Primrose Road

The rabbi promised us he'd find an appropriate poem to read at yesterday's funeral service, and he did.

After My Death, by Chaim Nachman Bialik, trans. Ruth Nevo

There was a man – and look, he is no more.
He died before his time.
The music of his life suddenly stopped.
A pity! There was another song in him.
Now it is lost
forever.

A great pity! He had a violin,
a living, speaking soul
to which he uttered
the secrets of his heart,
making all its strings vibrate,
save one he kept inviolate.
Back and forth his supple fingers danced,
one string alone remained entranced
still unheard.

A pity!
All its life that string quivered
silently shook,
yearned for its song, its mate,
as a heart saddens before its fate.
Despite delay it waited daily
mutely beseeching its saviour lover
who lingered, loitered, tarried ever,
and did not come.

Great is the pain!
There was a man – and look, he is no more.
The music of his life suddenly stopped.
There was another song in him.
Now it is lost
forever.