Review: Cerddi 1939-1941 by Selma Merbaum – Translated from German into Welsh by Mary Burdett-Jones

Ant Evans

As a relatively recent supporter of literature being adapted from one language into another, I must admit that one of the plus sides to translation is getting to know writers I’d previously been unaware of.

In this case, I’ve been introduced to the young Jewish poet Selma Merbaum. Mary Burdett-Jones, this collection’s translator, has helpfully provided a brief biography of Selma’s life, cut tragically short by Typhus in Mikhailowka, a Nazi labour camp, in January 1942.

We learn that Selma Merbaum was born on the 5^th of February 1924 in the city of Cernowitz (this being the German name; in Romanian it is known as Cernǎuți and Cernivitzi in Ukrainian). In addition to changing names, the borders around the city have shifted since its time as a Romanian city at the time of Merbaum’s birth, placing it in south west Ukraine today, having previously been the capital of the historical Bukovina region, which now straddles the borders of Ukraine and Romania.

Multilingual

As one might expect in a city which has changed hands between nations a few times, Selma’s was very much a multilingual upbringing. Standard German, rather than the local German dialect, was the language of the home.

She also spoke Yiddish, her maternal grandmother’s language, and the language of her education when the opportunity presented itself, having previously attended a Romanian-medium school. She also studied French and Latin during her academic career. It was in 1939, as this volume’s title tells us, that Selma, aged 15, began writing poetry in German.

Burdett-Jones poses an intriguing question; why would Selma have written poetry in German, the language of those who were persecuting her people, as opposed to another language? Several possible answers are suggested, including German being seen as an international language by the young poet, as well as her immersion in German language literature during her education.

Another reason of course could be her attachment to the language, it having been the language of her upbringing. In that sense, German belonged to Selma Merbaum as much as it did to any Nazi.

The poem which opens this collection, Gilu  (Burdett-Jones makes a note at the end, translating this to Dawns, Dance, and notes the Hebrew word means “let us be glad” “let us rejoice”). Here the reader gets a sense that at the time the poem was written in May or June 1939 (each poem includes the date when it was composed), that Selma was a carefree teenager, albeit one who was politically very aware of what was going on around her (translations into English of this and other poems in this review are provided by the reviewer):

Cadwyn o bobl gwridog, wedi’u cyfareddu,

nad oes ganddynt nod ond blino’n lân –

Gilu…

Gollyngwn yr holl egni a gronnwyd ynom

yn y gorfoleddu, y canu, y sathru…

i bobl y tu allan gall y ddawns hon

ymddangos

yn ddim mwy na sgrechian afreolus

a stampio –

i ni mae’n symbol o’n bywydau, ein

dymuniadau:

“Rhyddid ym mhob gwlad!”

Ac wrth i’r siglo ysgafn ar y dechrau –

yn ôl ac ymlaen, yn ôl ac ymlaen –

yn sydyn ymollwng yn ddawns wyllt

gan dynnu pawb gyda hi –

pawb yn chwerthin ac yn canu ac yn

gorfoleddu –

yn dawnsio a dawnsio

petai ein bywydau yn dibynnu arno…

yn y diwedd mae’r ymgordeddu’n llacio

ac rydym yn flinedig, yn gryg ac yn fyr ein

gwynt –

ond yn hapus!

A chain of rosy-cheeked people, who have been enchanted,

They have no objective but to become absolutely knackered –

Gilu…

We release all of the energy pent up within us

in the rejoicing, the singing, the stomping…

to any outsiders this dance could

seem

to be nothing more than uncontrollable screaming

and stomping –

to us, it’s a symbol of our lives, our wishes:

“Freedom in every nation!”

And as the initial gentle swaying –

back and forth, back and forth –

suddenly gives way to a wild dance

pulling everybody along with it –

everybody laughing, singing and

rejoicing –

dancing and dancing

as if our lives depended on it…

in the end the chain loosens

and we are tired, hoarse and out of breathe –

but happy!

Burdett-Jones mentions how the poet’s biographer, Marion Tauschwitz described Gilu as reading like a diary entry. This reviewer is inclined to agree.

Changing seasons

In Castanau (Chestnut Trees), the second poem in this collection, the reader first encounters a thread which dominates this collection; the changing seasons, weather and the natural world. The theme here was summer’s departure. Looking at the date it was composed (23/09/1939) with the Second World War having recently begun, could summer’s departure also serve as a metaphor, signalling the departure of the energy and joy found in Gilu?

Gorweddant ar y llwybr llithrig gloyw,

yn flinedig, gwasgaredig,

yn winau ac yn gwenu fel ceg feddal,

yn llawn a llathriad, yn annwyl a chrwn;

fe’u clywaf fel études yn pefrio.

Wrth gymryd yn fy llaw

un feddal fel plentyn bach tyner,

meddyliaf am y goeden ac am y gwynt,

sut y canai yn isel trwy’r dail;

rhaid bod y gân ddistaw hon i’r castanau

fel yr haf a ymadawodd yn ddiarwybod

gan adael dim ond y sŵn hwn yn ffarwel olaf.

Ond nid gwinai a llathraid fel y lleill

mo hon yn fy llaw,

mae’n bŵl a chwsg fel y swnd

sydd yn llithro gyda hi trwy fy mysedd.

Yn araf deg, yn ddigyfeiriad

y gadawaf i’m traed fesul cam gerdded.

They lie on the sparkling slippery path,

tired, scattered,

reddish-brown and smiling like a soft mouth,

full and smooth and glossy, pleasant and round;

I hear them like études twinkling.

As I take in my hand

a soft one like a gentle child,

I think of the tree and the wind,

how it whispers its song through the leaves;

this quiet song must be for the Chestnut trees

like the summer which departed suddenly

leaving only this sound as a final farewell.

But this one I hold in my hand isn’t

smooth and reddish-brown,

it’s dull and lifeless like the soil

which slips with it through my fingers.

Slowly, without direction

I allow my feet to walk step by step.

 In another poem, Llawenydd (Joy) composed on the 18^th of August 1941, months before her death, Selma expresses how she longs for joy, “perhaps?” She asks if joy will ever return, before accepting that it will not. The war has clearly taken its toll on her, when compared to how she felt when Gilu was written:

Rwy’n dyheu,

efallai am lawenydd?

Am lawenydd.

Hoffwn ofyn:

a ddaw yn ôl?

Ni ddaw byth yn ôl.

I long,

for joy perhaps?

For joy.

I’d like to ask:

will it return?

It will never return.   

 Reading these words reminds the reader that there are those in the world today who are asking the same question as Selma Merbaum did eighty-three years ago. Will joy ever return?

Cerddi 1939-1941 by Selma Merbaum and translated from German into Welsh by Mary Burdett-Jones is published by Llyfrau Melin Bapur and is available from their website: https://melinbapur.cymru