Birkleigh Graythorne's video: Oyfn Veg Shteyt A Boym

This poem is by the great Yiddish poet Itzik Manger whose words were set to music by the composer Philip Laskovski to create this song. Dedicated to Steven and to Leonard Nimoy My first attempt at singing this song, lyrics below. Oyfn veg shteyt a boym, Shteyt er ayngeboygn, Ale feygl funem boym Zaynen zikh tsefloygn. Dray keyn mayrev, dray keyn mizrekh, Un der resht - keyn dorem, Un dem boym gelozt aleyn Hefker far dem shturem. Zog ikh tsu der mamen: -her, Zolst mir nor nit shtern, Vel ikh, mame, eyns un tsvey Bald a foygl vern... Ikh vel zitsn oyfn boym Un vel im farvign Ibern vinter mit a treyst Mit a sheynem nign. Zogt di mame: - nite, kind - Un zi veynt mit trern - Vest kholile oyfn boym Mir far froyrn vern. Zog ikh: -mame, s'iz a shod Dayne sheyne oygn Un eyder vos un eyder ven, Bin ikh mir a foygl. Veynt di mame: - ltsik, kroyn, Ze, um gotes viln, Nem zikh mit a shalikl, Kenst zikh nokh farkiln. Di kaloshn tu zikh on, S'geyt a sharfer vinter Un di kutshme nem oykh mit - Vey iz mir un vind mir... - Un dos vinter-laybl nem, Tu es on, du shovte, Oyb du vilst nit zayn keyn gast Tsvishn ale toyte... Kh'heyb di fligl, s'iz mir shver, Tsu fil, tsu fil zakhn, Hot di mame ongeton Ir feygele, dem shvakhn. Kuk ikh troyerik mir arayn In mayn mames oygn, S'hot ir libshaft nit gelozt Vern mir a foygl... Oyfn veg shteyt a boym, Shteyt her ayngebogen, Ale feygl funem boym Zaynen zikh tsefloygn... And a translation: On the road stands a tree, it stands bent and deserted, All the birds of that tree have flown away. Turn toward the west, turn toward the east, And the rest - turn toward the south, And the tree is left alone abandoned to the storm. I say to momma--"Listen, If you don't stand in my way, then, one and two, I'll quickly become a bird... I'll sit in the tree And lull it during the winter and comfort it With a lovely tune. And momma says, "No, child," And weeps bitter tears - G-d forbid, in the tree you might freeze. So I say, "Momma, it's a waste of your lovely eyes, Because before you know it, I'll be a bird." And momma cries: - Itzik, my Crown, As G-d would want, take a scarf with you, Lest you catch cold. "Put on your galoshes, It will be a severe winter. And take your fur hat, too. Woe is me! "And take your warm underwear, put it on, foolish child, Lest you become a guest among the dead... I lift my wing, but it's hard... Too much, too many things Has momma put on her weak little fledgling. I look sadly straight forward into my momma's eyes, Her love did not allow me to become a bird... On the road stands a tree, it stands bent and deserted, All the birds of that tree have flown away. Enjoy!