Volynska massacre - poesy Anthology Part.2.
date: July 06, 2019 Editor: Anna
On the occasion of the National Day of Memory of Victims of Genocide made by Ukrainian nationalists on citizens of the Second Republic of Poland celebrated on 11 July, the editorial board of the portal prepared a compendium of cognition and literary and musical materials related to the subject of genocide in Volyn.
We urge reading 4 parts of the compendium, promoting and utilizing these materials, especially crucial in the work of teachers and educators.
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Two mothers
Sigmund Jan Rumel, July 1941
I've got 2 Mother-Fathers hounding my head -
One amber comb brushed her hair
A second reef of porohs washing corals
She failed on liras with a pit of blind - fate...
One eye danced with a goldlit belt,
The another one's neck was pounding - drunk as a bumblebee -
One barefoot took sadness behind the blue -
The second hen of hers drank a rebellious scythe
Two Mother-Fathers taught me how to talk -
In a braid of blood woven with berries ros -
To break my heart with pain in 2 halves -
To make your heart cry like a voice...
-----------------------------------------------------
Volyn
Józefa Radzyminska
November 1943.
[from the Sword and Plow Movement letter ‘Kuźnia’]
The flow of blood has darkened the worlds,
The bulldoze of her roaring wheels defiles the sun!
how hard news – it kills the knife of the light,
A pregnant parent can't find her fathers.
To children who are stuck in fork, it hurts the eyes.
fire like spasms rips a mad scream –
– the grandpa will not give back the land of hoarse spit
- erstwhile he kicked him with blood with a smeared hat.
She burst the fire of the crazy past of the gang,
plowed the dawn of smoking ashes of the blast –
– God did not quit in churches for trade
When his head was cut off, he fell down the threshold of the sacristians.
Burning like a chaotic man's blunt eyes –
blind from blood from stinking battles –
A deadly march hits a shovel.
Step broke up –
But the blood shed forbids to make it
Volyn 1943
Wojciech Wencel
1.
Lime-whited house
clay pots hang on the fence
on a line between pears
dry laundry
The girl comes back from the well
carries a bucket of water
with effort leans his head
on the left arm
behind the home of endless meadows
fields painted with various cereals
little black dot
under the forest
2.
Same girl
lies on the table bare
separated by a saw for wood
in 4 parts:
from head to waist
from belt to knee
from knee to foot
from knee to foot
You can see the man who cut her.
He wanted order on the table.
Like any good host
After returning from the field
but by distraction
(because not by deficiency of imagination)
He forgot to cut the girl off.
her slender arms
legs lie apart like a knife
And a fork, and all of a abrupt from the corps.
Infinity Grows
delicate hands
fall on the breasts
Like the cups of a lily
It was expected to be a dead nature.
with a pinch of surrealism
à la Salvador Dali
Or Joan Miró
something fresh to measure
20th century
And the reproduction came out
from the old album
Fra Angelico fresco fragment
‘Annunciation’
Edges
Maria Dorota Pieńkowska
We came to finish those Masses of Volyn
We came to pray to you
Powerless God Kresovians
When you turned the Holy Face
pain without measure
Only Christ screams:
Why did you leave me?
continued to the end with the Ends
Endless Suffering
the end of planet and trees
apple cut into trunk
I don't want them to give birth again.
fruit so good and sweet
The patient gardener
took care of the fig tree
at another time
on another land
He gave this 1 a wound.
And the gloomy shadow
east and west
And present he gave this day
When grey children of murdered mothers
stand in the heart of a cold city
and – like all day
for 7 decades
They ask us for love
[from volume of poems "Night of Light" , Warsaw 2015]
Photo
[Polish children murdered by UPA]
Lusia Ogińska
On an old photograph
of the 40th
a bloody tree grows,
and children crucified...
Wires, like roses, woven into wrists...
Angel is not above them,
The year is forty-fourth,
in a photograph in the winter...
They're hanging in the shadows today,
the pain stopped them in the photo,
The incorrect time stopped their part,
And the planet has changed, changed...
And they inactive hang for Poland...
Mothers in leaves and kirach,
No larks, no priest,
There's no whispering, no fairy...
only grave trees,
And barbed wire, like roses...
Five, four, and only half a spring...
Another is the world.
And another trees have grown.
And roses, and a white angel...
Five, 4 and half.
The kids had...
Years!
There's another world, another world...
I've got a photograph of an old man.
pain of infinity trapped
children's eyes dead,
with frozen white religion on the trees of the branches.
The cry is long gone.
I don't know.
They will go to Our Lady,
They'll go to her.
♪ Searching for him ♪
Aneta the Heir
God’s Finger
He led us like a dog on a rope,
screamed a sea of bones
lying in the yard,
And we were dragged by any force
and certainty,
That we're moving home...
Go home!
Do you hear Polish?
We'll find you!
secretly lifted
to the garden,
We'll sniff it out!
each root
trees
of a genealogical nature,
Wherever you are,
hidden,
buried,
In a tiny cemetery,
In the shadows of past days.
We'll find you!
at all turn,
in all distant village,
on all alien threshold,
Like dogs breaking off the chain
rushing home
[Source: A screenplay of interdisciplinary lessons: Polish language, past and cognition of society to be implemented in historical collegiate classes
http://www.wodn.lodz.pl/watern/images/stories/NN/2014/scenario_wolyn.pdf
On Volyn
Stanisława Wind-Party, 2008.
It won't be a song about a abroad land.
Thy great-grandfather lived on this land,
He was happy, he was among his own,
A dream about Poland, a wonderful dream.
On Volyn
The golden sun wanders,
Volyn
A honey beehive, a golden hive.
On Volyn
A falcon in the clouds soars,
The orchards bloom,
The orchards bloom, but I'm not there...
There are events that are hard to believe.
The fact is, but it has been trampled,
The wrongs are never measured,
There are memories that hurt like a wound.
On Volyn...
♪ 'Cause it's not my birthday tree ♪
And no of the roads are there anymore,
No village, no sign of her,
Where they were -- only God knows.
On Volyn...
I'm not gonna light you, Mom,
I'm not putting a bunch on my grave,
Where the household was home -- silence screams,
And the communicative is inactive silent about you.
On Volyn...
Volyn
Mieczysław Góra - 2016
What rhymes what words
What can we say here?
How to Explain Blood Harvest
What a terrible destiny it is...
I'm sorry.
Great Sad Mortification
Regretless anger and grief
On this religion of men little...
And churches and streets
sheds and cellars
Everywhere there's a brother of betrayal
No advice will help...
Crime in the day and more frequently at night
There'll be no aid from anywhere.
Armed fork poops, scythes
They're chasing people barefoot through the village today...
There's no mercy here.
With a cruel anger
Murder is cruel.
A crowd of empathy without...
Every night a dream or a waking dream
There's always a ghost.
Human bodies of women, children
And so all night the dream flies...
Like a neighbour with a crowbar in his hand.
The children of the village pursuit at night
Shots fired, fear voices heard
The enemy's orders are heard.
Black smokes in the sky
Dogs in the trunks of fear howls
Death grips villages all over
They drive hordes crazy...
Orders to destruct and murder
Burn down and rob
Turn everything to dust here
So that he can't, no 1 can come back...
Fire of the sparks of the snob
Burnt houses of a pile of digs
Burning villages and cities
There's a bunch of crazy...
There's no mercy in court.
No 1 has the right to live
Crimes all here numerous
Great cleansing is ethnic.
The Apocalypse Is Real
The East Reveals a Warm Destroyer
The day's getting old again
The cluster is over...
God the large and the Great
A perfect man
Smart, capable, so created
And evil with a terrible gift...
You've already written to the Corinthians
That you gave us a large love
And here's the hunger
That there's a buzzing copper reign
I can't believe he was making a sound.
He's inactive tempting to the crowd.
It's like cannon meat.
He's inactive murdering people with his brother...
EPILOG
Cain and Abel fact old
There's crime, there's punishment
It's hard to dream of a miracle.
When bad people inactive rule...
Source: http://nie Correctni.pl/blog/slawomir-tomasz-roch/poetry-kresowian-16
The song will remind you
Andrzej Depo, 1960.
The melody "Burns the fire and roars"
The Wind of Volyn carries greetings
of all forests, fields and meadows,
The song of hope over Bug resounds,
thoughts are connected into 1 circle.
O Volyn, no of us will forget,
that he was Polish -- the song will remind you,
'Cause there are never bad paths for songs,
It will pass all threshold.
Because the Bug will always be heard,
as the Volyn forest roars,
as to Poland Volyn longs,
memory won't halt time
O Volyn, no of us will forget,
that he was Polish -- the song will remind you,
that the graves grew with grass,
Instead of the cross, the forest grew.
As long as the water flows in Bug,
in Polish veins Polish blood,
The memory of Volyn will not be lost,
The wind will carry her singing.
O Volyn, no of us will forget,
that he was Polish -- the song will remind you,
'Cause there are never bad paths for songs,
No enemy will destruct it.
The silent forest sings the wind on the graves,
Polish towns and villages,
He sings songs about their bloody history,
about the spilled Polish blood,
About soldiers who for their homeland
in her defense, with honour, they have fallen,
About how past told them
Eternal fame, eternal honor.
O Volyn, no of us will forget,
that he was Polish -- the song will remind you,
'Cause there are never bad paths for songs,
No enemy will destruct it.
Janina Snopek Stefaniak
MEMENTO
Oh, the blood you've dipped into these Volyn fields,
Which was fertilized by that role,
And which in this land you have been martyred,
You're inactive waiting for the fact why you stayed here.
Where are the closest ones who left you?
Did they die or did they die?
And whether their blood in another place feeds the earth,
Is the tribe going to extend the tribe's lineage somewhere?
Oh, blood you martyred, in love only,
What was Ukraine for you back then?
- Oh, no! due to the fact that this is the Polish land, these patches,
We've been looking for bread as you're looking today.
There were quite a few land free to buy,
You could sow them, make canvas,
Houses put, orchards, make families,
They followed Polish boys there.
And the another Polks liked it,
That they besides married them for love.
And it was happy, and though hard work,
It's fertile land, so it pays off.
Villages and colonies were formed,
Polish-Ukrainian big, medium, small.
They lived well, the vicinity just,
Until the hearts of men were wet.
A imagination of free Ukraine was presented,
For cultural cleansing with no reason whatsoever.
The full : Poland was then in large distress,
Because the Russian-German business was.
And even if the neighbors were talking,
That they would kill Poles soon,
That's knowing the vicinity and good relations,
And having a regular war drapes,
Nobody believed it, where was it from?
There was a house, there was a field, there was a life.
Leave it all behind and go into the dark?
A way of wandering towards their future steep?
Where? Where? Where are we?
Volyn within Her limits, this is Her glory we carry.
Where to go? To Brest, Lublin, Warsaw?
From there to camp! These are crucial concerns.
Here we sow, we weed, milk cows,
After all, the Pole to work is always ready.
They didn't believe it would happen soon,
There'll be villages all over the killing.
No 1 gets distant with life, not even a baby in the womb,
The crow will pour blood and burn in the fire.
There was nowhere to run, where you stood, they killed,
They tormented Poles with the savage delight.
Thousands dead already, a sea of blood shed,
And there were men saved,
Who made it out of this hell,
In which she was fierce,
They barely escaped with their lives, frequently wounded,
Hungry, naked, barefoot, cold, tired,
They didn't take anything from home due to the fact that they didn't make it,
Dirty water from the puddle like animals drank.
There's moaning all over the place, the heart is crying,
They're in awe of the dense days of wandering.
Ah, Polish for you, for we are Poles,
For them like a viper's nest, for themselves countrymen.
Mixed marriages are long broken,
Because children of Polish blood were killed by fathers.
And the wife killed who was Polish,
Though she was a kind heart to her husband.
The wind blows through the villages with an open door,
Polish Kresy burns with smoke.
Around the fire. The stench of decayed bodies,
Beastly in a time of horror on torments spent.
Martyr blood everywhere, fields and forests,
The enemy thinks- Lach will vanish forever these days.
And whosoever escapes from these hells on earth,
He'd alternatively meet his own in the afterlife.
That's how they were murdered at $200,000,
The veil in pain cries, bleeds, and groans.
They're moaning, and Bieszczady, due to the fact that it's the same thing,
A miracle of a runaway kid won't meet your mother.
It'll be quaking without a part of bread,
The enemy will capture and in torment send back to Heaven.
Another martyr's blood will burn the field,
Another 1 will feed this inhuman role.
Poles were broken by her average neighbors,
One and the another is in the same village.
And those Ukrainians who helped us,
They killed the leg.
Of those who hatred never supported,
The members of the UPA band besides tore their lives out.
Doesn't substance if they were drinking vodka together last night,
Or the joint grandchildren may have been baptized.
Today, the robbers at his home lead,
After all, free Ukraine advises well.
But the future, the Vistula Action was,
Finally, the fire and blood are over.
Thieves were sent to various republics,
That's how the beastly pranks ended.
But erstwhile Europe lived in peace,
The Polish partisan fought with the gangs.
On Volyn Russia put her hand,
That's how their bloody fable ended at the “Free”.
They lived in the Russian yoke about half a century,
If you can think, think about it, man.
Today “Free” have, though they never had,
Because they were always lying within another countries.
But do they enjoy their freedom properly?
Is there adequate home and bread for everyone?
If they never ruled their country,
Then how did they get the experience in government?
How do they know what anyone needs to live,
Are schools or hams, fruit or bread?
So they live in misery, but they rebel
And the remainder of Poles are preparing slaughter again.
Passwords and trizubas everywhere, they paint,
For ‘Tamto’ Poles are blamed.
It'll burn again erstwhile the spark pops,
He'll see the planet that's long gone.
But God's vengeance is always just,
Although it is frequently shifted in years.
He'll come like the wind, the criminals,
And I don't know who's going to escape with Volyn's life.
All the martyr blood will flow as the flood flows,
A grim evidence will be given to Ukraine.
With the roaring waves, the screams and groans will rise,
And they'll be loud behind all wall.
The phantoms will depart through the villages in bloody wounds,
Every village burned will be recognized.
The poison will be their native grain,
Because of the spread of blood, there will be deposits.
God's wrath will shine on the arrogant Ukraine,
But God is the origin of how many will die.
Who knows if erstwhile the young phantoms see,
They'll forgive their parents, alone, in fear?
Where the boy of a bitch is buried,
When you're frightened your hair will rotation over your head?
When good is not created in Free Ukraine,
This country is going to die due to its anger.
Ashes in the air will emergence again,
The flames will be blown and the wolves will howl.
Because the consequence of past will come again,
Because she's the best school ever.
Who doesn't learn her, who doesn't admit her,
He spends his mistakes on destruction.
Your state's right will pass badly, too,
Poland will take care of Volyn again with love.
It is only the priests who will sacrifice the land,
In which a tired tribe sleeps forever.
Volyn-it's 1 large cemetery,
Well, erstwhile God's forest covers it all.
Because only the forest will quit so much flower,
That's adequate for the dead of all county.
So let them cover the hors d'oeuvres,
And let the chorus of birds bring them a happy song.
And you, martyr blood, wait soon,
Though you must surrender to those plows.
The young generation shall come with their song,
To praise your Polish red forever.
And the planet will know the truth, and it will be awe of it
And the blessing on Poland will hang.
And it will come down about time and Poland,
He'll give food to those who ran distant in 1 shirt.
And the blood that will stay in Volyn land,
God will give eternal remainder in peace.
We recommend:
A screenplay of interdisciplinary lessons: Polish language, past and cognition of society to be implemented in historical ellipse classes
http://www.wodn.lodz.pl/watern/images/stories/NN/2014/scenario_wolyn.pdf
