Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 5/26/2019

Do you remember the cars plainly carved up?
pine trunks and oak wheels,
with which we carried joy every day
to the potato field enveloped in smoke,
where carts with ammunition waited
and potato barricades stood

our big storages of bloodless weapon
- there we fought our potato wars.
A sip of water served as refreshing fare,
so everything was spinning around.
And when the battlefield has been captured at last,
tired, craving for settlement

by the fire with a song we bravely sat down
to conclude friendly agreements
- into young hearts with a warm thread sewn.
I know that you remember - how we could forget
the most beautiful moments? - It's like
not to see a certain beauty in the fields;

It's like losing in the time of beautiful weather
a piece of dear life that has been given to us,
to be able to always recall memories
and give advice to the lost...
overly idealized.
Hidden somewhere in the recesses of tomorrow,

as though intentionally with a secret mist enveloped
to delude, or for our convenience?
You remember the spring, so carefully selected
from among the purest? It's why we reached
to the very bottom - into innermost deposits,
to learn with a falcon's look

to grasp what a simple thought cannot,
if you won't look with stubbornness into the eyes
because lectures from the theory are not enough,
and blind faith will only do more damage.
However... solitary, we ran into the crowd,
wanting to acquire known and unknown:

to reach peaks rising from the darkness...
but perhaps it was right - to rather dream up,
than to compete with fate stubbornly.

Wieslaw Musialowski 3/19/2003

You've been dead for the same amount of time that you lived, forty-two years.
You were loved and your death devastated each and every one of your peers.
You didn't perform in all fifty states, one state that you missed was Montana.
You performed your last concert on June 26, 1977 in the state of Indiana.
Two of your hit songs were 'All Shook Up' and 'Hound Dog'.
You had great taste in motorcycles, you sure did love Hogs.
You had a wonderful life but not a life that was long.
When doctors constantly prescribed those pills, it was wrong.
You loved to give away Cadillacs, you truly had a heart of gold.
It was very sad to lose you when you were only 42 years old.
One of your friends saw you putting a hole in your foot with a drill.
When he asked you why, you said you were doing it to get more pills.
When you died on August 16, 1977, every one of your fans were in tears.
You've been dead for the same amount of time that you lived, forty-two years.

If I went back in time I’d kick myself in the shin,
try to grow a spine and then reinforce my chin,
with hardened steel over rusted tin.
‘Cause it’s taken hits beyond count, infact I’ve lost track of the amount,
but I know even with my jaw broken I can still force out a grin.

I don’t want to have to lie
but it seems I’m guided into it for an alibi,
and I can’t help but question why I try,
when there’s no one to answer to; just time flying by.

I’m not as stupid as I act,
but I guess I can say I’m a good actor.
I make a sound but immediately retract,
because in a split second I balance every factor.
I don’t want to be another casualty
in a war effort so effortlessly,
in a fight that shouldn’t concern me,
but my flight instinct took flight instinctively.

If I could go back in time I’d clock myself in the face,
past me would rebut “what a disgrace,”
while I’d agree to the mirrored me who’s never finishing, **** even last place.
I know that my shoes were tight and tied,
I was at the line waiting I never could hide,
but still I’d trip and flounder, I should’ve double checked each lace.

I don’t want to have to lie
but it seems it’s better than admitting defeat or spitting out a goodbye.
And I can’t help but wonder why,
I even cry when I’ve taped my mouth shut and closed each eye.

The butterfly of my effect has lost each wing,
trapped in a jar, not going far;
what a tragic thing.
I press my hand against the dome,
to let it be known, it’s not alone,
this prison’s now it’s home.

Poetry has given me the ability to travel through time
to stand in shoes I abandoned on the concrete.
Paint the scenery in every word and rhyme,
and change the outcome in each stanza and beat.

I fully feel the sun shine and the wind’s blow
every single day like I’ve just arrived and met.
Now I’m cursed to be a Romeo to a stand in Juliet.
Design the plan for me, and I’ll blur the lines and matra,
I’ll fight as Marc Anthony to only one Cleopatra.

With tender hands
you may carefully
undress and caress me

give me big kisses
heat and cold
won't harm me, I smell

fertile in your arms
open you with my skin
strip you of calluses

and stiffness, yes I do
want to be pregnant
with you, without temptation

be desired by you
every day, I want all
of you, cherish children

and grandchildren
in gardens and orchards
with a house full of rooms

He died 25 years ago today, which is a quarter of a century.
He produced 'Never Say Never Again' with Sean Connery.
He was born in 1932 and was a man who people would admire.
First he was married to Judith Deborah Feldman and then to Talia Shire.
He was the executive producer of 'Rad' and 'I Am The Cheese'.
When he produced movies, they were certainly sure to please.