DER YIDDISH-VINKL May 9, 2003
When the editor of this column was a little boy, which, indeed, he once was, his mother would, on occasions when he crowded the house with friends, say that they were a “pozharne komande.” He did not know what it meant literally, but he sensed it referred to his gang. It was not until he found a song in the compilation by Eleanor Gordon Mlotek titled “Mir Trogn a Gezang” that he realized that “pozharne komande” means “the fire brigade.” The poem was written by Wolf Younin and the Vilna poet Sh. Kahn in the late 1920s. The English version is by Gus Tyler.
Pozharne Komande
— Tsi zol ikh zikh farshraybn
In der pozharne komande
Un onton a roytn mundir?
Zog mir nur, lyubenyu,
Zog nir, krasavetse,
Vayl folgn folg ikh nor dir.
— Un ikh vel mir oysputsn
In mayn tsitsene platetse,
Un oystsvogn mit kerosin di hor,
Mir veln gulyayaven
Mit a medlener pokhodkele
Un firn a nyezhnem razgovor.
— Oy, ikh vel zikh arumfirn
Mit dir ibern shtetele
In glantsike shtivelekh fun yukh
Kh’vel dir traktireven
Mit selserske vasern
Un rufn mayn libste, mayn tsukht.
— Un du vest zikh onton
Di meshene kaskele
Vos glantst vi a gilderne kroyn
Un mayne podrugelekh
Veln mikh mekane zayn
Un zogn az du bist a parshoyn.
The Fire Brigade
He: Say should I now enroll
And join the fire brigade
And don a uniform
And march in a parade?
Now tell me what to do
I listen but to you.
She: I’ll dress up in my best
The one that’s calico
My hair I will caress
And go where you may go.
And with you take a twirl
Because I am your girl.
He: I’ll walk with you through town
And don my shiny boots
And seltzer we will down
And do whatever suits
Your mood for you are mine
My beauty, so divine.
She: And when your helmet’s on
And glistens like a crown
The girls will look upon
Me with an envious frown.
But they will all admit
That you are really “it.”
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