WE ALWAYS RUN

We always run away, from town to town,
we- intellectuals:
small and shivering, a tribe without a tribe,
a class of ineffectuals.

From country to country, we shift about with our families:
we each have a gramophone,
millions of us. But it's no use. They keep asking:
"Which country is your own ? "

And since we don't know, we can only weep
oceans of salt oblations.
Beneath fake palms we write artificial letters
and post them in dirty stations.

Translated by Jerzy Peterkiewicz and Burns Singer

Source: www.ap.krakow.pl

This poem needs little explanation. It is one of the many famous poems by Gałczyński about a black period in his life. The poet's absolute love for, and faith in, his wife Natalia are as much the bedrock of this poem as is the hopeful and listless mind of the poet.


Letter From a POW


My dearest, my heart-call,
Goodnight my love-you are tired,
I see your shadow on the wall.
The night is so Spring inspired.


You are my all in this world,
How to make famous your name?
You're my water in Summer,
My gloves in Winter's bane.


You are my good fortune, Vernal
Summery, Wintry and Autumnal.
So call to me goodnight,
Whisper it through your sleepy mouth.


But what is the payment for this sight,
The blissful paradise by your side.
In my world you are the light,
The songs of my road that will guide.

Introduction and translation by Barry Keane

Source: Warsaw Voice