The Silver Key Poem by Abraham Sutzkever

The footsteps on the stars, above our attic,
You think they're human?
An unearthly creature from the stars
Seeks us, human berries in an attic forest.
Strike a match and you'll see:
Over there, it devoured a whole shingle…

My neighbor in the attic strikes a match —
Tshhh, tshhh —
A yellow spot reveals the fog.
Goes out, the wood untouched by fire —
No more oxygen,
No life.

Armored in spiderweb, the child who had
Brought life to yellow darkness
With his crying —
Succumbed
To long fingers on his throat,
Fingers of all of us, all of us,
And more than all of us, of God Himself.
With a piece of glass, the young mother caresses her veins.
A moon-dwarf forged in glass —
Slaughtered.

The man who struck a match
Coos like a dove:
— No death outside.
Death has snuck in inside, among us,
Let us leave him behind in the attic
And flee!

And he runs first to a corner,
Opens a rooftile and, raving, falls back:
— Jews, we're on fire!
Hide your hair in your pockets!
Hide your hearts, the attic is on fire!!!

A column of purple soot breathes through the crack,
Stains the attic-faces, feathery as owls,
Won't let them flee.
The end.

Only the sly spider, like a centipede diamond,
Swings on a column of soot
Undisturbed,
Shakes his head in farewell —
Disappears.

A little Jew unfolds seven rags,
Pulls out a herring
And draws it like a knife across his throat.
Someone sings:
— Let us all, all together
Greet our fiery guest!
A boy, Tsalke, cries:
I've never kissed a girl in my life.

Suddenly, from out of the bodies, a girl unfolds
Blooming like a cherry tree in spring,
Her voice — Goldsound
Of a bird meeting its mother:
— Jews, I have a key
To save us all — — —

Madness like a shadow
Separates from brains.
Eyes — oozing poison —
Blue amazement reigns.
The dead child too,
By curiosity inspired,
Senses the wonderful tidings
Of the girl messiah.

And the shining figure says:
— Yes, yes, I have a key
Of silver. A white clad old man
Gave it to me and said:
Gather the Jews in the attic and flee —
Fast, faster, to Castle Mountain,
To the palace built ages ago
By Prince Gediminas.
The key is to the palace,
And no one, no one
Will find you in its bowels.

The crowd is excited:
— Holy girl!
They kiss each other.
Like a fox, Tsalke
Cuddles up to her knees:
— My dear, who are you?
And the little Jew who just now slaughtered himself
With a herring,
Savors his herring —
If it's a holiday, let's have a holiday!
But the man who lit the match
Breaks the spell:
— Could you be so kind as to show us the key?

The girl trembles:
— Yes, of course,
Right away, just a moment — — —
Seeks it in her garment,
Near her heart,
In her stockings.

— Mamele,
Just now the old man gave it to me!

— What old man?
What was his name? How did he seem?

— Oh dear, the key remained
In his hand,
In my dream — — —

1949