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Ewa Demarczyk - Wiersze wojenne - War poems

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Published on May 25, 2008

Words to this song are a compilation of poems by great Polish poet, Krzysztof Kamil Baczyński (that's the one appearing in 2:09), who participated in Warsaw Uprising, and died 4th August 1944.

And here's my totally amateurish translation of this song, I hope there are not that many mistakes and it's rather comprehensible. But remember, this is poetry, it's impossible to transfer everything ideally ;)
(every comment would be welcomed;)


War poems

I will open you a golden heaven
in which - white thread of silence,
like a huge nut of sounds,
which will crack to live
on green leaflets,
on warble of lakes, on playing of twilight
till the birdlike whistle shows
the milky core.

only take out from my eyes
painful shard -- picture of days,
which's rolling the white skulls
through the burning meads of blood.
only change this crippled time,
cover graves with coat of river,
wipe the battle dust of hair
the black dust
of wrathful days.

who will give me back my reverie
and this shadow, which's walked away behind you?
oh, those days, growling like animals,
like plants - they are younger and younger

and shortly now - so little,
standing on the nutshell,
we will drift against the seasons,
like against the water vains

and verging alternately to water
we will drift carelessly into oblivion,
and only our shadows, left on the earth,
will cry

I'll transform for you rough ground
into fluent flight of soft sow-thistles,
I'll lead shadows, tighting like a cat,
out from things.
twinkling with the pelage, they will furl everything
into colors of the storms, into hearts of leafs,
into grey tangle of rains

only take out from my eyes
painful shard -- picture of days,
which is rolling the white skulls
through the burning meads of blood.
only change this crippled time,
cover graves with coat of river,
wipe the battle dust of hair
the black dust
of wrathful days

With long, curling ribbon, warm voice is cooling in the air,
till it attains him in dusk, and he will hear a whisper near his mouth
'Darling' - the song hums and coils his head, rings
like trail of soft hair, and lilies smells from it so strong,
that he, leaning over the death, he locks his fingers on gun,
and stands up, and still, black of the battle dust, he still feels
violin playing in him silently, so he walks carefully, slowly,
like on the thread of light, through soughing sea of dusk,
and the softness of white clouds is closer and closer

till the space completes, and he feels the soft voice
standing within his grasp, in terrific silence
'Darling' - the song soughs, and so then arms will hug


Forest grows in the night. Abyss opens
extreme mouth, it absorbs and sucks.
They passed, they mawed; only reek is squeezing,
and high scream in mist, in mist

only take out from my eyes
painful shard -- picture of days,
which is rolling the white skulls
through the burning meads of blood.
only change this crippled time,
cover graves with coat of river,
wipe the battle dust of hair
the black dust
of wrathful days


(wszelkie uwagi do tłumaczenia mile widziane;)

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