I would Like! pg. 72

I Would Like!

I would like to see you, dear girl

And I would like to hear your darling song

And dream with you somewhere under the snowball tree[1]

Or among the flowers of spreading tree

I would like to constantly look at you, girl

And I would like to be forever beside you

For sad moments pass without you

And only to live happily with you ________.[2]

With the sound of a guitar, with the song of a nightingale

And with you, girl, I have a path

I would like to dream by the waters[3] waters of a stream

Oh! For that’s blissful, that moment…

I would like to braid a rose into your tresses

That I might adorn your temple with it

I would like, for you, charming girl

To warmly rub your palm with calamint

I would like to rest, [like] a sky-blue violet

At least once in life on your bosom

I would like, Oh! I would like, dear angel

To join your heart with my heart

                Zygmund Kowalski    Teodor Gira[4]

---

[1] Or Viburnum Opulus. The snowball bush/tree is a Ukrainian national symbol.

[2] Blank in original

[3] Crossed out in original

[4] Sloppily crossed out? Sloppily underlined? In orginal.

To [My] Master, in Gratitude (Continued) pg. 71

Creates singing in my soul

                Love is my life

I would like to kiss the world

[And] in particular, your eyes

If I had them here

Then…

When the moments at last come

That will unite us forever

I will live with you lovingly[1] lovingly

And give[2] throughout a secure life

                With a crown of golden stars

                I will crown your head

                I will be to you a loving wife

                Embrace you with my love

               

                The wings of protection I will spread

                Not even a guardian angel would

                When I spy sorrow on your forehead

                Remove[3] it in a single day

Because your happiness[4] is mine

Your tears are my tears

We’ll share all the toil

That we have on earth

---

[1] Crossed out in original

[2] The word translated as “give” does not have an object

[3] The word translated as “remove” is in the third person singular, and therefore refers to the guardian angel exact sense seems incomplete

[4] Or “good fortune”

For Grandpa! (Continued) pg. 70

So I won’t send a kiss

But instead a greeting

Hail, Grandpa, live long for us

That’s my wish!

To [My] Master[1], in Gratitude

Previously!

When I was a small child

I loved my dolls

I loved with my whole heart

The source of a swift stream

Braiding my hands into shapes

I dreamed of flowery meadows

Looking into the depths of azure

I worshipped the powerful Almighty

And Today?

Today like hot lava

[My] heart flows with love

An ardent impetuous love

Turns in my bosom

And in dreams on a single spring night

In moments of blessed fantasy

The strength of my love

---

[1] Or “Lord”

Song of a Slave (Continued) pg. 69

With the echo of curses and the jangle of chains

My song would only ring

                So set me up here on this rock

                And my lute’s tone

                Will outrun the wind and the ocean waves

                                It will go beyond the ocean

                [And] return again to the land of my fathers

                Where your hand lies heavy

                And awaken the people who until now sleep,

                Awaken the sleeping lion.”

For Grandpa!

If you, grandpa, were with a young lady

                Or even a married woman

I would send[1] you a kiss

                So everything would go smoothly

But of course there isn’t yet

Anyone who advises this

What is allowed with a woman

Is discouraged[2] for a man

---

[1] Male verb form

[2] Literally “prevented, obstructed”

Song of a Slave (Continued) pg. 68

Amidst the noise of the waves, amidst the roar of the storm

Amidst the laughter of the white seagulls

                Night is coming, when the sun sets

                At the edge of the threatening rocks

                Where will your song find a listener

                That might give you applause?

In my palace a thousand splendors

And a wondrous swarm surprises

There you will harvest a crop of monarchal cane

There they will honor your rhapsody

                There your song will meet recognition

                A fresh-green golden leaf

                There is praise, honor and sweet delight

                Desire only to come to me.”

And to that the haughty slave said

“My song is not for you

For my song is full of contempt

And [my] blood burns for revenge

                My lute today does not ring with the sound

                That awakens sweet frenzy

March of the Youth (Continued) pg. 67

May it reach the peaks and flit off again into the heights

Ardor, the dream[1]

Until it beats out a hymn to the sun

May [our] hearts start beating, may the blood boil in them

And new and beautiful may our song flow

Song of a Slave

A slave stands at the edge of the rocks

And looks into the blue depths

With his soul he drinks in the music of the waves

[His] hand[2] accompanies on the lute

                Like a bird free of bonds in the narrows

                Thought of gloomy flies[3] into the distance

                And from the[4] chest[5] the voice of a powerful song

                Along with the roar flows off into the distance

                                He put his whole soul into the song

                                A million tears and pains

                                And the sea played that song further

                                Until the king heard it

                And says[6] to him: O slave!

                Why do you raise up a song

---

[1] Crossed out in original

[2] Literally “palm”

[3] This line has an extra syllable and the adjective translated as “gloomy” does not have a following noun, perhaps indicating an error in copying.

[4] his

[5] Or “bosom”

[6] (should be past tense)

Galicia! (Continued) pg. 66

God gives you happiness[1] in work aplenty

When you embrace us to your hearts

[And] make a place for our

                                                Tears, cold and hunger!

March of the Youth

My brother, when the happy hour arrives

And we form brotherly ranks

And rush like a stream down the peaks through the forest

When the tide fills its banks

                May [our] hearts start beating, may the blood boil in them

                And new and beautiful may our song flow

Let us curse long life in that song, our passion will be

Desire for deeds, and into the past[2] with power, storm[3]

Ardor, the dream of their charm and spell

And of fortune for all without measure

                May [our] hearts start beating, and thus further[4]

                Because this song is above songs, a song of life, a song of dreams

                A song of the sincere rapture of youth

---

[1] Or, “Good fortune”

[2] i.e., forget about

[3] Literally “winds”

[4] Or, “etcetera”

In Winter (In the year 1914) [Continued] pg. 65

                                (In the year 1914)

                For the little child already lies blue

                Lifeless and cold like the hard ice

                Your consolation, [your] only happiness

                The winter cold has withered like a flower

O, poor mother, though spring will return

To our orchards, to our fields

But your child no one will bring back to life

And your heartfelt sorrow will not pass

Galicia!

With a white shroud the field is covered
And in the little house pain spreads

A poplar murmurs sorrowfully over the hut

What did they have to harvest from the show-covered fields[1]

The child looks at the death bed

[His] mother is dying a horrible death

And the storm, with a roar, drowns out the moans

And only the funeral bell is heard

There again a light shimmers in the distance

The candle burns, thrust into the palm

They cry for the little child, tenderly they take leave

Of the mother, who in the waltz has already laid down his arms

In course shirts, with bare feet

They stand at the headboard with plaintive tears

The mother is dead, the father is dying

What will become of them? Not even the lilacs are blooming

The crosses are multiplying at the church

They call upon God, people flow with tears

And the child cries out, “I am an orphan

Toil has conquered my parents

Give a hand, friends[2], countrymen

For I suffer pain, hunger is tormenting [me]

---

[1] Literally “poured over [with snow]”

[2] The word translated as “friends” is more Ukrainian than Polish

In Winter (In the year 1914) pg. 64

In Winter                                                 (In the year 1914)

White snow fell on hard ice

Very softly the silvery well murmurs

The naked boughs wage war with the cold

A swarm of winged birds flies off

                And only the storm moans and roars

                It brings complaints and melancholic sorrow

                That moan, that struggle, becomes muffled

                It turns from the world, it flies into the distance

Not long ago there was still a sun in the sky

It cast clear radiant heat

Not long ago, winter, from you

The powerful [wind] blew out life’s charm

                And today the tiny sun, pale and hazy

                Rolls its idle course through the grain fields.

                Green meadows and clean fields

                The thick fluffy snow covers

In the midst of a severe winter, in a shadowy room

The bread ran out, the wood ran out

And the soft crying becomes silent in the poor hut

O mother, call out your song of sorrow