At The End Of The Universe
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 9/20/2019
Do you want to admire the beauty of a constellation?
Then go out for a meeting at night when
The cloudless Sky is this Sky
with a place where you can see yourself
among caroling carolers
At Christmas time.
But at such a moment not necessarily
If you really would like to
Find your personal star
moody autumn you should choose
And you'll find her in every leaf
When flowery September comes.
You won't be able to count the colors
and trees on the slopes
Covered with white misty robes
Because to reach unreachable
You must rise above the clouds
Cut the sky with the Big Dipper
And maybe you'll see That Sea,
At the end of the World and the Universe,
To look Lord in the eyes.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 9/17/2019
Translated by Jarek Zawadzki
What have been left of all those years gone by
But memories? - a seldom sacrifice
Behind a fence, and flaws in rich supply;
In a medallion of rare device
A golden Christ so tiny on the breast
A message to the holy stable plays
And there's a thread within the theme expressed
As if a salty tear of elder days.
What have been left of all those years gone by
But chapels? - those who at the crossroads sleep
Until their dreams come true in stone-runs dry
For rains will fall reviving dusts so deep
Reviving cavemen from within the rock
Can anybody this imagine still
That all those bodies lying here en bloc
Have not been counted - surely never will.
What will remain when up the Milky Way
The world has floated never to return?
Where gain and loss do not come into play
And death with fear are brothers in the urn
What will remain? - this none of us now knows
And must not ever know if a dawn may rise
After the night, when with the stream that flows,
We reach our port of call where no one dies.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 05/2011
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 2/3/2019
Don't say - such a world, crazy world,
Don't cry, you'll only waste your tears - they're like salt,
Be happy, while there are reasons for joy,
Enjoy every day that's giving you:
The moon, the clouds, rain, reasons for anger,
Spin, spin, spin - in the eye of your own axis.
We're going into the Beyond, we're going away from you
Into an Unknown Area - inert
Not counting our steps - we permeate into the systems
Of bright matter - transparent shadows.
We make the thread from the stellar yarn
And follow it sleepily
along the switchbacks of unknown galaxies,
Feeling distant - like some weirdo,
Or postal pigeons in arrival;
Space-time's shared antiquity.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 1/11/2019
Far From The World
They say that our little corner of the universe
is the end of the world, so let those who don't live here
think so, let they write new life histories for us,
and we, we will be weaving the truth with fairy tales
with a bloody bandage, healing the scratches,
and shaking our heads, washing clean hands.
We wanted to love these mountains with love ardent,
we were young - youth has its rights after all,
but we didn't demand any luxuries
because we knew that in the wilderness
they are nowhere to be found:
there were no wells or public watersystems,
the windows rattled in the cracks from the draughts.
So don't think that we have been given anything here,
except for two hands, and four for a pair.
Also do not think that hay did not smell nice,
it did smell nice, and foehn winds carried far,
into the valleys, on the wings the guitar's song of love
- how boys and girls loved each other.
Nobody came here for the truancy,
and did not expect any extravagances,
and it was cozy even in the attic;
and it was warm in patched shoes.
Nobody complained or was ever unhappy,
that our prosperity was only real in stories idealized.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 12/4/2018
In The Depths Of The Universe
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 9/4/2019
Although there's rain of stars there - a myriad shining - like sparks,
Among the roads and potholes - whether glow or darkness.
There's Leo and Cancer, and Serpens and Taurus...
There's movement there - not check, not foul - among the games
- The king and the pawn - whether night or day!
And the game is still going on - cos there are - iron-clad rules there!
There's order there - though fuss - among storms... this land
Though Mars is - a god! And how, and where from?
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 10/15/2001
Hunters' Territories 3
They don't pour manna from heaven because poorer than gold
since the Ark of the Covenant has been lost in the inifinite world
since Earth is similar to the unknown planets
and the Universe is so large that there is not enough space
for reason and for faith in spiritual progress
though in theory the doctrines* great thinkers
arrange their blocks in a particular manner
dependent on their deep reflections
to be able to find the illusory beginning finally
under the crust where the lava still hasn't soldified
so it must be concluded that it's a downright lie
like super-absorbent blotter soaked with blood of brothers
which will fit as many as there are loved
- the others they will throw into the thrash of happiness
along with hope and the cart since the horse is a donkey
flayed by hunters (that waits for Sunday)
a romantic dreamer from opistodomos
of the cities of the Persian carpet in times of a big hoax:
that this distant passage was seen at the very end
as real as a needle found in a haystack.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 6/27/2017
*** (I Was Painting An Enchanted Landscape...)
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/25/2018
I was painting an enchanted
Suddenly a blast of
knocked the easel down into the mud,
was destroyed forever!
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 10/9/2001
A Ballad From The Borderline
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/16/2018
Locked in beeches soldiers won't come out,
Because they are - like a wood crack - imprisoned with frost,
Without rifles and hearts shot through,
And on the bayonets rusted scratches
In the bunkers overgrown with moss of oblivion
They are keeping watch in the undergrounds,
On mountain pastures, but no one hears
Ghosts of so many from the borderline wars
- In the minds, the story,
Do believing in holiness - they giggle and jeer?
Why are you sad that you must be naked,
And eternity rushes and the meeting is closer
than from here to beyond. Are you too trustful,
That the gravity simply does not work,
calendar, and clock?
- You have nothing to pawn and nothing for sale
- You do not know the direction, since you have flown away
To look there, where space ends,
You do not know when it will come,
Because since you ask - no one answers.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 4/18/2017
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/15/2018
Death on a white steed into bleak darkness sinks,
ominous giggle, hoofbeat, neighing,
you do not know what place is it where non-existence exists
prayers nor retreat won't help
- they'll stick nails for ages into the Logos of Oblivion
the world will go off-road, it will continue to spin
around the sun and axis, running into the abyss of ignorance,
you along with the world without a date, name,
carried in space into the times of non-existence,
levitating in the direction of the epigones, among
romantics and fools, ascetics, believers,
until the wounds will heal and stop to fester
love pretenders: of obscure secrets,
of faded banners, empty slogans,
of splashing in the swamps, of confusion sowing,
false messages, where comfortable bed;
all sides, directions, mixed marriages
from the first look to the boundaries of damnation!
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 12/1/2015
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 5/6/2019
You're probably there, but you don't want to see
That the wheels are still spinning, that driving over the bumps
took so many lives, that every new war
will leave a trace of despair upon the blood-stained lands.
You are not being threatened There any more - without the body - elusive, Higher than imagination can reach with thought,
And we're packing up ready for departure
With a vehicle that will raise us and embed us into the Cosmic Dust.
Above the Milky Way into the Timelessness, to report one's presence
-placed in the capsules - orbital beings,
Until it will be able to make the pages in the calendar real again,
Not being a ritual, but the truth about the Divinity.
And for whom it's not the same direction - let he go his own,
Into a backpack packing a fancy house of his.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 3/11/2019