughts, and life of Uri Tzvi Greenberg, let alone life Israeli political, literary, and social history, at Israel’s blog, MyRightWord.”  (First post in 2004 and still going strong!)

Second, I’d like to thank my translator, Vladimir Yurist, for his fine transcription of the introductory material in the 1978 Jerusalem reprint of Albatros. Vladimir, whose working languages are English, Hebrew, Russian, and Spanish, has over three decades of translation experience in fields such as aerospace, communications training, and medicine. You can avail yourself of his conscientious and attentive work by contacting him at tralenator@gmail.com. 

And so:  

“Thanks, Vladimir!”

And so, some references…

Uri Zvi Greenberg, at…

… Wikipedia

YIVO

Some poems by Uri Zvi Greenberg, at…

Save Israel – Articles & Thoughts on the Jewish State

Song of the Great Mind
Creation of the Universe
In a Child’s Ear I Relate
Those Who Live By Their Virtue Will Say
Nation, How Great You Are!
The Legend of Yaacov Raz
A Land Lost
Robbers
Anxiety in My Bones Today
Homesong
With My G-D, The Smith
Like a Woman
The Great Sad One
Jerusalem Surrounded by Walls
Decay of the House of Israel
Not One Truth but Two

Professor Michael Weingrad, at…

Mosaic Magazine

Portland State University – Harold Schnitzer Family Program in Judaic Studies

investigations and fantasies on Jews and Fantasy Literature

The Federalist

Academic Reference Works about Uri Zvi Greenberg

Abramson, Glenda, “The Wound of Memory – Uri Zvi Greenberg’s ‘From the Book of the Wars of the Gentiles’”, Shofar: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Jewish Studies, V 29, N 1, Fall, 2010, pp. 1-21

Hamutal Bar-Yosef, Jewish-Christian Relations in Modern Hebrew and Yiddish Literature: A Preliminary Sketch, Printed in: Jewish-Christian Relations in Modern Hebrew and Yiddish Literatures: A Preliminary Sketch, The Centre for Jewish-Christian Relations, Wesley House, Cambridge, 32 pp. (also in: Themes in Jewish-Christian Relations, edited by Edward Kessler and Melanid J. Wright, Orchard Academic: Cambridge England 2005, pp. 109-150)

Elhanan, Elazar, “The Long Poem As a Site of Blasphemy, Obscenity, and Friendship in the Works of Peretz Markish and Uri Tsevi Greenberg”, Dibur Literary Journal, Issue 4, Spring, 2017, pp. 53-74

Galili, Zeev, Uri Zvi Greenberg – The Poet who Predicted the Holocaust (אורי צבי גרינברג – המשורר שחזה את השואה), at Logic in Madness (Zeev Galili’s online column (היגיון בשיגעון -הטור המקוון של זאב גלילי))

Lipsker, Avidov, Round, Column and Mirror – Gothic Symbolism in the Late Poetry of Uri Zvi Greenberg, Reprinted in the Book “Red Song Blue Song: Seven Essays on the Poetry of Uri Zvi Greenberg – – and Two on Elsa Lasker Schiller”, Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University / Mossad Bialik, Jerusalem, Israel, 2010

Medad, Israel, On Uri Tzvi Greenberg and Jesus Affinity, at MyRightWord

Neuberger, Karin – Between Judaism and the West – The Making of a Modern Jewish Poet in Uri Zvi Greenberg’s “Memoirs (from the Book of Wanderings)”, Polin – Studies in Polish Jewry, Volume Twenty-Four – Jews and Their Neighbours in Eastern Europe since 1750, The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, Portland, Or., 2012, pp. 151-169.

Neuberger, Karin, “Uri Zvi Greenger’s Farewell to Europe”, Yearbook for European Jewish Literature Studies – 2015, 26 pp.

Stahl, Neta, “Uri Zvi Before the Cross”: The Figure of Jesus in the Poetry of Uri Zvi Greenberg”, Religion and Literature, V 40, N 3, Autumn, 2008, pp. 49-80

Weingrad, Michael, An Unknown Yiddish Masterpiece That Anticipated the Holocaust – Written in 1923, “In the Crucifix Kingdom” depicts Europe as a Jewish wasteland.  Why has no one read it?, Mosaic.com,
April 15, 2015

Winther, Judith, “Uri Zvi Grinberg: The Politics of the Avant-Garde – The Hebrew-Zionist Revolution – 1924-1929”, Nordisk judaistik – Scandinavian Jewish Studies, V 17, N 1-2, pp. 24-60, 1996

Winther, Judith, “Tradition and Revolution in Search for Roots in Uri Zvi Grinberg’s Albatros”, Nordisk judaistik – Scandinavian Jewish Studies, V 18, N 1-2, pp. 130-158, 1997

Ydebo, Mette, “En begavet solist er trådt af” [“A Gifted Soloist has Passed”] – Judith Winther 1933-2018 – Obituary, Nordisk judaistik – Scandinavian Jewish Studies, V 29, N 2, pp. 61-63

Rembrandt’s Hat, by Bernard Malamud – 1974 [Alan Magee] [Revised post…]

Dating from March of 2018, I’ve now updated this post to display the cover of a much better copy of Rembrandt’s Hat, than which originally appeared here.  The “original” cover image can be viewed at the “bottom” of the post. 

I’ve also – gadzooks, at last! – discovered the identity of the book’s previously-unknown-to-me-illustrator, whose initials, “A.M.” appear on the book’s cover.  He’s Alan Magee, about whom you can read more here

And, a chronological compilation of Bernard Malamud’s short stories can be found here.

Contents

The Silver Crown, from Playboy (December, 1972)

Man in the Drawer, from The Atlantic (April, 1968)

The Letter, from Esquire (August, 1972)

In Retirement, from The Atlantic (March, 1973)

Rembrandt’s Hat, from New Yorker (March 17, 1973)

Notes From a Lady At a Dinner Party, from Harper’s Magazine (February, 1973)

My Son the Murderer, from Esquire (November, 1968)

Talking Horse, from The Atlantic (August, 1972)

______________________________

Half a year later, on his thirty-sixth birthday,
Arkin, thinking of his lost cowboy hat
and heaving heard from the Fine Arts secretary that Rubin was home
sitting shiva for his recently deceased mother,
was drawn to the sculptor’s studio –
a jungle of stone and iron figures –
to search for the hat. 
He found a discarded welder’s helmet but nothing he could call a cowboy hat. 
Arkin spent hours in the large sky-lighted studio,
minutely inspecting the sculptor’s work  in welded triangular iron pieces,
set amid broken stone sanctuary he had been collecting for years –
decorative garden figures placed charmingly among iron flowers seeking daylight. 
Flowers were what Rubin was mostly into now,
on long stalk with small corollas,
on short stalks with petaled blooms. 
Some of the flowers were mosaics of triangles.

Now both of them evaded the other;
but after a period of rarely meeting,
they began, ironically, Arkin thought, to encounter one another everywhere –
even in the streets of various neighborhoods,
especially near galleries on Madison, or Fifty-seventh, or in Soho;
or on entering or leaving movie houses,
and on occasion about to go into stores near the art school;
each of them hastily crossed the street to skirt the other;
twice ending up standing close by on the sidewalk.
In the art school both refused to serve together on committees.
One, if he entered the lavatory and saw the other,
stepped outside and remained a distance away till he had left.
Each hurried to be first into the basement cafeteria at lunch time
because when one followed the other in
and observed him standing on line at the counter,
or already eating at a table, alone or in the company of colleagues,
invariably he left and had his meal elsewhere.
Once, when they came together they hurriedly departed together.
After often losing out to Rabin,
who could get to the cafeteria easily from his studio,
Arkin began to eat sandwiches in his office.
Each had become a greater burden to the other, Arkin felt,
than he would have been if only one were doing the shunning.
Each was in the other’s mind to a degree and extent that bored him.
When they met unexpectedly in the building after turning a corner or opening a door,
or had come face-to-face on the stairs, one glanced at the other’s head to see what, if anything,
adorned it; then they hurried by, or away in opposite directions.
Arkin as a rule wore no hat unless he had a cold,
then he usually wore a black woolen knit hat all day;
and Rubin lately affected a railroad engineer’s cap.
The art historian felt a growth of repugnance for the other.
He hated Rubin for hating him and beheld hatred in Rubin’s eyes.
“It’s your doing,” he heard himself mutter to himself to the other.
“You brought me to this, it’s on your head.”

After hatred came coldness. 
Each froze the other out of his life; or froze him in.  (pp. 130-131)

March 25, 2018 255

Great Jewish Short Stories, Edited by Saul Bellow – January, 1978 [Unknown Artist]

Like Great Chinese Short Stories, I’m presenting Great Jewish Short Stories far more for virtue of its content that its cover.  The latter is nice enough and entirely appropriate, but nothing that too dramatic, thus, leaving not-too-much to discuss. 

The content, of which there is very much, taking precedence, I’ve included links to a variety of websites for eighteen of the nineteen authors whose works appears in the book, as well as to the Apocrypha and Aggadah.    

Contents

Tobit, from the Apocrypha

The Lord Helpeth Man and Beast, from the Aggadah

Hadrian and The Aged Planter, from the Aggadah

The Rabbi’s Son, by Reb Nachman of Bratzlav

The Judgement, by Martin Buber

The Rabbi of Bacherach, A Fragment, by Heinrich Heine

On Account of a Hat, Hodel, by Sholom Aleichem

Cabalists, by Isaac Loeb Peretz

Bontsha the Silent, by Isaac Loeb Peretz

If Not Higher, by Isaac Loeb Peretz

The Golem, by Isaac Loeb Peretz

The Kerchief, by Samuel Joseph Agnon

Buchmendel, by Stefan Zweig

Horse Thief, by Joseph Opatoshu

Repentance, by Israel Joshua Singer

The Story of My Dovecot, by Isaac Babel

Awakening, by Isaac Babel

Gimpel the Fool, by Isaac Bashevas Singer

The Old Man, by Isaac Bashevas Singer

The Marked One, by Jacob Picard

My Aunt Daisy, by Albert Halper

The Magic Barrel, by Bernard Malamud

The Solitary Life of Man, by Leo Litwak

King Solomon (published in Harpers, July, 1956), by Isaac Rosenfeld

Epstein, by Philip Roth

Goodbye and Good Luck, by Grace Paley

A Ghetto Dog, by Isaiah Spiegel

______________________________

References, References, and yet more References!

The Apocrypha, at…

Wikipedia

Chabad.org

Jewish Encyclopedia

My Jewish Learning

Aggadah, at…

Wikipedia

Jewish Virtual Library

Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, at…

Wikipedia

Chabad.org

NanachNation

The Essential Rabbi Nachman (Wayback Machine)

Martin Buber, at…

Wikipedia

Heinrich Heine, at…

… Wikipedia

… Internet Archive

Sholem Aleichem, at…

Sholem Aleichem.org

Isaac Leib Peretz, at…

Wikipedia

Shmuel Yosef Agnon, at…

Wikipedia

Stafan Zweig, at…

Wikipedia

The Spectator (“Stefan Zweig: the tragedy of a great bad writer”)

Joseph Opatoshu, at...

Wikipedia

Jewish Virtual Library

Yiddishkayt.org

Israel Joshua Singer, at…

Wikipedia

Yivo

Geni.com

FindAGrave

Isaac Babel (Исаак Эммануилович Бабель), at…

Wikipedia

GoodReads

MyJewishLearning

Internet Movie Database

Lib.ru (prose, in Russian)

Isaac Bashevas Singer, at…

Wikipedia

BashevisSinger.com

Internet Movie Database

GoodReads

Jacob Picard, at…

de.Wikipedia (in German)

Encyclopedia.com

Center for Jewish History

Albert Halper, at…

Wikipedia

WikiZero

Internet Movie Database (My Aunt Daisy)

The New York Times (Obituary: “Albert Halper Is Dead at 79; Was Novelist and Playwright”, January 20, 1984)

Bernard Malamud, at…

Wikipedia

GoodReads

Jewish Virtual Library

Book Series In Order

Internet Movie Database (Filmography)

Leo E. Litwak, at…

Wikipedia

SFGate (“Leo Litwak, World War II combat medic turned English professor, dies at 94”, by Sam Whiting, July 28, 2018)

Isaac Rosenfeld, at…

The New York Times (“The Literary View”, by Richard Locke, mentioned in passing, July 10, 1977)

Commentary (“Isaac, with Love and Squalor”, by Joseph Epstein, July-August, 2009)

Philip Roth, at…

Wikipedia

GoodReads

GoodReads (Philip Roth Best Books)

Web of Stories

Isaiah Spiegel, at…

Encyclopedia.com

Vimeo (A Ghetto Dog (HQ))

The Assistant, by Bernard Malamud – June, 1963 (April, 1958) [Hofmann]

Well…  I’ve absolutely no idea who “Hofmann” is, but more importantly, having read The Assistant – in a much later paperback edition – years ago – I remember it as an excellent novel.  

“Morris,” frank said, at agonizing last,
“I have something important I want to tell you. 
I tried to tell you before only I couldn’t work my nerve up. 
Morris, don’t blame me now for what I once did,
because now I am now a changed man,
but I was one of the guys that held you up that night. 
I swear to God I didn’t want to once I got in here, but I couldn’t get out of it. 
I tried to tell you about it –
that’s why I came back here in the first place,
and the first chance got I put my share of money back in the register –
but I didn’t have the guts to say it. 
I wouldn’t look you in the eye. 
Even now I feel sick about what I am saying,
but I’m telling it to you so you will know how much I suffered on account of what I did,
and that I am very sorry you were hurt on your head –
even though not by me. 
The thing you got to understand is I am not the same person I once was. 
I might look so to you,
but if you could see what’s been going on in my heart
you would know I have changed. 
You can trust me now,
I swear it,
and that’s why I am asking you to let me stay and help you.”

Having said this, the clerk experienced a moment of extraordinary relief –
a treeful of bids broke into song;
but the song was silence when Morris, his eyes heavy, said,
“This I already know, you don’t tell me anything new.”

The clerk groaned, “How do you know it?”

“I figured out when I was laying upstairs in bed. 
I had once a bad dream that you hurt me, then I remembered – ”

“But I didn’t hurt you,” the clerk broke in emotionally. 
“I was the one that gave you the water to drink.  Remember?”

“I remember. 
I remember your hands. 
I remember your eyes. 
This day when the detective brought in here the holdupnik
that he didn’t hold me up I saw in your eyes that you did something wrong. 
Then when I stayed behind the hall door
and you stole from me a dollar and put it in your pocket. 
I thought I saw you before in some place but I didn’t know where. 
That day you saved me from the gas I almost recognized you;
then when I was laying in bed I had nothing to think about,
only my worries and how I threw away my life in this store,
then I remembered when you first came here, when we sat at this table,
you told me you always did the wrong thing in your life;
this minute when I remembered this I said to myself,
“Frank is the one that made me on the holdup.”

“Morris,” said Frank hoarsely, “I am very sorry.” (156-157)

Some Other Things to Read…

Bernard Malamud, at…

Wikipedia

Goodreads

Jewish Virtual Library

Book Series In Order

Internet Movie Database (Filmography)

The Assistant, at…

Wikipedia

Goodreads

Internet Movie Database

My Jewish Learning

Tevye’s Daughters, by Sholem Aleichem (Translated by Frances Butwin) – 1949 [Unknown Artist] [Updated post…]

[This is one of my earlier – earliest? – posts, having been created in November of 2017.  (Tempus fugit, eh?)  It’s now updated with additional information and photos.]

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While the artist who created the cover painting for Crown Hill’s 1949 collection of Sholom Aleichem’s tales – published under the title Tevye’s Daughters – is unknown, the translator of the stories is known, her name clearly displayed:  She was Frances Butwin. 

However, when I first created this post, her name was simply that, “a name”, for I was then unfamiliar with the story of her life as a bibliophile, bookseller, and especially translator of Yiddish.  She pursued this latter activity in collaboration with her husband Julius, continuing this work after his sudden death in 1945.

Move “forward” (double entendre there…) a few years to June of 2019, I was happily startled to see this image on display at a Facebook post by Washington University’s Stroum Center for Jewish Studies.  There, I at long last learned who Frances Butwin was.  Or, in the words of the Stroum Center:

“Have you ever read Sholom Aleichem’s stories in English?  Chances are, you’ve read the work of translators Frances and Julius Butwin – Professor Joe Butwin’s parents.

A Polish refugee of the Nazis and a child of Russian Jewish émigrés, Frances and Julius met through the pages of The Forward, through an essay contest titled “I am a Jew and an American.”

After 4,000 pages of correspondence, the couple married, and became some of the very first translators of Sholom Aleichem’s work into English – before Julius’ tragic early death at age 41.

Professor Joe Butwin of UW English Department shares his parents’ remarkable story, and discusses his own career as an advocate for Yiddish and Jewish literature at the UW, in a profile by Denise Grollmus.”

You can learn much more about the lives of Frances and Julius Butwin in Denise Grollman’s article “Professor Joe Butwin reflects on how his academic career always led him back to his family roots“, which includes two images of the couple (shown below), as well as images of Professor Butwin, Aharon Appelfeld, and Abraham Lincoln Brigade veteran Ed Lending. 

“Julius and Frances Butwin in Wisconsin Dells, Wi., shortly after their marriage in 1933.”

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“Frances Butwin at a book signing for her and Julius’s translation of Sholom Aleichem’s “The Old Country,” alongside author John Bennet, 1946.”

You can learn more about the Stroum Center for Jewish Studies here, and, follow the Center on Facebook, here

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Reading about the lives of the Butwins and their literary endeavors sparked my curiosity (not a hard thing to spark, I suppose).  To that end, the three following book reviews – one from The Philadelphia Inquirer by Mortimer J. Cohen, and two from The New York Times (by Orville Prescott and Thomas Lask) – present views of the Butwin’s work from the perspective of mainstream American literary culture during the late 1940s.  A fourth item – Sheldon Harnack’s 1972 essay in the (New York) Daily News – delves into Jerry Bock, Joe Stein, and Harnack’s use of the stories in Frances Butwin’s translation of Tevye’s Daughters as the basis for a certain musical known as “Fiddler On The Roof”. 

Harnack’s comment about his difficulty is locating a copy of Butwin’s book (in New York City, of all places) is as ironic as it is charming: “Incredibly, this classic was out of print and it was very difficult to locate two extra copies.  We did manage to find one copy, unexpectedly, in a bookstore whose specialty was religious literature – mostly Catholic, at that – an irony I’m sure Sholom Aleichem would have relished.” 

Well, I discovered my own copy (cover displayed above) at a used Bookstore in Atlanta, Georgia.  So, there you go!

As for Lask’s review?  Like many reviews in the Book Review section of the Sunday Times, it’s accompanied by an illustration: in this case, an imagined view of our hero Tevye.  Very (very!) close inspection of the drawing reveals that the artist’s name is “B. Gumener Nutkiewicz”, who I’m certain is Betty Gumener Nutkiewicz, a 1947 graduate of the Wayne State University Art Education Department and wife of N. Nutkiewicz, one of the editors of the Detroit edition of the Forward, as described in The Jewish News (Detroit) on June 23, 1950.

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Books of the Times

By ORVILLE PRESCOTT

The New York Times
June 24, 1946

THE OLD COUNTRY.  By Sholem Aleichem.  Translated by Julius and Frances Butwin.  434 pages.  Crown.  $3.

SHOLEM ALEICHEM, who was born in Pereyeslav in the Ukraine in 1859, died in Brooklyn in 1916.  Although he is unknown to most of the world, he is generally considered to have been one of the greatest of all Yiddish writers.  More than a million copies of his books have been sold. His collected works comprise twenty-eight volumes.  It is told of him that when he first came to New York Mark Twain went to call upon him.  “I wanted to meet you,” he said, “because I understand that I am the American Sholem Aleichem.”  Of his grand total of 300 short stories twenty-seven may now be found in “The Old Country,” translated into English for the first time by Julius and Frances Butwin.

Yiddish literature is unknown territory to most of us.  Little of it has been translated, and some of that little has proved of limited appeal.  Today Sholem Asch’s great religious novels about Christ and St Paul, “The Nazarene” and “The Apostle,” are the only Yiddish works known to most readers even by name.  Much more representative, I presume, was Sholem Aleichem, who, wrote of his own people as he had known them in the Jewish villages of imperial Russia.  The stories he tells of them are very similar to another notable Yiddish work which was published here last September, “Song of the Dnieper,” by Zalman Shneour.  It is quite possible that Mr. Shneour was influenced by the elder writer.  But he was also obviously influenced by the literary and political atmosphere of a later generation.  There is far more violence, misery, corruption and ignorance in “Song of the Dnieper” than in “The Old Country.”

Stories Are Simple and Colloquial

Sholem Aleichem would be called a regional writer if we could transplant that word to a foreign literature.  His stories sometimes are intricately plotted, and some of them present well-individualized characters; but the first concern of them all seems to be atmosphere, the habits of thought and turns of speech, the customs and superstitions of a special way of life.  With humor and affection and zest Aleichem wrote of the villagers of Kasrilevka and Zolodievka, their poverty, their religion, their loquacity and their unconquerable delight in wit and learning.  The Jews of Old Russia, as Aleichem saw them, were devout and honorable, simple in a tunelessly provincial fashion and at the same time emotionally sophisticated.

Nobody could be more humbly fatalistic than the man who contemplated his poverty and the riches of others and sighed, “If it should have been different it would have been.”  Slightly more cynical was a subsequent thought, “to some people butter rolls, and to others the plague.”  But fleshly comforts are not to be scorned either.  “God is God, but whisky is something you can drink.”

These stories are written in a simple, colloquial style as if their author were one of the villagers spinning a tale about his neighbors.  The matter, too, as well as the manner, contributes to the general folk air.  Holy days and festivals, marriages and deaths, drunkenness and barter, the hazards of various occupations, these are Aleichem’s themes.  They are more important than the characters themselves.  This is the way it was in the old country, he seems to be saying.  This is the way the people lived and died.  And, most important of all, this is the way they talked. “The Old Country” is filled with marvelous talk that has survived the perils of translation surprisingly.  The special rhythms of Yiddish speech, the dependence on quotation and allusion, the sly wit, are all wonderfully well conveyed.  Those who know Aleichem’s work in the original may have other ideas, but this book is not intended for them.

One Hero Is Dogged by Bad Luck

Much the most interesting character in “The Old Country” is Tevye, the hero of several stories which he tells in the first person. Tevye was a shlimazl, a man dogged by bad luck.  Tevye’s idea of a cheerful greeting to strangers was “What is it you want?  If you want to buy something, all I have is a gnawing stomach, a heart full of pain, a head full of worries, and all the misery and wretchedness in the world.”  Tevye was usually down, but never out.  He was colossally ignorant, but he prided himself on his learning.  He tried to seem fierce, but he had the kindest heart in the village.  He loved to talk and to misquote and merely to live, although he knew few enough of the pleasures of life.  Tevye is a humorous triumph.

But his presence makes many of the other stories in “The Old Country” seem somewhat insipid in comparison.  No matter how authentic it may be, local-color writing soon palls.  No matter how adroit and understanding, fiction on the folk level soon becomes tedious.  After a few stories in “The Old Country” one is inclined to think, “how delightful!”  After a good many one is likely to be bored and fretful.  Charm and atmosphere aren’t enough.  Something more substantial into which he, the reader, can set his teeth is needed, some ideas, some deeper penetration into character, some more adult storytelling.  “The Old Country,” by ignoring Russia and the Russians, doesn’t even have anything to say about that other aspect of life in the old country, the aspect which sent so many Jews fleeing to other countries.

There can be no question that Sholem Aleichem was an accomplished writer.  Whether he wrote the kind of fiction that will appeal widely to non-Yiddish readers is another matter.

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Humor That Is Poignant

TEVYEH’S DAUGHTERS.  By Sholom Aleiehem.  Translated by Frances Butwin.  302 pp.  New York: Crown Publishers.  $3.

By THOMAS LASK

The New York Times
January 23, 1949

SO appealing, so warm and quick with life are the writings of Sholom Aleichem that he has stimulated translators all over the world.  His work has appeared in such various tongues as Lettish, Esperanto and Japanese.  Although an early translation in English came out in 1912, only six volumes have appeared altogether, and these of uneven merit.  Today, though he remains a major literary figure, the number of those who can read him in the Yiddish original has become steadily fewer.  Thus, Mrs. Butwin, who with her husband brought out a previous book of stories, “The Old Country,” in telling the story of Tevyeh and his daughters, has performed a major service.  Tevyeh is company too good to be barred from us by foreign syllables.

But even to so expert a workman as Mrs. Butwin there must be a large element of frustration in this enterprise, for she surely knows better than others how difficult it is to get that picturesque, flavor-some, idiomatic folk tongue into equivalent English speech.  Yet it is precisely his handling of this folk language that sets off his greatness.  Sholom Aleichem could fashion an effective short story as well as the next one; but in his use of the common Yiddish speech he stands alone.  It is both the substance and the medium, and he has wedded it to characters who raised dialect to the stature of art.  These were the Jews of the Russian pale who flourished before the holocaust and who were so poor that the spoken word was their only permanent possession.  Their poverty was a function of their lives, and “they raised it to “an art, a calling, a career.”  But through their speech they squared themselves with their condition, their assorted misfortunes, even with the Almighty Himself.  As Maurice Samuel has remarked, life got the better of them, but they got the better of the argument.

But if Mrs. Butwin’s stories are not the equal of the originals (and she would be the last to claim that they are), there is still a great deal that is amusing and delightful.  Her versions are always mellifluous, and at least two of the stories can be recommended without qualifications.  In “Another Page From the Song of Songs,” she has caught the tender wistfulness of a spring day; and in “Schprintze” she has retained the melancholy that was a quality of the original.

Moreover, Mrs. Butwin has had the intelligence to concentrate on one of the most popular and effective of Sholom Aleichem’s portraits, Tevyeh the Dairyman.  Tevyeh had two major afflictions: his livelihood (or lack of one) and his seven marriageable daughters.  No matter how he contrived or plotted to arrange suitable marriages, the girls had minds of their own and insisted on making their own destiny – with lamentable results.  One spurns a rich man and marries a poor tailor who dies and bequeaths her a roomful of children.  Another insists on marrying a revolutionary and sharing his exile.  A third marries a Christian, and Tevyeh cuts the apostate from his life if not his heart.  One, finally, does marry a rich magnate from Yehupetz, but this is the worst marriage of all – for money has been substituted for love and pride.  In spite of his outward show, Tevyeh admires their independence.  Throughout it all he struggles with his poverty, fences and argues with his wife, curses and communes with his nag and hides his sorrow.

ALL this may not seem the raw material for comedy, yet Tevyeh is one of the great humorous figures in literature.  He has become so from his wit, from the play of his mind on the events, from his intellectual sprightliness.  He is irrepressible.  For every situation he has the quotation or twist of phrase that redeems it.  His humor doesn’t derive from the situation, but from the language that applies to it.  It is a bittersweet optimism that is found so frequently in Sholom Aleichem’s writings.  It can be seen in the note that Yosrolik writes to his friend after the Kishinev massacre: “Pogrom?  Thank God we have nothing to fear.  We have already had two of them and a third won’t be worth while.”

Mrs. Butwin has also included a few stories which depend for their effect on their narrative qualities.  “The German,” in which a cheated traveler takes a long and subtle revenge, would fit very well in any contemporary collection; and “Gymnasia,” a passionate parent’s plan for her son’s education, is a study in organized chaos.  And there are a number of other tales that reveal indirectly the ramshackle, confined towns and life in the pale – and in the distance the movement and mutter of the outside world that was already stirring, not only to destroy this life, but also the people who lived it.

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Eternal Clash of New and Old

TEVYE’S DAUGHTERS, BY Sholom Aleichem, Crown Publishers: New York, 302 pp. $3.

The Philadelphia Inquirer Book Review
February 27, 1949

By Mortimer J. Cohen

TEVYE the Dairyman is the main hero of this volume of short stories by the great Yiddish writer, Sholom Aleichem.

Tevye is the symbol of a world that has passed away, a world that had its physical locale in the Russian-Polish Pale of Settlement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but whose real foundations were in the hearts of a great Jewish community now destroyed by Hitlerism.

Undoubtedly Sholom Aleichem, who has been favorably compared to our American Mark Twain, intended to write a family chronicle in these tales about the seven daughters of Tevye, who circle about him like planets around the sun.  Among the planets, of course, moves Golde, Tevye’s beloved wife.  Through all the stories runs a single theme: “The never-resolved conflict between the younger and older generations.”

TEVYE, who sells milk, butter and cheese to the folks of the neighboring towns for a living, is a man of simple piety whose deep religious faith enables him to meet the challenge of poverty, trial and sorrow.

Tevye’s “old-fashioned” ideas are strongly challenged by the stormy times in which he lives: the last days of Czarist Russia with its political unrest and the revolutionary struggle of 1905-6.

Within Jewry at the time strong ferments are at work: Zionism and the spread of secular culture through the Haskalah, or Enlightenment.

Tevye’s daughters are infected by these currents and counter-currents, and they in turn rebel against Tevye and Golde and the patriarchal way of life they represent.

But Tevye loves his daughters, whom he considers the most beautiful creatures in the world, and he even finds ways to justify them, blaming their actions upon “an evil fate” which they cannot control.

THROUGH all his experiences, Tevye remains patient, profoundly human, compassionate, understanding and lovable.  His humor lights up the dark places he travels through.  And to the very end he is sustained by his religious faith.

Not all the stories in this volume deal with Tevye and his daughters.  The translator, Frances Butwin, who has done a superb job, has intertwined the chronicles of Tevye the Dairyman with the other stories in such a way that the latter become interesting not only in themselves but as backgrounds.

This is an admirable volume of stories that will bring smiles and tears to the reader.

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Book Is the Thing in ‘Fiddler’

Daily News (New York)
June 11, 1972

By SHELDON HARNICK

Around 1940, when I was in my 2nd or 3rd year at Chicago’s Carl Schurz High School, my friends and I stumbled on the work of Bob Benchley.  Talk about serendipity!

After devouring everything of his we could lay our hands on, in rapid succession we went on to revel (wallow might be a better word) in the heady concoctions of S.J. Perelman, James Thurber, Stephen Leacock and a few other dispensers of “wonderful nonsense.”  Knowing that I was hooked on this type of humorous writing, a friend recommended that I try Sholom Aleichem, the alleged “Yiddish Mark Twain.”

I remembered having seen “The Old Country” Country” among my father’s books.  So I read it.  (It was in English: I couldn’t read Yiddish then and, regrettably, still can’t.)  I didn’t like it; that is, although the stories were not without interest I didn’t find it funny in the way Benchley, Perelman, et al, were funny.  I was looking for that particular kind of screwball humor, that verbal dexterity which characterized my favorites.  Sholom Aleichem, I decided, wasn’t even in the same league.  I never even thought to ask myself whether he had lost something in translation.

Looking for an Idea

Cut to 20 years later.  Jerry Bock and I are looking for a suitable subject for a musical.  A friend suggests Sholom Aleichem’s “Wandering Star.”  I, secure in the wisdom of the conclusion reached when I was 15 or 16 years old, can be heard asserting to Jerry, “Well, let’s not expect too much.  I read some stuff of his years ago and it wasn’t so hot.”

So we read the book.  Of course, by this time I was no longer in frenzied pursuit of hilarious literary outbursts.  We were looking for a story rich in emotion, peopled with the sort of characters who might be legitimately expected to burst into song.  “Wandering Star” had all of that in abundance.

Well, Jerry and I were so taken with the novel that we asked Joe Stein to read it.  Joe liked it as much as we did but pointed out that there was too great an abundance of just about everything in it.  He doubted that it could be pared down and molded into manageable theatrical shape.  Joe, who was familiar with other Sholom Aleichem works (and in Yiddish, yet!) suggested that we explore more of his stories.  He smiled as he recalled how funny some of them were.  I nodded skeptically.  I knew better.

Not long after this we discovered “Tevye’s Daughters” (I think Joe may have owned a copy) and knew that we wanted to try to translate it to the stage.  Incredibly, this classic was out of print and it was very difficult to locate two extra copies.  We did manage to find one copy, unexpectedly, in a bookstore whose specialty was religious literature – mostly Catholic, at that – an irony I’m sure Sholom Aleichem would have relished.

Begin Studying

So, the three of us began to study the various stories that comprise Tevye’s Daughters (in the Frances Butwin translation).  As far as I know, these stories were not written to form one continuous novel; each was written as a self-contained entity and they are scattered through several collections of miscellaneous tales.  The largest number of them in any single volume is in the book entitled “Tevye’s Daughters,” which also includes “The Little Pot,” an initially amusing but ultimately heartbreaking story narrated by a character named “Yenta.”  As I read the- stories over and over, literally immersing myself in them, a startling thing happened.  To paraphrase Mark Twain’s celebrated comment concerning his father, it was amazing how much Sholom Aleichem’s writing had improved in 20 years!

Since the narrative style of “Tevye’s Daughters” is simple and straightforward (deceptively so), the beauty and the intensely moving quality of the stories is apparent on a single reading.  Repeated
readings began to reveal the subtleties of his writing, as well as the extraordinary depth of his knowledge and understanding of his characters.  And the more we understand these characters, how richly human they were, the funnier and sadder they became.

More Than Ethnic

We also began to realize that the humor, the pathos, the humanity, and the meaning of these stories went far beyond any ethnic frame or any tour-de-force of mere verbal dexterity.  Sholom Aleichem may have been writing specifically for a Yiddish speaking audience,-but his is an eloquence that far transcends language.

To state, as did Irving Howe in his review of “Fiddler” in “Commentary” that “The action in his stories tends to be slight, for everything rests on language, a kind of rippling monologue in which the full range of nuances is available only to the cultivated Yiddish reader,” is to glorify style at the expense of the universality which we found so profoundly moving.  It was this we worked so hard, under Jerome Robbins’ loving and scrupulous supervision, to re-create on the stage.

Because of the immensity of “Fiddler’s” success and the resultant vast amount of publicity the show has received, I find that (speaking for myself) there is a tendency to accept my share of the credit and praise and let Sholom Aleichem’s monumental achievement slide quietly into the background.  Oh, yes, we always mention his name in passing but that’s about all. Now that “Fiddler” is about to become the longest running show in Broadway’s history, I feel an obligation to set the record straight.  If you put all of us who put “Fiddler” together on one side of a balance, and Sholom Aleichem along with his inspired creation: Tevye and his world, on the other, the balance would quickly tip in Sholom Aleichem Tevye’s direction.

I only wish that everyone who has seen “Fiddler” and enjoyed it would buy, rent, or borrow a copy of “Tevye’s Daughters” (now back in print, one of the nicer spin-offs from the show’s success) and read all the “Tevye” stories.  After all, we only used four of them, and have no intention of writing either “Son of Fiddler” or “The Further Adventures of Tevye and his Daughters.”  Go, read.

Words in Print: Vasily Semyonovich Grossman (Василий Семенович Гроссман) – Book Review of “Life and Fate” (1987 Harper & Row Edition, with cover illustration by Christopher Zacharow), The New York Times, March 9, 1986

Almost a year and a half after the Collins Harvill publication of Life and Fate, Harper & Row released a paperback version of the novel with a striking cover illustration by Christopher Zacharow.  The image depicts German and Soviet military helmets conjoined at their bases to form a symbolic guard tower – with the diminutive silhouette of a guard within – overlooking the electric fence of a concentration camp or anonymous camp in the gulag.

Zacharow’s composition is a simple and bold representation of the ideological parallels shared by totalitarian political and social systems, even as those systems are at war with one another.

But even with that, a nearly-glowing patch of light – in an otherwise darkened bluish-grayish-greenish sky – appears above the distant horizon of Zacharow’s painting. 

Sunset or sunrise? 

I would like to think the latter.

(Especially in this summer of the year 2020.)

Ronald Hingley’s extensive New York Times review of Life and Fate covers the novel and its author in terms of history, biography (Grossman’s biography, that is), the book’s social and cultural genesis as a work of literature – in both the Soviet Union and the “West” – in terms of its quality as literature, and (as noted by H.T. Willetts in his 1985 review).  Hingley also notes the centrality of the Jewish identity of some of the protagonists, particularly that of Viktor Shturm, in terms of the book’s plot and message.  (Or, messages, for they are several: overlapping, complementing, and reinforcing one another.)  His review concludes with a brief excerpt from the book; I’ve included extracts of two other passages to enhance this post.

Given the novel’s significance and fame, I’d long wondered if it was ever serialized as a radio program or television mini-series.  The answer – which I discovered upon creating this post – is emphatically “yes” (yes!) on both counts.

In 1981, BBC Radio 4 serialized Life and Fate as a 13-part series, produced and directed by Alison Hindell.  Apparently still available at the BBC and last broadcast in September of 2011, the episodes are entitled:

Abarchuk
Journey
Novikov’s Story
Anna’s Letter
Fortress Stalingrad
Lieutenant Peter Bach
Krymov in Moscow
Viktor and Lyuda
Vera and Her Pilot
Viktor and the Academy
Krymov and Zhena – Lovers Once
A Hero of the Soviet Union
Building 6/1 – Those Who Were Still Alive

The cast – based on episode titles – included Sara Kestelman, Janet Suzman, Kenneth Branagh, and David Tennant.

In October of 2012, a 12-episode television mini-series of Life and Fate was produced in the Russian Federation, by Sergey Ursulyak.  Available through Amazon Prime Video (19 5-star reviews), the episodes, ranging in length between 36 and 49 minutes and available with English-language subtitles, comprise:

On the Front
A Sea of Red Tape
Time for Love
Breakthrough Looms
Inside House Number 6
Fading Hopes
All Seems Lost
Fallout
In Moscow
Persecution
Suspicion and Influence
Requiem for Stalingrad

You can view and read a review of the series at the YouTube Stalingrad Battle Data channel, which includes this notable comment:

“The film raises fundamental questions behind each individual story, but almost always it comes down to this one: how to remain humane in inhumane conditions, oppressed from all sides, with enemies in front as well as behind you.

This is simply one of the very best cast, acted and directed series on WWII and the Soviet era in general.  Excellently played and directed, it’s not only a very good war film, it’s a very good film in absolute.  It’s also an exploration of human nature, most characters having a deep personality and expressing it just fine.”

(Well, now that I’ve finished the latest season of The Expanse, I have something new to look forward to…)

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Stalingrad and Stalin’s Terror

LIFE AND FATE
By Vasily Grossman
Translated by Robert Chandler
880 pp  New York  Harper & Row $22.50

By Ronald Hingley

The New York Times Book Review
March 9, 1986

life-and-fate-vasily-grossman-1985-1987-christopher-zacharow-newCover illustration of Harper & Row edition by Christopher Zacharow (Marian C. Zacharow).  You can view a full view of the painting – it’s quite striking – at Fine Art America, the version above having been cropped to conform to the proportions of the book’s cover.

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(Vasiliy Grossman, in a wartime portrait on the book jacket of The Years of War.)

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AN important novel written in the Soviet Union will almost certainly prove unpublishable there, but it will usually find its way to the West sooner or later.  In the case of Vasily Grossman’s “Life and Fate” this has happened much later rather than sooner.  Grossman’s novel was completed in I960.  In other words it was written at about the same time as Boris Pasternak’s “Doctor Zhivago,” the work with which the practice of smuggling out illicit writings began 30 years ago.

“Life and Fate” hinges on the closing phase of the Battle of Stalingrad in the bleak winter of 1942-43, when the Soviet Army held and then routed the German invader on the Volga.  But the action is by no means confined to that river.  It also ranges through Soviet and German-occupied Eastern Europe, giving detailed vistas of front and rear, depicting mass atrocities and penal procedures on both sides.  The text is nearly 900 pages and the named characters are legion. 

Grossman’s faults are the usual faults Socialist Realists as exemplified in hundreds of run-of-the-mill Soviet works of fiction published over the last half century.  The extraordinary thing is to find this puddingy and conformist technique employed by an author who has so triumphantly rejected the political conformism that is supposed to go with the technique.  And the novel indeed does triumph in the end, defects and all, stodge or no stodge.  It triumphs through the high seriousness of Grossman’s grand theme and through his compelling historical, moral and political preoccupations. 

Notable among these is his faith in erratic, spontaneous, unscripted human kindness, as preached from inside a German death camp by a certain Ikonnikov, one of those saintly, philosophizing half-wits so beloved of Russian fiction writers.  Such (as it were) extracurricular kindness is seen as an ineradicable human characteristic.  It is presented as the sole guarantee that victory need not go in the end to the world’s great cruel ideologies, among which Ikonnikov does not hesitate to include Christianity alongside Marxism and Nazism.  The thesis may sound trite, but Grossman illustrates it poignantly. 

The prehistory of the book goes back to 1943, when Grossman began work on an earlier, widely forgotten novel entitled “For a Just Cause.”  That book hinges on the opening phase of the Battle of Stalingrad, it was published in Moscow in 1952, and Grossman conceived it as the first part of a double-decker work of which “Life and Fate” was to form the second.  As things worked out, it was not until 1980 that “Life and Fate” first achieved full publication in Russian, in Lausanne, Switzerland.  And only now do we at last haw it in English translation. 

What of the relations between these two linked novels?  Subplots and major characters straddle them, though not to the extent of making the sequel impenetrably obscure to those ignorant of the predecessor.  Closely linked-in this way, the two works yet offer a sharp contrast in political attitude.  It is a contrast between the conformism of the earlier volume and the militant nonconformism of the later.

“For a Just Cause” was only another sample of Socialist Realist (that is, caponized) fiction, and it was even described as a potential Stalin Prize winner.  True, the first published version came under attack and had to be rewritten.  But that happened even to the most orthodox of Stalinist authors.  And Grossman’s revised text was soon appearing in the Soviet Union.  Its author never became what is now known as a dissident.  Nor did he ever stray far from favor with authority.  He served on the presidium of the Soviet Writers’ Union for 10 years until his death in 1964.  He also won an official decoration, the Banner of Labor, for his writings.

THUS, the news that he was working on a sequel to “For a Just Cause” in the late 1950s would have been unlikely to create a stir in the Soviet Union or anywhere else.  All that could be expected was another gelded fictional brontosaurus like its predecessor, the umpteenth such carcass to litter the landscape of officially approved Soviet literature.  Who was to suspect that there was another, a secret, Grossman, a Grossman painfully aware that his own Government was responsible for a large share of the appalling sufferings that assailed Europe during his middle life?  Here, it turns out, was a loather of totalitarianism in both its guises, the Stalinist no less than the Hitlerite.  “Life and Fate” is a passionate onslaught against state-sponsored political terror.

Having finished the novel, Grossman even dared to offer it for Soviet publication, only to have it piously rejected as anti-Soviet by the journal to which it had been submitted.  Then two K.G.B. officers burst into the author’s home and removed every shred of paper and other material – including used typewriter ribbons – with any conceivable bearing on “Life and Fate.”  Brooding on his loss and disinclined to re-create half a million words from memory, the author implored the party leadership to order the return of his typescript.  His answer came from the ideological satrap Mikhail Suslov: there could be no question of publishing the novel for another 200 years.  That is a telling tribute to its credentials, both as a work of art and as a politically heretical text. 

When Grossman died a year or two later, he could have no reason to suppose that his most inflammatory product would ever see the light of day.  Yet a microfilm of his text somehow survived – these things do happen in Russia – and was eventually spirited abroad.

In portraying Hitlerite and Stalinist totalitarianism as closely resembling each other, the novel is not unique among Soviet-banned works.  Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn has made a similar point, just as he has also tended to agree with Grossman in suggesting that Lenin rather than Stalin was the true founder of Soviet-style totalitarianism.  But Grossman deploys these important arguments with a force and slant all his own.

His book is also remarkable for the attention given, by an author himself Jewish, to the Jewish situation.  The hero is a Soviet Jewish nuclear physicist. Soviet persecution of Jews is a major theme – a shade anachronistical, for attitudes more characteristic of the Soviet Union in the late 40s are here attributed to the war period.  But all that is nothing, of course, compared with the pages on the sufferings of Jews caught up in Hitler’s “final solution.”  For example, the reader of “Life and Fate” enters a gas chamber and breathes in an asphyxiant, the notorious gas Zyklon B.  You need a steady nerve to read parts of this novel. 

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The fate of many of them seemed so poignantly sad
that to speak of them in even the most tender, quiet, kind words
would have been like touching a heart torn open
with a rough and insensitive hand. 

It was really quite impossible to speak of them at all..

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Grossman also pictures the horrors of the Soviet death camps and takes the reader inside the unspeakable Lubyanka Pitson in Moscow.  His account of Soviet life – penal, military and civilian – is encyclopedic and unblinkered.  On the military side it embraces adventures in an encircled strongpoint in Stalingrad – artillery bombardments, air raids, hand-to-hand fighting, the relations between commanders and military commissars and life in the army on the move and in the rear areas.  Then there are the experiences of civilians – in the provinces, in evacuation to the temporary wartime capital, Kuibyshev, and in Moscow itself.  Love affairs, divorces, the problems of acquiring a ration card or a residence permit – they are all here, the tragic and the trivial side by side.

In is all enormously impressive too, but the level is decidedly uneven.  And there is so very, very much of everything.  One wonders, not for the first time, why Russian authors are so relentlessly committed to fictional gigantism.  One cynical explanation is that they are perverted for life because they are paid by the page and not on the basis of sales.  A less cynical explanation puts it all down to their wish to emulate Tolstoy’s “War and Peace.”  But when Robert Chandler, the workmanlike translator of “Life and Fate,” calls it, in his preface, “the true ‘War and Peace’ of this century,” I incline to cavil, though I can see why he thinks so.  For example, Grossman does vie with Tolstoy in embracing so many events and personages of historical importance: Stalin, Hitler, Eichmann and not a few real-life Soviet generals are among his minor characters.  But his chronological range is far more restricted than Tolstoy’s.  Then again, Tolstoy’s great novel has itself been criticized as loosely shaped.  But it does at least have a shape of sorts – more so, anyway, than Grossman’s sprawling work.  This book has little in the way of compelling plot line, while samples of narrative skill are all too sparse.  A little suspense here, the occasional surprise there, the odd humorous or sarcastic touch: it doesn’t add up to much in the way of vibrancy.

Above all Grossman lacks Tolstoy’s flair for characterization, as do so many other modern Russian fiction writers.  Whether we think of the endless minor figures in the novel, introduced so lavishly as to put even “War and Peace” in the shade, or of the handful of major male heroes, or of the comparably featureless Lyudmilas, Yevgenias and Alexandra Vladimirovnas – everywhere we find the inability to breathe full conviction into the printed word.  The man can make residence permits, army rations, booze-ups in dugouts, gas chambers and mass graves credible.  What a pity, then, that he can’t do the same for human beings.  Yes, yes, he does hand out various physical characteristics, a ginger-colored mustache here, a twitching right eye there.  But his brain children largely tend to be stillborn. 

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grossman109_edited-2Disposition of Soviet and German forces during Battle of Stalingrad, as an explanatory map in Harper & Row 1987 paperback edition of Life and Fate.

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This is true even of the novel’s main character, the nuclear physicist Viktor Shtrum.  Here is a politically ambivalent figure given to dropping indiscreet remarks.  His star seems ascendant when he makes a crucial discovery in theoretical physics, but he soon becomes the target for an anti-Semitic witch hunt at his institute.  Only at the last moment, when he seems firmly marked as concentration camp fodder, is he unexpectedly rescued by one of Stalin’s famous deus ex machina telephone calls.  This redeems Shtrum’s position. But it also – more significantly – effects his ideological seduction from the status of political waverer to that of enthusiastic pillar of the scientific establishment.  Perhaps Grossman is here apologizing, through his hero, for his own many accommodations with the literary establishment, which so richly rewarded him.  In the light of such speculations Shtrum’s dilemmas become considerably more fascinating than Shtrum himself.

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But an invisible force was crushing him.
He could feel its weight, its hypnotic power;
it was forcing him to think as it wanted, to write as it dictated.
This force was inside him;
it could dissolve his will and cause his heart to stop beating;
it came between him and his family;
it insinuated itself into his past, into his childhood memories.
He began to feel that he really was untalented and boring,
someone who wore out the people around him with dull chatter.
Even his work seemed to have grown dull,
to be covered with a layer of dust;
the thought of it no longer filled him with light and joy.
Only people who have never felt such a force themselves
can be surprised that others submit to it.
Those who have felt it, on the other hand,
feel astonished that a man can rebel against it even for a moment
– with one sudden word of anger,
one timid gesture of protest.

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THANKS are due to Robert Chandler for providing a clear account of the novel’s history.  Too often illicit Soviet writings are dumped in front of the Western reader with the bare title, author’s name and translator’s name, and the customary blurb comparing the contents to Tolstoy, Chekhov, Shakespeare or whomever – that is all.  But about material emanating from such a fuzzy context we badly need hard information, and we get that kind of information here.

Mr. Chandler’s long labors have made available a work that substantially justifies his own description of it as “the most complete portrait of Stalinist Russia we have or are ever likely to have.” It is, at very least, a significant addition to the great library of smuggled Russian works by Pasternak and his many successors, works written in the Soviet Union but destined almost exclusively for the un-Kremlinized reader.

Everyone Remembered 1937

Scientific research in the country had been discussed by the Central Committee.  When Shcherbakov had proposed a reduction in the Academy’s budget, Stalin had shaken his head and said: “No, we’re not talking about making soap.  We are not going to economize on the Academy.”  Everyone expected a considerable improvement in the position of scientists…  A few days later an important botanist was arrested, Chetyerikov the geneticist.  There were various rumours about the reason for his arrest…  Since the beginning of the war there had been relatively little talk of political arrests.  Many people, Viktor among them, thought that they were a thing of the past.  Now everyone remembered 1937: the daily roll-call of people arrested during the night, people phoning each other up with the news….

Viktor remembered the names of dozens of people who had left and never returned: Academician Vavilov, Vize, Osip Mandelstam, Babel, Boris Pilnyak, Meyerhold, the bacteriologists Korshunov and Zlatogorov, Professor Pletnyov, Doctor Levin.

Was all this going to begin again?  Would one’s heart sink, even after the war, when one heard footsteps or a car horn during the night?

How difficult it was to reconcile such things with the war for freedom!

From “Life and Fate”

Ronald Hingley’s most recent books are “Pasternak,” a biography, and “Nightingale Fever,” a study of four 20th-century Russian poets.

Suggested Readings

Aciman, Alexander, Book Review: Vasily Grossman, the Great Forgotten Soviet Jewish Literary Genius of Exile and Betrayal, Lives Inside Us All, Tablet, October 23, 2017

Capshaw, Ron, The Scroll: The Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee Was Created to Document the Crimes of Nazism Before They Were Murdered by Communists – For the crime of acknowledging Jewish identity, the committee’s members were killed in a Stalinist pogrom, Tablet, November 29, 2018

Epstein, Joseph, The Achievement of Vasily Grossman – Was he the greatest writer of the past century?, Commentary, May, 2019

Eskin, Blake, Book Review: Eyewitness – A collection of Vasily Grossman’s shorter work offers a chance to reassess the Soviet master’s life and legacy. A conversation with Grossman translator Robert Chandler, Tablet, December 8, 2010

Kirsch, Adam, Book Review: No Exit: Life and Fate, Vasily Grossman’s indispensable account of the horrors of Stalinism and the Holocaust, puts Jewishness at the heart of the 20th century, Tablet, November 30, 2011

Taubman, William, Book Review: Life and Fate: A biography of Vasiliy Grossman, the Soviet writer whose masterpiece compared Stalin’s regime to Hitler’s, The New York Times Book Review, p. 16, July 14, 2019

Vapnyar, Lara, Book Review: Dispatches – How World War II turned a Soviet loyalist into a dissident novelist.  Plus: An audio interview with the editor of A Writer at War, Tablet, January 30, 2006

Grossman’s Life and Fate to be Serialised by the BBC, at Russian Books

Grossman’s War: Life and Fate, at BBC

Life and Fate: vivid, heartbreaking, illuminating and utterly brilliant, at The Guardian

Life And Fate: probably the best Stalingrad movie so far, at Stalingrad Battle Date

Life and Fate, at Internet Movie Database