The awards ceremony for the “Letter” literary competition organized by the Municipal Cultural and Sports Centre in Bolesławiec, based in Kruszyn, took place on November 27 at Piwnica Paryska. Almost all the winners from Bolesławiec County attended the restaurant. A letter from Stanisława Wojciechowska-Soi of Malbork, the second-place winner in the adult category, was a surprise for those gathered. Ms. Stanisława wrote that on Tuesday at 5:00 p.m., her thoughts would be in Bolesławiec.
The prizes (computer equipment) were presented to the authors of the best letters by GOKiS Director Janusz Cieśla and Bogusław Uziej, Chairman of the Culture, Education, Sport, Health and Social Affairs Committee of the Municipal Council. The ceremony was enhanced by performances from students of the State Music School in Bolesławiec: the promising vocalist Kamila Osuch and violinist Klementyna Marszałek.
More about the competition
The competition organized by the Gminny Ośrodek Kultury i Sportu w Bolesławcu z/s w Kruszynie is unique nationwide. Few people, however, know that it was inspired by... Beata Widera’s mailbox at GOKiS, filled to the brim with advertisements. “I thought then that I would like to receive a normal letter,” says the competition’s initiator and organizer.
The number of letters submitted in this year’s edition of the competition completely surprised the organizers. More than 300 entries arrived from various parts of Poland—from both large cities and tiny towns. There were letters from Kraków, Biały Dunajec, Chotowa, Warsaw, Wrocław, Gdańsk, Gdynia and Malbork. One of the competition entries came all the way from Ukraine.
The letters were very diverse. Some were beautiful, moving, overwhelmingly sad. Others, on the contrary, were cheerful, telling of the charms of life in the countryside, first infatuations and fascinations, and memories of bygone years. “In my opinion, the most interesting letters were those that were spontaneous, that expressed emotions,” says Andrzej Leśniewski, a juror in both editions of the competition. “Above all, I looked for expression in these letters, something natural. I did not want them to be too elaborate, although I liked several works styled as poetic letters,” Leśniewski adds.
According to him, the level of this year’s entries was slightly higher than last year’s. Also because of the surprisingly high number of texts submitted. It was equally astonishing that so many letters – written by very young people! – dealt with funeral themes. “This is slightly worrying, but it may be an expression of a young person’s longing for the dead,” the juror notes.
“I was very surprised that so many adults were among the letter writers,” says Beata Widera. – “And I was truly astonished by the fact that so many people aged 16–25 sent in their work.” It seems that in the age of the Internet, young people also long for this form of expressing their emotions.
Is it worthwhile to organize this kind of competition in the 21st century? Krystyna Karwat from Lublin, the winner of first place in the adult category, wrote: “Thank you for this wonderful competition in an age when the art of letter writing is disappearing. It inspired me—henceforth, my communication with my beloved Mother will take on concrete form.” Beata Widera has no doubts either. “The idea behind the competition is to save [this] from oblivion. If something is talked about loudly, there is a chance it will not disappear,” the organizer points out.
Below, we present the letters that received the highest ratings in their respective categories.
Krystyna Karwat’s letter:
Dearest Mother!
“My mother, your eyes follow me. I see them in the azure of the sky as I chase the fleeing clouds with my eyes. On cloudy days and dark nights, they shine more brightly than your distant gaze. Your smile was a shield on the threshold of our family home. You calmed storms and bad weather with gentleness. Great sorrows and little sadnesses vanished in your loving embrace, while the touch of your hardworking hands brought peace and hope.
My mother, wandering with fate along the trackless paths, you gave me strength and wisdom. You blessed me with a beating heart that did not live to sing its song of thanksgiving.
You hid in the shadows so early, wrapping yourself in the earth’s chill.
My mother, I constantly search for traces of you.
You always and everywhere go through life with me. You gave me love, and I share it with the world.”
With these words, Dear Mother, I spoke to you on December 19, 2004, on the day of my seventieth birthday. My family and friends arranged a wonderful benefit for me at Cukiernia Chmielewski in Lublin, combined with an exhibition of my copies (on glass) of works by various masters and a presentation of poetic prose selected from among my works. An extraordinary atmosphere, with many surprises prepared by literary and musical friends. My grandchildren (except for Oliwier, who emigrated to London with my daughter Ewunia and her husband Emil) sang me an unforgettable toast. An abundance of flowers and gifts! The presence of my son Robert and his family eased the emptiness left by those who had departed this life forever. Do you know, my one and only Mother, who sponsored this undertaking? Your granddaughter Barbara, Zosia’s daughter, who looked after me after your death. Basia is a wonderful woman; she considers me her older sister and supports me in difficult moments. An Angel on Earth!
Dearest Mother, life rushes on in an unstoppable rhythm, and I am already so old! When you departed for the eternal realm, I was barely eighteen. I was a tenth-grade student at the secondary school in Tarnogóra, lodging in Izbica with a very kind aunt, Mrs. Plaor. Every Saturday I walked six kilometres to our family home in Kryniczki. After spending four years in Siedlce with the eldest of the brothers, Edward, I returned home because I missed you terribly, my Mother. Over the years of separation, you became the closest person to me. I rarely saw both of you—you and Father. After finishing the school year in the ninth grade at a friendly girls’ school, I said goodbye to my beloved headmistress, Aniela Zawadzka, and, without my brother’s knowledge, boarded a train to get home. I said to you, Mother: “I want to be closer; let me do so.” Your kindness and gentleness always enchanted me. I needed your warmth so much, dear Mother. So I stayed...
My happiness was short-lived. On 14 February 1953, your unexpected, tragic death left me an orphan. I have felt this loss painfully throughout my life. I have never stopped longing for you. I often call out to you, Mum, talk to you, and address you with the most beautiful words. Sometimes I cry when remembering the moments we shared and situations in life, especially those concerning our childhood during the war. I was eight years old when I stood with you, Dad and my brothers in the “death row” during the pacification of Kryniczki in May 1942. When they drove us along with others through the entire village, I stumbled in fear. I even fell—then you, Mum, took me in your arms and carried me for some time. Years later, I wrote a story in which I look at that tragedy through a child’s eyes, while nevertheless being aware of it through the perspective of time. Several people were executed then for collaborating with the partisans. Helena’s sister’s husband was driven to Majdanek.
Mum, I want you to know that in several more stories I depict wartime events concerning the fate of our family and the fate of the nation.
I took up writing after retiring. I haven’t published anything yet. Will I have time? It is not the most important thing for me. My passions allow me to live more meaningfully, creatively and joyfully.
My beloved Mother, you must know that the first years of learning at a post-war school, under the guidance of wonderful teachers – Maria and Jan Fidecki – shaped me forever. I will also never forget that on winter evenings, my brother Romek and I would take turns reading Sienkiewicz’s “Trilogy” to you – to you, Mother, and to Father. Classical poetry, with all its richness and beauty, allows me to look at the world and at people in an extraordinary way. Experiments with the contemporary language of the streets do not appeal to me.
Mother, dear Mother!
So many years have passed since your death...
Do you know that from time to time a certain thought torments me? What would have happened if, on that memorable Saturday in February, I had listened to my inner voice and set off for home? Only six kilometres. I confided in my aunt that some irresistible force was pushing me toward my parents. My aunt listened, but strongly advised against it.
“– Snow up to your knees, frost, and you have lousy shoes,” she said. I stayed. Earlier, I had intended to go to the school party. My friends pleaded with me, and so did Gienek, whom I called the Sailor. I refused. Unjustified tears and sadness tormented my soul all day. At night, nightmares tormented me. I woke up and fell asleep again. When at last I drifted into a deep doze, I had a strange dream. There was a large, empty room with white walls and a single piece of furniture in the middle—a white table. Suddenly, appearing out of nowhere, came cats—many white cats, lively and aggressive. They attacked me, clawing at my body. I ran from them all around the room. They surrounded me. I jumped onto the table, and they followed. They pounced on me, sinking their sharp claws into every part of my body, hanging from my arms. Terrified, I tried to free myself, but unfortunately, I was trapped. I called out:
“Mom!”—and with that terrifying cry I wake up. My aunt runs in from the next room. I tell her about the dream. I ask:
– What time is it?
– One thirty. It’s still night, go to sleep – I hear.
One-thirty... At that hour you were dying, Mom... Why wasn't I with you?...
A few days later, instead of going to school, I went to the cemetery in Orłowo. I was greeted by a dark silence and emptiness.
“Mommy! Mom!” I called through my tears, but they did not wake you from your eternal sleep.
– Sleep, golden Mum – I whispered goodbye.
Forgive me, Mom, I’ve written at length. Soon I will write another letter again. Until the end of my life. In my letters, I will tell you about my own life and the lives of those close to me. I will entrust you, Mom, with my thoughts and reflections. I will tell you about my fascination with life and work, about my passions, joys, and sufferings. I am with you.
Forever loving you – your daughter Krystyna
Natalia Balasy’s letter:
Dear Weronika!
Many things in this world surprise me and—unfortunately—sadden me. I do not know whom to tell about a certain event, so I am writing to you. I know that you will return home in just two weeks, but for me that is too long. Do you also miss our evening debates so much? Before we see each other, let this letter be a substitute for a real meeting. With the sheet of paper, a part of my soul, a fragment of my thoughts, will travel to you...
I hope you return from the sanatorium soon and that tuberculosis forgets you forever. I miss you very much. The term “lovebirds,” by which we were described, sounded so trite to me, and now I even miss those joking words. Soon we will once again go for a long walk together...
You know that I always go to dance class on Thursdays. The last meeting ran a little long because I got to chatting with Karolina (just don’t be jealous) about the disco held for Boys’ Day. Somehow, time just slipped away... Our routes home don’t lead in the same direction, as you know very well. I had to go back alone. That’s what I dislike most about autumn: by eight o’clock, it’s already pitch-dark. Even so, life in our little town is still bustling at that hour, and the roads are well lit. I won’t hide it—I was quite scared. I used to always go home with you. So I was walking very quickly because I wanted to be home as soon as possible. But I wasn’t to return quickly after all...
From a distance, to my horror, I saw three “tracksuit thugs” in my path! I would never have gone that way in a million years if it hadn’t been for a passer-by. And this is what happened...
Try to imagine, Weronika... I was still far enough away from those thugs that they didn’t manage to notice me... I stopped in a dark place and had no idea what to do next. My hands were trembling a little, but that was probably from the cold. My heart suddenly began to pound strangely, but I don’t think it was from fear. I was walking quickly, and that was probably why...
I couldn't call my mother. Then she would have had to walk past them herself... I couldn't call the police either, because what kind of reason would that be? That a group of teenagers in tracksuits was standing around and drinking beer between the apartment blocks? Suddenly, an older man came out from behind the corner. His movements were awkward... In the lamplight, I noticed that his unsteady gait was the result of moving with the aid of crutches... I watched as he moved slowly, placing his feet carefully. I noticed that he was missing a leg above the knee. Can you imagine, Weronika, what I felt? I wanted to call out, “Don't go that way!” But what could I do? We admire heroes who succeed at everything, while I felt so helpless... My heart told me that drunk people would give little thought to their actions. Just think how sorry I felt for the old man... I was furious at my own powerlessness... I wished I could have asked your advice. You were always so sensible...
You won’t believe what this poor disabled man was carrying in his hands! A bag of rubbish! Instead of resting peacefully, he has to take out his own rubbish! And now he is facing such a danger... Suddenly, he noticed some boys drinking beer beside the container. They noticed him... A shiver ran down my spine. Would you ever want to feel your heart tearing itself apart in despair while your legs refuse to obey you?
An elderly man approached them and tried to lift the lid to throw out the rubbish. The effort was beyond his strength. He couldn’t manage it, but tried again... Suddenly... one of those “tracksuit lads” came over to him and said: “Wait, we’ll help.” He easily lifted the container lid and threw out the rubbish, then handed the old man back his empty bag. I was simply stunned. I had expected something completely different... Besides, I’m sure you did too... You certainly thought the boys would behave disgracefully... The man on crutches shyly thanked him and went to his flat. I left right after him. They didn’t even look at me...
I didn’t tell anyone at home about it. You probably wouldn’t have said a word either if you were in my place. Don’t tell anyone at the sanatorium about it, all right? They don’t know me, but I’d still feel uncomfortable. I’m not proud of myself. Besides, I don’t know why. Maybe I simply lacked faith in people? Maybe I gave in to stereotypes too easily?
I somehow never thought about elderly, sick people who live near me. I never thought about disabled people at all. How hard life is for them. It was always the subject of reports and programs, but somehow... distant... And only then did I realize what they go through. As an observer of the incident by the rubbish bin. Or maybe I simply never wanted to think about those who suffer? Maybe it was just uncomfortable? Perhaps you see it differently because you came to know illness up close... And me...? I pretended that the world consisted only of the healthy, strong, and wealthy. And that elderly man showed me the sadness of a disabled person’s everyday life. For someone who is ill and disabled, every day brings new problems, pain... Such a person has trouble with basic activities, such as shopping, cleaning, or carrying anything. And sick people who live alone? They might fall, hit themselves, and who will help them? You or me? We cannot pretend they do not exist, turn away when they walk down the street, or ask for help. Let us not live only for ourselves.
You’re such a good person. You took in two stray cats, and you feed probably four of them, don’t you? You really shouldn’t have brought any more of them home. I somehow never felt like doing that. I have my own Fiołek, whom I bought at a store, and even so, Mum feeds him because I don’t have time. But that’s going to change. He is, after all, my cat.
And that elderly gentleman from the block next door is named Edward. I asked Mom. He lives alone. Yesterday I went to see him with Karolina and Michał. We brought him cake and talked with him. We’re going again the day after tomorrow. But this time to clean and wash the windows. It’s a shame you didn’t see the sparks of happiness in His eyes when he was sitting with us. I think he believes he has our help. That we treat him like a fully fledged human being...
And at school we agreed that we would organize a support group for people who live alone. Something informal, because official programs do not always notice the individual person. There are certainly more people like Mr. Edward.
Natalia
P.S. I’m sending you very warm regards and wishing you a speedy recovery. My mother sends you lots of kisses (and so do I). Write back as soon as possible. But write a long letter. I’m curious how you’re doing. Just not a text message. A letter... Soon you’ll go with me to Mr. Edward...
Kinga Kraczkowska’s letter:
Dear Mum!
I already know that I will leave, I just don’t know when! I am as white as snow and as bald as a knee. I would so dearly like to live, go to my grandmother’s, finish my studies, get married, and have a large family, but fate decided otherwise.
Mum! When you arrive and I am no longer here, don’t cry, be strong, know that you were my support and solace in my pain. Do you remember, Mum, when we went on a bicycle trip and you fell into the river because your brake broke? You were as wet as a drowned person, covered in some sort of plants. We both laughed until we cried. Remember only those beautiful moments that we spent together. Mum, do you remember when you went to a New Year’s Eve ball with Dad? You bought a dress in which you looked like an angel. Dad was delighted with you, and I watched, dreaming of my own grand New Year’s Eve ball, which will never happen.
Dear Mum! Sometimes I have moments that are so difficult that I cannot cope with myself. Then I bow my head and pray fervently for you, Mum, and for Dad, so that your suffering after my departure may be as slight as possible.
Today is a beautiful day; the sun is shining so brightly and the trees are so green that I feel better. I run my hand over my bald head and think that I don’t look so bad after all.
My beloved Mom, thank you for every day spent with me, for always being there for me whenever I needed you. I loved it when you took me onto your lap; I felt safe then.
I look through the hospital window and see flowering apple trees in the distance, heavy with blossoms; one is blooming right beside the window. I watch swarms of bees working toward the fruits of the future, which I will never taste. Mom, remember my flowers, take care of them; they will remind You of me, and when they bloom, think that I am in every little blossom and smile. I am tired from writing this letter, but I would like to tell You so much.
Mom, I love you as much as the dying love life, as much as those dying of thirst love water; I cannot put into words how much I love you. Mom, this is not the end; we will surely meet again somewhere in a better world, without suffering, without pain, without limitations.
And now, Mom, I will fall asleep and rest for a while. When you arrive, I may already be far from here, but after all, everyone sets out on this journey, sooner or later. Keep me in your heart. Goodbye, Mom!
I will wait for You there. I’ll save You a good place in the queue for heaven. Smile, Mum. It has to be this way.
Your Daughter
Kasia
Stanisława Wojciechowska-Sój’s letter
Adam!
I would like to share the reflections that came to me on the eve of your first Mass. I decided to put them down on paper.
This time, I was the one called upon to answer the question: What kind of student was Adam Skrzyński?
I remember you as a dark-haired boy with glasses sitting in the last row. You knew how to rejoice in every moment. A smile often graced your face. You were a well-liked classmate, because you radiated cheerfulness. You reacted vividly to the problems being posed. You were particularly interested in poetry. This was surprising, because boys rarely reached for volumes of poetry. You always interpreted metaphors accurately and looked for beautiful words to express your thoughts, aware that in life the maxim we often quoted proves true:
“A beautiful and truthful word can bring down walls and unite human hearts and minds.”
“Chance, no-Chance”? – today I ask myself a question borrowed from the title of a book-length interview with the distinguished actor Krzysztof Kolberger. The title is rather provocative, since some claim that there are no coincidences. The thesis of Father Bronisław Bozowski, a preacher at the Church of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary on Krakowskie Przedmieście in Warsaw, is well known: “There are no coincidences, only signs.” Someone witty might add: “Cases exist only in grammar.”
I think these were signs that you were carrying some secrets within you. You gradually revealed them through poetry. A great revelation was your poem entitled “All Saints’ Park,” submitted to the Rev. Janusz Pasierb Competition, for which the jury gave you an award. It is worth taking a closer look at it:
All Saints’ Park
someday I’ll rest
in the All Saints’ Park
at last I will drink the wedding wine
from Cana of Galilee
I shall partake of the multiplied bread
I will hear the song of the skylark
with the smile of the Star of Bethlehem
together with the little angels I will jump
through the puddles of Jerusalem
I will listen to the sermon of Saint Francis
like a little bee, I will revel
with the nectar of lilies of forgiveness
I will taste from the Garden of Gethsemane
of true prayer
I will dance with Mary Magdalene
the polonaise at the beginning of the world
one day I’ll rest
in the All Saints’ Park
once
This poem showed that Adam, a high school student, was a mature young man inclined toward philosophical reflection and deeply humbled before God. He had long since abandoned kites in the attic and forgotten about playing “green.” He wrote his Polish-language final examination paper with distinction. It was entirely a reference to religion, to God.
When I wrote a review of it for her, words of recognition, admiration and delight flowed from my pen. For me, that was a sign that Adam would follow Christ and board Peter’s boat. And so it happened.
Father Adam!
It is a great joy when a person can fulfill themselves in life and do good out of vocation. This distinction came to you not by chance. You pursued it with all your heart and received this gift as a reward. The priesthood is a great gift; a gift sought and prayed for. You did not bury your talents, and most importantly—you wish to multiply them by serving others. It is the priest who leads a person to holy baptism and onward to the cross on their grave. He shows them the way to God. Therefore, each of them must be supported. I think prayer gives such strength. Moreover, it creates community.
Father Adam!
Leaving your family home, you enter the House of God, the Church. Parishioners will come to you. Sometimes with good news, and sometimes bent by the vanity of this world.
Then invite them into your home, in the old Polish tradition. Create an extraordinary place for them to talk. Where the most important thing will be the TABLE. I wrote a poem about it, which on such a solemn day I dedicate to you:
A home is not just geraniums on the windowsill.
A home is not just paintings on the walls.
Home is above all the Table.
A magical piece of furniture.
Food is steaming on the table.
Bowls clatter on the table.
A lamp shines above the table.
Love flutters above the table.
The table tells a life story.
Secret.
If parishioners meet with You at such a Table, fewer of them will kneel before the confessional. It is better to sow seeds than to pull out weeds. I wish that in your priestly ministry You would be a Good Sower. A sower of the Word of God.
Your Polish teacher from the secondary school
Adela Mędoń’s letter
Boston, October 11, 1902.
Dear Stranger!
I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want to know. By releasing this letter through the window, I would like someone to find it. Although when I try to describe my emotions in words, it isn’t pleasant. This can only be described in my head. I’ll get to the point. I don’t know what’s happening to me.
Sometimes when I touch something, I remember its entire life. I know it sounds stupid, but that’s how it is. I’ll describe it to you. Recently, in my father’s living room, I touched a metal candlestick. I was holding it in my hand when suddenly I saw black-and-white images moving fairly quickly. At first I saw the weathered face of a worker packing the candlestick into a box, a saleswoman coquettishly fluttering her eyelashes at a bespectacled man buying various goods. Later I saw a dying old man, with the candlestick standing beside his bed, an auction where my grandfather George bought it, and my mother putting white candles in it. After the last image, I clearly saw the living room. It frightened me so much that I couldn’t leave my room all day. It wasn’t pleasant. Throughout the entire time I was watching the candlestick’s memories, I felt cold. I thought they could break some people. People might remember their favorite memories and remain in them. Some would want to stay in childhood, where they would feel carefree, be free, not yet bound to their own fate, and forget that they had to return. Others, remembering their worst memories, would want to escape in the other direction forever. To death. That would break them... The next day I had dark circles under my eyes. People in the street stared at me as I walked to school.
I am ending my letter by asking you to consider whether you know of any way to cure me. If you do and would like to write back to me, slip your reply on November 15 under the booth at the station where they sell tickets. There is a small hole there.
I don't know whether to sign off respectfully
Someone else
P.S. I hope you are my friend
Paulina Szewczenko’s letter
Dear Lord God!
At the beginning of my letter, I would like to warmly greet you and ask how things are with you. Everything is the same with me, except that I attend a new school—and, in case you have forgotten, my name is Paulina Szewczenko.
I have a question for you, as well as a request. Could you check what my beloved grandma is doing? You must have seen her sometime. I miss her very much; I haven’t seen her for six years now. Dad once told me that you had taken her to heaven and that she would be back soon—but unfortunately, she still hasn’t returned. In the evenings, I used to wait for her, but now, as I’m older, I know that she will never come home again; it’s more likely that I will go to her. I wonder what my grandma does in heaven. Or perhaps she cooks for you, Lord God? She always prepared the most delicious treats for us. I will never forget how grandma read bedtime stories to me. Our favorite fairy tale was “Little Red Riding Hood.” In winter, grandma knitted warm socks for me. I love my grandma very much. I do have another one, but as Dad says, “the only thing she’s missing is a broom.”
I’ll be wrapping up soon, although I could talk about my grandmother for hours.
Paulina
P.S. I don’t know if you’re allowed to, but kiss my grandmother for me.
Adrianna Piasecka’s letter
Hertfordshire, October 22, 1795
My dearest!
It has already been over a month since you left the city, and I still have not received any word from you. Has something happened, and is that why you are not writing? Uncertainty and fear rob me of all desire and joy in life.
My world makes no sense. Oh, only God knows how terribly I miss you and how very much I long for you. Every minute lasts endlessly, like months. The evenings are particularly sad. You know well that we usually spend them by the fireplace. However, without you, the discussions are no longer as interesting; they have lost their vigor.
Card games, too, do not enjoy as much interest as they did when you were here. Sitting by the fireplace, I always think of us, of how happy we were and failed to appreciate those moments of joy and bliss. Oh, my dearest, I am sorry for all the wrongs and sorrows you experienced because of me.
Besides the immense longing that torments me whenever I think of you, little is happening in our home—and in my life.
My parents have recently been in declining health, but don’t worry, they still feel quite well. Only Mother is weakened by the current weather and often suffers from migraines. And Papa jokes that he won’t die until he hears the wedding march announcing that one of his daughters is getting married.
Meanwhile, my sisters have been living for the past few days with thoughts of another ball, at which they will be introduced to new officers. They are preparing for it very intensively; besides, you know what their interests are.
My dearest, do not worry, I am and shall remain faithful to you. I will not attend the ball in question, which is understandable to everyone, for surely it would be improper for a young lady from a good family to enjoy herself when her fiancé is not there.
Please, just don’t blame yourself for my staying at home. Believe me, I’ll spend my time much more interestingly, relaxing at home and thoroughly analyzing high-quality literature. And when you return, I’ll be very happy to dance in the meadow, in the garden, in our beloved places.
My dearest, if you are reading this letter, I implore you, get in touch as soon as possible! I am losing my mind, not knowing what is happening to you. My days are gray and sad in this uncertainty...
Please come back as soon as possible, because without you I am like a flower without water.
Yours forever
Jane Bennet
Eunika Legoń’s letter
Dear Little Sister!
Ever since you left for England, everything has changed; it came down on us like a bolt from the blue. I can't concentrate on my lessons, I don't get enough sleep and I don't eat. I don't know what to do, I've lost hope and I'm barely making ends meet. Dad has lost his mind and control of himself; he shouts your name at night and asks you to make him tea. Mum has fallen into depression, daydreams and cries constantly. Our world is literally crumbling like a century-old wall. I don't know what to do to make things right; please help me. If possible, come even just for the weekend. Maybe then we'll manage to pull ourselves together, because for now it's simply tragic. We are suffering terribly over being separated from you; your departure was like a sword blow to our hearts, because we have always loved you and always will, but you know it's difficult for us when you aren't among us. We are taking it very hard, which is why our only dream is to see you again. We would truly be very grateful to you, especially since without you we have no reason to live, because all of this came down on us so suddenly and we can't cope with it. Our world is falling apart. Help us.
We love you and send our warmest regards. Bye!
Marcelina with her parents
Robert Pajura’s letter
Colonel Wołodyjowski!
It is with the deepest sorrow that I must report our defeat at Tyczynów! A terrible disgrace, Colonel, truly a dreadful one. Few of us survived—perhaps three hundred soldiers and a few of the more distinguished officers. The rest either fell or were taken prisoner. We retreated to the nearby village of Kańczuga, where we intend to let our exhausted horses catch their breath. In a few hours, then, we shall set out again, hoping not to encounter any enemy patrol and that we may still enjoy happier times under your command. Yet, taking advantage of this moment, I shall briefly recount what we experienced at Tyczynów.
We thought that our troops would scatter the Swedes into dust and ashes. That is why we gave them open battle. And so we stood opposite one another, and they had some six regiments of cavalry under the command of little-known officers, as well as plenty of infantry, while we had several solid banners, one of which stood out in particular. It was the Wiśniowiecki banner under the command of Szandarowski. A worthy gentleman, and there is no second like him in the Commonwealth! Besides that, we had a great many common levies, somewhat less infantry than the Swedes, but also several small cannons. So we put on stern faces.
The battle began at dawn; one might say that the military trumpets summoned the sun above the horizon. We were exceedingly fortunate, for that sun began shining straight into the Swedes’ eyes, so their musket fire could do us little harm. We fought almost until noon, when the Swedes began to withdraw, seeing that defeat was unavoidable. They scattered in all directions, seeking refuge among the forests. The pursuit was difficult, since in such dense woods it was hard to chase the fleeing infantry on horseback; and since our militia evidently did not feel like dismounting from the saddle, much of the enemy force survived. Although I did not like it, I said nothing, savoring the victory.
Unfortunately, some of the common soldiers left our camp, seeing what lesson in warfare the enemy had received and assuming that the danger had passed for good. Besides, as they explained, their substances required care, so they could not waste time on the war. I allowed them to leave without much objection, since I shared their assumptions.
The feast that evening was impressive indeed, but I shall not weary you, my good sir, with an account of how we indulged ourselves; I shall merely say that our heads were steaming and our eyes saw double and triple. And then the attack fell upon us, as though God Himself had begun hurling thunderbolts at us. After their defeat, the Swedes somehow managed to regroup and launch an attack on us! Panic in our camp became terrifying, made even worse by the screams of those being killed and begging for mercy. Though drunk, I managed, together with several officers, to muster a few banners and stand up to the Swedes. Then too I pondered why I had let those sons of commoners, those ordinary folk, go without resistance! Anger made me start thinking quite soberly, and so we threw ourselves into the very heart of the battle. Yet the Swedes’ strength was inexhaustible—they laid our men low in heaps, so, seeing this, I ordered a retreat.
This is how we came to Kańczuga. I know I am to blame, for I not only granted the enemy an easy victory, but also let down my homeland. Therefore, I ask that Your Grace take me under your command, as an ordinary soldier. Only in this way can I atone for my sins. I commend you to God...
Barbary Pankowskiej’s Letter
Intended purpose
our eyes met and the whole world spun
from the dust of the universe and previous incarnations
we found each other, destined for one another
the touch of our hands united us forever
and hearts, although separated
still beat to a common rhythm
Dear!
You surprised me with your call. I had forgotten you so completely that I did not recognize your voice. I crossed you out of my life long ago—or perhaps it was you who crossed me out... I don’t know...
Four years have passed since our last meeting. You appeared then for a moment and disappeared again. I wasn’t surprised, because that’s what you had always done. You were there, and then you returned to your orderly life. But back then I loved you unconditionally. And I accepted such an arrangement. I was happy when we managed to be together, even if only for a moment. Your gaze and the touch of your hands were enough for me... No one looked at me the way you did. Your eyes told me that I was the only one for you, and that I was the only one you desired. We knew that we were like two halves of a peach, which contrary fate had thoughtlessly torn apart. We understood each other without words. Do you remember our crazy nighttime meetings?
I run into the night
and you close
me
in his/her arms
entirely foreign
world
is there somewhere beyond
with us
our beautiful nocturnal
love
is enough for us
and gives us strength
to life
during the day
without each other
We ran away from the whole world so we could enjoy our stolen love. For me, it was great happiness. I lived in the moment...
amid the scent of grasses
I snuggle into Your
arms
raindrops
fall ever so quietly
onto my kissed
face
the moved old moon
peeking
our stolen
love
smiles
to shut us off
from the world and people
closes above us
nature’s window
draws the curtains of clouds
will forgive us
darkness
I know that I was important to you. But you did not have enough courage to change anything in your life. You did not want to hurt those closest to you, or perhaps you were simply afraid to give up a good arrangement. I wrote a poem about it. You read it once, but I want to remind you of it once more.
Peach fairy tale
we fell out of the tree
in a ripe peach
unaware
we ran away from each other
from their halves
how could we have known
that it was necessary to strongly
hold hands
we were not left
of the instructions
I searched for my other self for a long time
and when I found
it was already too late.
he walked joined
with his half that was not his own
constantly looking back
behind me
already knew that it was
it was me
but he felt sorry for him nonetheless
of a gold chain
This golden chain keeps you bound to this day... Are you happy? After all, you have everything: a beautiful home, luxuries, plenty of money, but, unfortunately, you do not have me and the feelings that only I could give you. I taught you about yourself, showed you what true love looks like. The moments spent with me were paradise for you...
you came into my life
with a blindfold over your eyes
when I took it off you
you thought
that you saw paradise
happy
you were slowly discovering
every nook and cranny
of my body
I was like
forbidden fruit
that you desired
too much
however, you already had
your Eve
and although you knew
that it is not true
you were unable to
leave
I could have taken you
into exile
but my common sense
would not let me
to turn into
into a snake
After that, you had other women. Not finding at home what you needed most, you sought a little affection in the arms of strangers. You took advantage of various opportunities because I could not always be by your side. I hold no grudge against you for that. I, too, had my second life. Yet I wanted to believe that I was the one and only woman for you! And I believed it for so many years!
Recently, you told me that you had truly loved only me and that, in fact, you had never betrayed me, because in every woman you were with, you were searching for me—the one and only woman you should never have allowed to leave. You understood too late how close I had been to you; it was just that earlier, you did not want to admit it to yourself.
When you were with others, you would close your eyes to recall those moments you had spent with me. You, too, were always present in my life. So, as you can see, subconsciously, we never parted... They were merely different bodies, which we do not even remember today, but our souls have always been able to find each other.
I thought then that you had told me about it too late! If I had heard it 30 years earlier, it would have been easier for me to live, and I would have made different, better decisions....but now? What significance does it have today? Although my heart is still young, because it does not want to grow old, and I long so much for your closeness, yet... After all, we can no longer change anything in our lives. I can only reminisce and wonder...
where are you
without me
and my lips
Your arms
every night
they embrace only emptiness
beside You
a strange woman
sleeps peacefully
without dreams
and I’m suffocating
with longing for You
and longing
Your caresses
I can no longer
fall asleep
without memories
about You
so what is the point
such an assignment
love
when for oneself
destined
we die over the years
in someone else’s arms
Have you wondered today what it would have been like if we had met 2 years earlier? What would our life together have been like? I know because...
if it were possible to turn back
time
today our arms
would not be
empty
we would have a house full
hope
every morning
would wake us
love
and filled with joy
days
would meet
with the talkative
in the evenings
and there would never be a shortage
of words
not even a touch
our hands
Yet you let me decide for you and leave. I thought I could not disrupt your peaceful life. Today, however, I am also not sure whether it was the right decision...
you allowed evil
and nothing will change that
I destroyed my life
so that yours would be happy
I ran away from myself and you
because I thought
that will be better
but I was wrong
without each other
we could not be
true
we separately
it’s just pretending
of life
in the reflection
of crooked mirrors
And yet so many years have already passed! Everything has somehow dissipated into everyday life... Only sometimes, when longing for you awakens, I sit down and write a poem for you. Or when I dream a pleasant dream about you and feel that feeling returning—the one I unsuccessfully try to fight—then
I would like to
again
to look
into your eyes
to check
can you
still look
at me
with my heart
I would like
again
to feel
feel this warmth
which slowly
was gradually taking over
my body
when
you looked
at me
and so much
I would like
so that again
residing
within me
butterflies
Well then! My darling! Time is relentless for us! Day follows day, and our life moves along at a peaceful pace. Without storms or madness. Yet I still often talk to you in my thoughts. You remain somewhere, in the recesses of my soul. And although I now know that I looked at you too much with my heart, because in truth you always thought only of yourself, I still
I am writing to you
unsent letters
folding them
in a dark corner
drawers
perhaps someday
you will get them
and then again
you will read
me entirely
perhaps
there will still be
time
to learn
themselves
by heart
However, if we are not meant to be together here and now, then so be it. Perhaps in a future life, our other halves will meet somewhere out there, in another dimension. because although
we did not deserve
for paradise
for sins
of love
we will meet
in purgatory
and holding
by the hands
we will
walk
through flower-filled
meadows
among forests and fields
we will find
all
unexperienced
shared
moments
in the new
unbuilt
home
we will meet
our
unborn
children
and we will be there
a happy family
I feel that this was our last meeting, but I’m glad I was able to talk to you, even if only for a moment. I also realized that you aren’t happy, but that is your choice... You can’t have everything in life... Nihil est ab omni parte beatu... I wish you happiness.
farewell, my love
my
convicted
by a judgment
another person’s peace
Barbara
Justyna Orłowska’s letter
Dear Grandma, Dear Grandpa!
In the opening words of my letter, I want to greet you.
Grandma, I know it has been quite some time since our last meeting, but I still remember it. I cannot come to terms with the fact that you are not here. I want to confide in you. I cannot do that with my parents the way I could with you. You passed away a few years ago, and I feel an emptiness in my heart. I still love you, even though you are now in heaven with God. Together with Grandpa, you watch over me from heaven. I would like to see you and hug you, especially you, Grandpa, because I never knew you. I know you only from the photographs my dad showed me. We do not have many of them. You died when Dad was six years old. I am very sorry that I could not see you. I want to tell you that I love you very much, even though I never saw you. You know, this year I went on a summer camp. I will tell you about it.
I spent the first days of the summer holidays at home. In July, I went to a summer camp. I was a little afraid because I didn’t know anyone there. On the bus, I met Diana; she was my age, and I liked her very much. We arrived just in time for lunch. After the meal, we went to our rooms to unpack. Two more girls joined our room, so there were four of us. We quickly became friends. That same day, we went to the beach. There, we did various exercises to get to know one another better. At camp, we had various activities, such as świrobieg, cross-country races, Bolek i Lolek, and a baptism ceremony. In the middle of the camp, they organized a campfire for us. Toward the end of our stay, there were weddings and an idol contest, in which I came second. After returning home, I went to my cousin’s. I slept there with her in a tent. I stayed with her for two days. Later, I rested and visited my friend. In the second week of August, a man from my singing classes called me and asked me to sing on the second and third days of the Ceramics Festival. From then on, I went to Bolesławiec for rehearsals. I think the performance was well received. The man even praised me. On 29 August, it turned out that I would be singing on 31 August at the anniversary of the outbreak of World War II. I had two days to learn the song. I rose to the challenge. I was very nervous before the performance. There were soldiers and many important people there. I sang Maryla Rodowicz’s song “Łatwopalni.” My performance was even shown on the regional television station “Azart-Sat.” It went well. I wonder whether you have cable television in heaven too? Never mind, but the summer holidays were great.
You know, I’d simply like to talk to you about little things. I have so much to say that this letter would be about ten pages long. I hope it reaches you. I’m giving you both a big hug.
Your loving granddaughter
Justyna
P.S. I will never forget you. I will continue to love you very much. Don’t forget me either. My parents said that we will be going to Poznań soon. I’m very happy. After all, it’s my home city.
(GA information)