Poem 11-- Mother (Untitled) Mother, mother, poor old mother, Do you know that your son, Your only son, Is long since dead? And when you...

Poem 10 - Mute Resonance (Untitled)* In its fear of death my soul forgets That wordless resonance! Turning to dust without a word The...

Trees and houses floating, dancing, It all wrapped in haze, And in the gray dancing, streets revolve quiet, revolve crazed. A drowsy,...

Poem 7 - Black Sin (Untitled) Permit me yet to live my entire life kneeling at your feet Perhaps then you will forgive me my black sin....

Investiture (Untitled) God invested in me:* A pure, white soul, With a child’s laugh And with a child’s cringe, ** And two white doves...

A world is sinking, and she trembles, Trembles in mute pain, And from generations then to generations on, Quiet mourning carries on. The...

Poem 3 - An Eye (Untitled) And an eye, mutely staring, Keeps, always, always, its gaze set, And lower and lower sinks My accursed, tired...

I paced in my room until late in the night, Wide opened my eyes, thought and took sight. Someone sang somewhere of blazing luck, Their...

Fragment 1 Upon my soul’s own grave I built a tent of reed* Now I live there--out of need. Afn keyver fun mayn neshome hob ikh a getselt...

(Note: This is the final entry in Moyshe Varshe's diary, written less than 10 days before he committed suicide. The remainder of the book...

Do I bow my head, silence myself, pray? And do I then do the opposite--raise my head, speak, curse? No, not that. I have a feeling that I...

Who knows? Perhaps it’s all for the good. May I murmur: (משלי ג, פרק יב) כי את אשר יאהב יהוה יוכיח For whom the LORD loves, He rebukes?...

December 19--January 2. A new year. Symbolic dates. Hygiene: Silence. Not speaking and not thinking. Everything is declamation: Studying,...

Has it not all happened to me before my time? Really, it hasn’t. But a suffocating and suffocating haze envelops all.* Did I not expect...

I don’t want to dream in waking life. Dream is lie’s truth. In dream, everything is finished and done. But in an environment that puts...

My sensitivity is my enemy. I am a mass of sick nerves, reacting to sensations.

Another two weeks gone. Why don’t I break [out of] the enchanted circle? Am I destined to spend my life muttering about my fate? There...

Two weeks. I’ve been living without self-consciousness. I’m almost well. But something is missing. What? I do ugly things, for I am full...

What is it? Why am I not thinking? Am I now nothing more than a nest for cheap thoughts? I choke them out--they come without end. And it...

Long since I touched my diary--[I had] no thoughts. Why? Are there external causes? Why do I let myself be shaped from without? I need to...