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  • Writer's pictureCorbin Allardice

September 2, 1911

A protracted ebbing.*

Everything revolves around the one: how can one live on their own grave?

You cannot break the chains of sin/the path back was buried by a wind--I sang to myself. That was two years ago, Passover. I wandered through the streets, declaiming. My heart wept for something then, now--it doesn’t. Is it good? And it is not good for me. What does that mean?

I am lazy. I can only do machine's work. Lies. A person can do all that they want! I want nothing. But I stand frightened before the fate of he who wants nothing.

By Moyshe Varshe

Translated by Corbin Allardice

*-The Yiddish here is highly daytshmerish (Germanized): "a doyrende ebbe." This suggests, first, an attempt at a more “poetic” language of a higher register, and/or, second, a reference or allusion to a German text.

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