Reading this passage from “The Beginning” by Andrzej Szczypiorski, I cannot be offended. due to the fact that it's true. Brutal, uncomfortable, tearing. all word hurts, and yet I can't reject it. It hurts, but love hurts a lot. And I love Poland with my full same — besides erstwhile it embarrasses erstwhile it stings, erstwhile it shows its dark face. I love her in pain and shame, just as I love her in glory. due to the fact that love for Poland is not blind or easy.
Poland. Christmas. Drunk. Motherfucker. Sold.
With a mouth full of clichés.
Anti-Semitic. Anti-German. Antihuman.
Under the image of the Blessed Virgin.
Under the feet of young eners and old colonels.
Under the roof of Belvedere.
Under the bridge.
Under the diner and under the money.
Blunt mouths of navy cops.
Foxy's mouths of moneymakers.
The cruel faces of Stalinists.
Marc's rude faces.
The terrified faces of August.
The mouth of December.
Holy Polish blasphemy,
who laughed to call himself the Christ of the nations,
and she raised spies and informers,
careers and darkies,
torturers and catchers.
Xenophobia has elevated to the rank of patriotism.
The doorknob was hanging.
She made faithful kisses on the hands of tyrants.
This last effort was needed.
Necessary. Blessed.
Maybe now Poland will understand,
It's not like you're a fool.
There's a home in one.
Here besides — over the Vistula.
Like everywhere.
All over God's world.
With a mouth full of clichés.
Anti-Semitic. Anti-German. Antihuman.
Under the image of the Blessed Virgin.
Under the feet of young eners and old colonels.
Under the roof of Belvedere.
Under the bridge.
Under the diner and under the money.
Blunt mouths of navy cops.
Foxy's mouths of moneymakers.
The cruel faces of Stalinists.
Marc's rude faces.
The terrified faces of August.
The mouth of December.
Holy Polish blasphemy,
who laughed to call himself the Christ of the nations,
and she raised spies and informers,
careers and darkies,
torturers and catchers.
Xenophobia has elevated to the rank of patriotism.
The doorknob was hanging.
She made faithful kisses on the hands of tyrants.
This last effort was needed.
Necessary. Blessed.
Maybe now Poland will understand,
It's not like you're a fool.
There's a home in one.
Here besides — over the Vistula.
Like everywhere.
All over God's world.
