Wiesław Musiałowski - Pamiętnikarstwo 1-8 dalszöveg fordítás angol nyelvre

Recollections 1-8

I.
 
A| Small town, a mixed bunch of
B| ocupants in place of refugees
C| on two floors furnished rooms,
D| where there were no ghosts, and no living too
E| in the sideboard faience, ear made from porcelain
F| room with furniture in the retro style
G| wardrobe hangers, but no musty clothes
H| boots standing to attention as if redying themselves to march
A1| and at a neighbor (no elevator in the building)
A1| still geburstag meat from some cheap butchery,
A| as if the show was starting again,
B| but is it worth to look so carefully,
C| if the doors of all tenements
D| are open wide because it is now finished:
E| the war toil of successful annexations
F| so oblivion had sank into obscurity
G| and for those who did not believe or denied the one and only truth
H| they sent valenki from a penal company
A2| as for Joseph born from mother from over the Bug
A2| because he had extra stuff packed
 
II.
 
A| Good Father Of The Nation via his intermediaries,
B| chameleons of a mirror tint
C| when boys returned from the West,
D| listened the dripping of the drops on the grave
E| since Emily was unaware of the facts|
F| she played on the harmony at saturday weddings
G| in nearby villages that with a Prussian wall
H| simpered to the strangers from cross-border cottages|
A1| but because it was needed, she allowed|
A1| perhaps a spark of faith still flickered in her
A| that it is possible to squeeze the soul out of the eagle-crested buttons|
B| as if she was thinking about the greatest treasure
C| if her play will please foreigners
D| she'll have the strength to long
E| she'll see the light, but not in these houses,
F| because at that time nobody wanted to use an oil lamp
G| to be able to blend in with that architecture
H| of commendments from unreachable heights|
A2| you were not to blame, Emily
A2| because the scale as inclined plane
 
III.
 
A| The simplest of the machines without Newton's laws
B| mass inertia in the rotation circle
C| pavement on the Żeromskiego street, then,
D| trampled down by people living corpses out of nowhere
E| because the weight of the weights was mistaken
F| netting of the fences with a throng of looters
G| and so, happy childhood has passed
H| on the retrieved but less prolific land
A1| than chernozems pigs and pork fat
A1| spring grown in winter crops from grain
A| because in the adolescent-grounds it is impossible to beat
B| clever brats, though empty heads
C| mothers who wanted to have an educated one
D| so that he would not have to bow to the straw
E| before bedtime more important than any other factor
F| apart from the creaking floor and the room
G| with evergreen pine needles outside the window
H| he was more than bottle-washer
A2| like rusted neighbor's tractor
A2| whose immobility nothing now will stop
 
IV.
 
A| Joseph was sent to confess his own guilts,
B| which dripped from the tap to the mourning
C| for those who had cut arteries
D| and for those whom God has forgiven in the name of
E| freedom of the speech from ear to ear
F| and through the peephole they often
G| secretly observed him in his cage concrete
H| as he was sleeping in the standing pose
A1| the only right pose behind the red wall
A1| without any hope for a rope and a noose
A| eating potato peelings every day
B| and cabbage as an apetizer
C| he thought about bread in an elite rye,
D| about bird sounds and about this girl
E| left to be able to listen
F| noises of Smotrycz's victory, but with a defeat
G| of two nations hipnosis' puzzle
H| which suits, but not in kolkhoz
A2| because he with himself pushed the heavy handcart up
A2| counting the stumbles of warped wheels
 
V.
 
A| And the Easter rattle of the kulaks
B| was reminding about cleaning of the windows
C| to see better but not necessarily know
D| what should be consecrated in the basket
E| of useful gifts needed for tomorrow
F| then in the attic bran and flour
G| and behind the barn in the brog - empty ears
H| for those who are ready to search with the pitchfork
A1| even without teeth if only to smell out anything
A1| for the last time and not the first
A| declamation of unreadable characters
B| does not entitle to daydreaming
C| of copper tint in the given inheritance
D| and in the transitory nature of defective memory
E| to manage to note down the facts before the reveille
F| because in reality it is not separation anymore
G| but uniting with the only aftermath
H| after whipping everyone supposedly healthy
A2| because it has been possible to partially heal the marks
A2| sewing solid Yalta peasants' coats
 
VI.
 
A| Equating not one god
B| with lepers inside and from over the river
C| far away, where dreams had been left
D| rotten junk shreds of will
E| memories about battles and defense effects
F| where no stone will arise on the stone
G| nor behind a wall called a fence
H| from humanity and side effects
A1| totally not authentic moral attitudes
A2| in the formulation of nickel silver until today it reflects
A| with the victory of defeat in the ways of the time
B| and on the foreground near and far
C| orange blue and white
D| sails of sinking ships were rolled up
E| but it is impossible to end once and for all
F| because still on the back needless mark
G| of a past which it is difficult to call a shadow
H| if she is still groping in the dark
A2| or wants to anoint the wound inflamed
A2| in one of the pro publico bono temples
 
VII.
 
A| Fragrance of incense over the city
B| the vanity of conflagration of the ashes in a small urn
C| via God's delegates
D| on the battlefield among the living
E| times since the celebration of the anniversary
F| of old illnesses of mind and body
G| children of jugglers in a travelling cinema
H| of indifference, because in such a nation
A1| one can choose to make it better
A1| so the clumsy commandment of love lives on
A| but the ceremony of washing the feet is still preferred
B| and it can be assumed that will understand
C| rhyme so complicated priest Robak and terror
D| do not look back and be ahead of them all the time
E| not in the bastion of party savages
F| with wisdom washed out of their minds by
G| grist to the small mill in verbal pantomime
H| neatly packed in paper boats
A2| drawings in sails with a lame mare
A2| scraps of notes with muddy paint they'll stitch
 
VIII.
 
The sun sets and rises at the same time
and from the sleep wakes up and to sleep puts
uncountability of years days and hours
on junkyards, saturated with blood yards of
wrecks and people with a dead conscience
but doom not for all is destined,
because they say that there is predestination
written but no one knows the place
and whether it is connected with a specific name
or maybe depends on bad luck or good forutne
the colour of one's skin or dwelling-place,
ambiguity of the resident's role
and please, don't say to what you are inclined
wherever you are among what events
because there are contemplations unfinished
or they evoke only disgust
because I still feel like an adversary
 
Commentary:
 
The poem Recollections occupies a special place in Wieslaw Musialowski's work due to the length and rhythmic pattern used, which allows for a variety of readings.
 
The poem concerns the history of Emilia Musialowska, grandmother of Wieslaw Musialowski, and the tragic fate of her son Joseph.
 
Emilia Musialowska, née Szczepańska, born in Kamieniec Podolski, was exiled to Irkutsk with her family. After the end of the Second World War she returned to Kamieniec, and then, after the division of Europe in Yalta, she left for Poland, to the city of Niemodlin, which was a part of former German territories. She lived in a small apartment on Żeromskiego street. Wanting to unite the whole family, she convinced her youngest son Joseph to return to Poland from Belgium. After his return he was immediately arrested by the Secret Political Police (UB) under the suspicion of spying for the Allies. He was detained in a tiny cell, he was beaten and tormented in a sophisticated manner to confess to espionage.
 
One of the forms of torture used was the dripping water, which dripped constantly, never stopping, twenty-four hours a day.
 
Every now and then, Joseph Musialowski was released from the prison and locked in a mental hospital, where various pharmaceuticals had been administered to him.
 
After a few years of such 'therapy', he died.
 


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