Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/24/2018

You carry it inside.
You pile it.
It grows.
It has a name:
Man.

Wieslaw Musialowski 8/24/2018

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/24/2018

Words in the rapids
- You won't catch up
Hard as stones
- Crushed
Existence.
They wash feet
- Half-dead

Wieslaw Musialowski 8/24/2018

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/20/2018

Kneeling before you,
I bow my head low,
confessing the truths
due to the Motherland:

it's you who taught me
to see beauty with a word,
and when I entrusted
my soul to you,
you made the bed
with mirror thought
- looking-glass' reflection -
dressed in pensive ponderings.

I love you, Poland,
when you are blooming in spring.
Your fertile fields
of gold wheat and barley.

I love,
when in summer,
in the aroma of linden trees,
adorned with flowers,
you lure with cool shade.

I love in autumn:
saddened,
rainy.

I love with pure and
unchanging love,
full of joy
of sins remission:
of Christmas Eve
examination of conscience.

I love, from south to north,
in February cold
and in hot July.

Your steel statues
of the Carpathian peaks.
Your streams, when rumbling
they carry the March ice floes.
Your beautiful sparkling willow greens
of Masurian waters,
when the sun is chasing
dancing rays
-with emerald's spark
of silver-plated steel,
before they'll disappear
with colors of the rainbow
in the hazy distance.

Your ancient castles,
standing proudly since the times of Piasts.

Your dunes, tamed with dwarf pine,
your country homesteads on the Bug and Prosna.

Polish wolves', eager for blood,
fearful thundering voices.
The heroic fate of the brave Polish armies.
Golden wheat ears of liberation
in the coat of arms of the Nation.

At the sources of the Vistula
I love you with reverie:
And over transparent waters
further reaches
I sob.

You'll hug me,
Mother!
Your son,
when you'll tuck me in
as my only Ma
-buried,
with eternal... loving.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/9/2001

Translated by Jarek Zawadzki

Tell me, Mother, do, at least in a dream
And I'll believe you that it's so up there,
So still and windlessly as it might seem
For when I put my ear unto the bare
And frozen ground, with a reunion theme
The ground comes up, that we should join forever
In a union that no contretemps will sever
And that, transformed, we'll take the likeness of
A philosophical and wordless love,
But you won't tell the things I can't infer
Or maybe you are not exactly sure
I think that, as if lyrics immature,
You tease me like a Christmas caroler.

Wieslaw Musialowski 3/8/2007

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/20/2018

Look! - white petals, like the first snow,
like a holiday linen tablecloths.
I? - I remember those holidays:
warm shadows of candles, you put on the table,
and the puff of breath in disarray,
entertains with the play of colors, and from feathers... sizzles.

Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!

Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/15/2018

Late moon
takes the baton
- offering to the twilight
a bow in sacrifice:
with glow greeting
star aesthetes
- an orchestra of crickets
- eternal poets,
so that songs of love
inspired by the muses
- they would loudly sing
in the thickets.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/9/2001

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/13/2018

He stands firmly
on oak legs
moss-covered from knees
to the shoulders

He knows
that he must last

from the cliff to the cliff
handrails
like limbs patched

under feet
to the opposite bank

Wieslaw Musialowski 3/7/2003