1912 Dec 12

Winthrop ME 11/12

Most beloved Broninieczka!

I got your card, for which I thank you heartily, my beloved flower. Since you take great pains with your package you know very well that it won’t get lost. If I hadn’t gotten it, it would get back to you, but I already got it. One thing I beg you, dear angel, don’t be sad. I greet you, my golden heart, and kiss [you] 10,000 times. 

Yours forever, Theodor

1912 Dec 10

Winthrop 9/12

Beloved Bronisia

I send you my best wishes. I greet [you] warmly, my dear little heart

Always that Ponn, T.

Goodbye, Dear heart XXXX

XXXXXXX

1912 Dec 1

30 November

Your card I got, for which I thank you warmly. With me there’s nothing new, the old sob story. Dear Bronia, you invite me to [play on] the see-saw[1] and I would willingly comply with your request, but unfortunately, [being] a little far off, I have to have that much patience, until sometime when I’m closer. Oh, how I hope it won’t be long. Stay healthy for me, my rosy flower, I am yours forever. T.G.

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[1] Or “swing”

Of Poems and Postcards

“I Want!” is the last poem in the book of poetry that has been preserved by my family for a century. It is a fitting tribute to the theme that was interwoven among all the poems contained therein: the desire for the reemergence of an independent Polish state and the preservation of Polish ethnic identity and culture. There are also undercurrents of support for the pan Slavic movement in general; a political movement that was anathema to the German, Russian and Austrian oligarchs representing the various Eastern European empires that had contributed to Poland’s demise. As I stated in an earlier post, the book actually presented more questions than answers: Who were the authors? Why did they meet? Were they part of a bigger group or were they like so many of the early twentieth century immigrant organizations, dedicated simply to preserving their culture in a foreign land? Why did my great-great grandfather end up in possession of this book? Most of these questions will never be answered because anyone that could has passed away.

The next translation piece is more inclined to the prosaic than the poetic (although the countless protestations of undying love by Theodore Gera tend to be poetic.) The correspondence is in the form of postcards. Some are religious greeting cards by work colleagues or extended family. Most are written by Theodore Gera to his sweetheart and later his wife, Bronislawa Rudnicka. Some of her postcards written back to him have survived as well. Like the poetry, we have to piece together the context of the writings. Fortunately, most have dates stamped on the postmark and we can figure out what happened in their lives by what happened in the world at large. We know World War I started in June 1914, and the postcards reflect their reactions to the subsequent events. We know their oldest daughter died of ptomaine poisoning and the postcards talk about “sadness” that they are coping with. We also have the addresses they were sent to. Were the people like Miss May, Miss Linton, and the Pawloski family their land lords with whom they were boarding? Or were they their employers? Family oral tradition is that Bronislawa Rudnicka worked in the homes of wealthy New Yorkers as a domestic servant. Tradition states she even saved many of their belongings when a fire broke out by throwing them out the window. Further research is warranted and could result in corroborating these stories.

Like the book of poetry, I leave it to the reader to analyze the subject matter and form their own conclusions. I am including both the front and the back of the original postcard along with any notes the translator included in his work.

I Want! (Continued) pg. 74

You, the burial mound covering her dust

Did the enemy not trample you with brutal force?

Asks the wandering son, longing for you

My soul wants to see you free

The meadows, burial mounds and those huts and fields

And the people who, imprisoned by the Allied forces

Didn’t let themselves be strangled, even when slavery blossomed

I want to see you, fatherland of the Poles

Free, happy[1], in the midst of the company of nations

Because through discord Poland is today in the agony of death

                A.W.

                A guy[2] from the outskirts of Ostroleka[3]

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[1] Or “fortunate”

[2] Or “peasant”

[3] Approximately 100 km North northeast of Warsaw

I Want! pg. 73

I Want!

I want to see you, beloved grain fields

Grain fields of my fatherland, dripping[1] with blood

I want to see you, ruined huts

Those roads where the soldiers went into[2] the corps

I want to see you, trampled fields

Footpaths on which I paced as a child

Whose eternal adversity did not obliterate [them]

I saw your fate in a dream

I want to see you, cottage of my parents

Those old lindens, smashed by bullets

[Those] flowery meadows, with my own eyes

I want to see the unsettled ridges

I want to see you, beloved hamlet

The wooden huts with straw thatch

I long for you, Poland of my fathers

In a dream of you is today my comfort

I want to embrace you, father, peasant[3]

Fall to your feet, kiss your hand

If you survived that bloody deluge

I want to see you, tomb of my mother

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[1] Literally “having been dripping”

[2] i.e. went to enlist

[3] Or “guy”

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]

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[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.