Halina Poswiatowska's (Marek #188), or (p. 98) / "the four walls..."
Marek Lugowski
Halina Poswiatowska's (Marek #188), or (p. 98) of _Wiersze wybrane_, 1989.
English draft translation:
untitled ("the four walls of life fell apart...")
(p. 98 of _Wiersze wybrane_ <Selected Poems>, 1989)
-------------------------------------------------------------
the four walls of life fell apart
i husk the grain of darkness
from atop the trees autumn softly floats down
eats from my hand
sparrows dim
under autumn's red wing
whirling in the wind blood falls down
soaks into earth
my intuition boundless and far
cheek-to-cheek i feel
the sprouts of grass growing hurriedly
into spring
into what?
Halina Poswiatowska, Polish, 1960s,
translated from Polish by
Marek Lugowski
28 November 1996
Chicago, Illinois
Polish original Copyright 1975 Wydawnictwo Literackie, Krakow, Poland:
"rozpadly sie cztery sciany zycia..."
(p. 98 of _Wiersze wybrane_, 1989)
-------------------------------------------------------------
rozpadly sie cztery sciany zycia
wyluskuje ziarno mroku
z drzew wierzcholkow miekko sfruwa jesien
zeby jesc mi z reki
wroble gasna
pod czerwonym skrzydlem jesieni
wirujac w wietrze opada krew
wsiaka w ziemie
przeczuciem niezmiernie dalekim
jak policzkiem przywarta czuje
kielki traw rosnace pospiesznie
w wiosne
w co?
Halina Poswiatowska, Polish, 1960s.
Blake Kritzberg
>Halina Poswiatowska's (Marek #188), or (p. 98) of _Wiersze wybrane_, 1989.
>
>English draft translation:
>
> untitled ("the four walls of life fell apart...")
> (p. 98 of _Wiersze wybrane_ <Selected Poems>, 1989)
> -------------------------------------------------------------
>
> the four walls of life fell apart
> i husk the grain of darkness
> from atop the trees autumn softly floats down
> eats from my hand
>
> sparrows dim
> under autumn's red wing
> whirling in the wind blood falls down
> soaks into earth
>
> my intuition boundless and far
> cheek-to-cheek i feel
> the sprouts of grass growing hurriedly
> into spring
> into what?
>
>
> Halina Poswiatowska, Polish, 1960s,
> translated from Polish by
>
> Marek Lugowski
> 28 November 1996
> Chicago, Illinois
These are marvelous.
--
________________________________________________________________________
B. Kritzberg krit...@ucsub.colorado.edu
"Suburban / birds in love with their curving bellies." -- T. Roessler
_________________________________________________________________________
SAO
English draft translation:
untitled ("you are my voice")
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You are my voice, in form and cause,
my chisel of air.
I am, so long as war's riding her laggard horse,
a gilder of green clouds and birds.
In me you are a glow-sculpted crowfoot in a cloud
over my lonely toil.
You are a living stone from which I cut my form,
a form seen in a morning gale,
which on the milky panes flared with a flaming mane,
then in my hand turned cold like a star in a mould.
You are the voice of stirrings and the dawn of hearing,
which grasps the music and the skill, the one that will
sprout from the drought-parched ground, a resin-spirit,
a stalk of sound.
Krzysztof Kamil Baczynski
March 1, 1942
Warsaw, Poland
faithfully translated from Polish by
SAO
28 November 1996
near Boston, USA
Polish original Copyright 1985 Nasza Ksiegarnia, Warszawa,
Poland:
Ty jestes moje imie
(p. 15 of _Ty jestes moje imie_ <Selected Poems>, 1985)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ty jestes moje imie i w ksztalcie, i w przyczynie,
i moje dluto lotne.
Ja jestem, zanim minie wiek na koniu-bezczynie,
ptakow i chmur zielonych zlotnik.
Ty jestes we mnie jaskier w chmurze rzezbiony blaskiem
nad czyn samotny.
Ty jestes marmur zywy, przez ktory ksztalt mi przybyl,
ksztalt w wichurze o swicie widziany,
ktory o mleczne szyby buchnal plomieniem grzywy
i zastygl w dloni jak z gwiazdy odlany.
I jestes mi imie ruchow i poczynaniem sluchu,
ktory pojmie muzyke i sposob,
ktory z ladu posuchy wzejdzie zywicy-duchem
w lodyge glosu.
Krzysztof Kamil Baczynski
1. III. 1942
Warszawa
Translators note:
Krzysztof Kamil Baczynski (1921-44) is one of the most tragic
figures in all of Polish literature. Born to a prominent Warsaw family
(father was a well know literary critic), he started writing poetry at
the age 15. In September of 1939 he was to begin his studies in the
Warsaw Academy of Fine Arts. In September of 1939 Germany invaded
Poland. It was this event, and the years of occupation that followed,
which shaped Baczynski's voice and assured him of a place among the
greatest of his generation, including the Nobel laureates Czeslaw Milosz
and Wislawa Szymborska.
He died at the age of 23, on the 4th day of the Warsaw Uprising, a
fighter to the end.
The poem "Ty jestes moje imie" is one of the finest examples of his
skill. If I were to name an English writing poet to whom Baczynski might
be compared, it would be Dylan Thomas. Like Thomas, Baczynski mastered
the art of assonant and consonant rhyming (the biggest challenge to this
translator). His poems, like those of Thomas, glide softly off the
tongue in smooth, undulating patterns of rhythm, while at the same time
cutting through the palate of the psyche with the sharp-edged imagery of
nightmares.
He died too young, too rough. There is no telling how good he could have
become.
SAO
Polish to English translation:
[Note from poem: I beg to be read aloud, preferably
adagio but non troppo, por favor. Danke schon already.
Ah, almost forgot: Merry Christmas to all you poems out there!
I'm off to Dejaland...]
[Note from poet: Holiday greetings to all my rap friends,
foes and indifferentes (see my rap sheet at the end :),
but especially to my sinister and dexter guardian
geese, JD and JL. May the Spiritus Sanctus Benedictus bless your
SOULS! I'm off to Sheikago, ghen-ghen...]
The Fiancee
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the shallows of the lake
she stands with her hands held high
from which white butterflies and flowers slowly rise,
while by her swan-white thighs
the white clouds glide
over the liquid quiet of the reflected sky.
She bends upon waves and tenderly palms the blue
tendrils of trembling water that tense as tempered strings
and softly sing:
"Fair maiden, make us bloom".
So she throws her arms skyward and splatters the droplets up,
turns them to leaves
and apples,
lizards and silver snakes,
while some, like hawthorn blooms, blush pink before they drop
upon the silent reflections of clouds in the lake.
She turns her eyes to water and wanders what is real:
is she a captive crystal of her liquid self?
Then looks into the distance and sees her own life swirl
in mists of far off falls, in dust trail scurf.
She waits, unsure.
Then on the shore, upon a hill
A knight enormous halts his horse, an apple in his hand, as
sky-blue as though it were the heaven's heart.
She glides toward him, like water she parts
the lingering air that rings between her fingers,
sleek and slender.
The forest shuts around them. And only the hardened
trees remain in the still deep, standing
still remind of their ardent
love.
Krzysztof Kamil Baczynski
December 2, 1942
Warsaw, Poland
I was translated from Polish by
SAO
December 19, 1996
near Boston, USA
Polish original Copyright 1985 Nasza Ksiegarnia,
Warszawa, Poland:
Narzeczona
(p. 26 of _Ty jestes moje imie_ <Selected Poems>, 1985)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ona stojac w jeziorze rece obraca do gory
z nich unosza sie zwolna kwiaty i biale motyle
kiedy pod kolanami w wodzie mkna ciche chmury,
niebo sie szybko przetacza. Ona sie fali przychyla
i bierze w dlon otwarta jak w pyszczek rozowy kuny
niebieskie lodyzki wody, ktore sie preza jak struny
i graja cicho i miekko:
"W kwiaty nas zamien, panienko".
Wiec rece zwraca w gore, i krople wypryska wysoko,
czyni z nich liscie i jablka, weze i srebrne jaszczury;
zanim opadna znowu, jeszcze podobne sa glogom,
co kwitna. Potem, gdy spadna, przemkna w nich szybko chmury,
Ona sie z wolna zwroci unoszac w sobie odbicie,
nie wiedzac jeszcze,czy w sobie, czy w wodnym obrazie prawdziwa,
patrzy w krysztal powietrza i widzi dalekie zycie,
raz zapylone trakty, to znow potokow grzywe.
Nie wie i jeszcze czeka. Wtedy na brzegu, w kotlinie,
Rycerz ogromny przystaje i jablko wyciaga na dloni,
blekitne jak kropla nieba. Ona ku niemu plynie,
powietrze w krag rozgarniajac, co jak pod skrzydlem dzwoni.
Potem ich las zamyka. I tylko drzewa dojrzale
tak samo stoja w glebinie, jakby najmocniej kochaly.
Krzysztof Kamil Baczynski
dn. 2. I. 1942
Warszawa
As promissed, here's my rap sheet - the list of people who found their
way into my mailbox, my heart, and my gallbladder by way of rap during
Anno Domini 1996. Anyone not on this list either doesn't matter or
doesn't care :)
[names randomized using Excel's RAND() function, but if you
read carefully, my date of birth, my 16 digit Visa Gold
number, and a secret message from Santa will be revealed]
Tom Craig, Rob Evans, Blake Kritzberg, greyhawk, Laszlo Kiss,
Philip Nikolayev, Greg Jungheim, Heather Lin, Merle Sande, Josh Ruihley,
El Perro Libre, Michael McNeilley, Adrian Preston, cin,
Charles Goldman, Malcolm Couldwell, Dee Lalley, Jackie Rosenfeld,
Chris Enns, smolens, Eric Wattree, SwiftRain, Mark Stone, heat,
Keiko Imaoka, Robert Temple, Colin Ward ("tigger"), Michael Lichter,
Scott Schimmel ("Gleeman"), AbtVogler , Alma Engels, Michael Kohlhaas,
Tim Patterson, Jim Standish, James Irl Waldby, Eve ("If I go pogo"),
Kimberly Heaton ("The Redhead"), Erin Bennett, Robert St. James,
Neil Harding, Marco Morales, Christopher Stolle, Ray Heinrich,
Sharon Hopkins, hendrik, Mark Schieldrop, }Angel{, Remi Auxenfans,
Anna Evans, Rick Harrison, Dave Eitel, Dan Graves, Amy Friends,
WaldenPoet, Dubain Summers, Richard van der Steen, Dana Hurd ("moi"),
Savage Aaron McKinley, Larry Blankenship, Therese Leigh,
Adrian Leverkuhn, Chris Lehmann, Cameo , Robert Maughan, Marek Lugowski,
LeeAnn Heringer, Goshen, Scott Murphy, Robyn Meyer, John F. Freudeman,
Lauren Lantz, Lissa McCollum, Kim Hodges, Lisa Brown ("gypsy"),
Mary Ratcliff, David Bolduc, Bei-Yin , Peter Burton, Jeniffer Ley,
Mneiai, Mere Smith, Luke Bullock, Dancing Bear, Arthur Westover,
Allison Weeds, Felstar Janin, Matthew, Adam Cole-Clark, Ari Ben,
Harry Brashear ("The Poet"), me, Victor Infante, Mark Meiss,
1LT C A Shultz, deb, Julie, Louise Van Hine, Boy Andy, ml,
Stuart Bullock, red slider, Gandalf, Dolly, Alan Johns,
Fernando Llorente, Len Anderson, George Gehrke, Teri Neubert, Renay,
Yvette Thomas, Janet Dowd, Karl Czajkowski, Edik Bonver, Zita,
Mike Dayoub, Jesse Rider, Maria Stevenson, Sanjeev Naik,
Karen Tellefsen, Heather L, Charles Ede, Theo Buitendyk, Jason Barshay,
Gloria Benhuri, Lloyd Nebres, Bob Ezergailis, Fred Gilham,
Terry Bowden, Laura Healy, Dave Mitchell
--SAO
SAO
Polish to English translation:
The Fiancee
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As promised, here's my rap sheet - the list of people who found their
SAO
SAO <s...@shore.net> wrote:
Polish to English translation:
Hymn
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lord, I am sad. - For me in the west
You've made the rainbows of radiance appear,
For me you quench in ocean's orange crest
The blazing sphere.
Though sea and sky you smear with golden hue -
Lord, I am blue.
A hollow ear of wheat, with windswept brow
I stand before you - joyless and unwhole;
Before another man I will not bow
Nor bare my soul,
For I will only show its depth to you,
Lord, I am blue.
Now as a child that sees its mother leave
(My heart so heavy it could sink this craft)
I watch the sun drown silent, and I grieve
It's last faint shaft.
And though I know light will return anew,
Lord, I am blue.
Today, on seas unbounded lost adrift,
As far from shore as I could ever be,
I saw a flock of storks on pinions swift
Crossing the sea.
Because from native fields those birds I knew,
Lord, I am blue.
Because I mused too often among graves,
Because I know so little of my home,
Because I am as he who ever craves
To ever roam:
I know not where the winds my dust will strew,
Lord, I am blue.
But you -- you'll see my scattered, sun parched bones,
Without the watch of columns over them;
Thus of the humblest of the burial stones
Envious I am;
Since I can't find the peace I must pursue,
Lord, I am blue.
They told a child to pray for me each day,
But all these prayers, they are for nought - I know:
The winds that long ago swept me away
Still seaward blow.
Because there's nothing a child's prayer can do,
Lord, I am blue.
A hundred years from now, when I am dust,
Men still will mourn the waning afterglow.
Into the night they'll fade, as now I must,
For all must go.
And yet does not the sun return anew?
Lord, I am blue.
Juliusz Slowacki (1809-1849)
October 19, 1836
written at sunset on the Mediterranean
off Alexandria,
translated from Polish by
SAO
March 27, 1994
rev. October 19, 1996
near Boston, USA
Polish original Copyright 1985 Nasza Ksiegarnia, Warszawa,
Poland:
Hymnn
(p. 77 of _Dziela_ <Works>, Ossolineum, 1959)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Smutno mi, Boze! -- Dla mnie na zachodzie
Rozlales tecze blaskow promienista;
Przede mna gasisz w lazurowej wodzie
Gwiazde ognista...
Choc mi tak niebo ty zlocisz i morze,
Smutno mi, Boze!
Jak puste klosy, z podniesiona glowa
Stoje rozkoszy prozen i dosytu...
Dla obych ludzi mam twarz jednakowa,
Cisze blekitu.
Ale przed toba glab serca otworze,
Smutno mi, Boze!
Jako na matki odejscie sie zali
Mala dziecina, tak ja placzu bliski,
Patrzac na slonce, co mi rzuca z fali
Ostatnie blyski...
Choc wiem, ze jutro blysnie nowe zorze,
Smutno mi, Boze!
Dzisiaj, na wielkim morzu oblakany,
Sto mil od brzegu i sto mil przed brzegiem,
Widzialem lotne w powietrzu bociany
Dlugim szeregiem.
Zem je znal kiedys na polskim ugorze,
Smutno mi, Boze.
Zem czesto dumal nad mogila ludzi,
Zem prawie nie znal rodzinnego domu,
Zem byl jak pielgrzym, co sie w drodze trudzi
Przy blaskach gromu,
Ze nie wiem, gdzie sie w mogile poloze,
Smutno mi, Boze!
Ty bedziesz widzial moje biale kosci
W straz nie oddane kolumnowym czolom;
Alem jest jako czlowiek co zazdrosci
Mogil popiolom...
Wiec ze miec bede niespokojne loze,
Smutno mi, Boze!
Kazano w kraju niewinnej dziecinie
Modlic sie za mnie codzien... a ja przecie
Wiem, ze moj okret ne do kraju plynie,
Plynac po swiecie...
Wiec, ze modlitwa dziecka nic ne moze,
Smutno mi, Boze!
Na tecze blaskow, ktora tak ogromnie
Anieli twoi w niebie rozpostarli,
Nowi gdzies ludzie w sto lat beda po mnie
Patrzacy -- marli.
Nim sie przed moja nicoscia ukorze,
Smutno mi, Boze!
Juliusz Slowacki
pisalem o zachodzie slonca na morzu
przed Aleksandria
19 pazdziernika 1836 r.