Rafal Wojaczek (poetry from Poland cycle)

Rafal Wojaczek (pron. Rafa'w Voyachek) (1945-1971) was born  after the end of the war, so he couldn’t have witnessed the Nazi atrocities, nevertheless he is a poet of despair. He suffered from depression, some time he spent in a psychiatric hospital. In the end he took his own life. Although full of desperation, his poems are also very poetical and very musical. After his death he gained a large following.

* * *

I live without seeing stars

I speak without understanding words

I wait without counting days

until someone breaks through this wall

ON ONE RHYME

for Jadwiga Z.

As many worlds as flowers in this one world

As much light as eyes in this dark world

As many voices as bells in this mute world

As much faith as fear in this faithless world

As many poems as truths in this uncertain world

As much glory as suffering in this temporal world

As many nooses as defeats in this temporal world

As much happiness as death in this miserable world

TO TOUCH...

To touch rain to realise that what falls

Is not rain, but dust from the moon which falls

To touch a wall to realise that the wall

Is not a wall, but a curtain of clouds

To bite a slice to realise that the wheat

Was eaten by rats, and the baker also died

To gulp water to realise that the well

Has dried up, and all other springs as well

To say a word to realise that the voice

Is a scream and nobody gives a damn about it.

TESTIMONY

1.

We have underground mountains, about which

the cartographers don't dream even in the most

prophetic dreams.

2.

We have springs hidden under the moss

of fog; foretold only by the scorched

throats of the thirsty.

3.

We have subterranean rivers, which carry

ships, about which the royal register

doesn't know much.

4.

Tufts of the tongue would be helpful to stars,

when they'd like to fall, freed

from the harness of the spheres.

5.

We have mine pits so deep, that at the bottom

there is another sky of antipodes, but

even the purple doesn't know about it.

6.

The younger sister of death stays with us,

we feed her with bread and salt, so

she stays friendly.

7.

The truth stays with us; you know what you offer her

the poem brought to life by desperate blood

from your wounded heart.

If you would like to read these poems (and some more) on paper, 

You can get a printout of my book "POLISH INSPIRATIONS"