Poetry written by Hania Kaczanowska
Dziecko what do you see?
I turn the pages of a photo album that gives me a glimpse into the past
Fading memories on paper of what came first and what came last.
I’ve looked at my fathers face a thousand times and his eyes look back at me
But today his voice in the picture asks “Dziecko, what is it really that you see?”
Do you see the soul that once lived within and breathed the same as you?
Do you finally understand that part of my life of which very little you knew?
Do you see that I was once young and my heart was full of song
And there was a time when darkness fell and everything went wrong.
It was so difficult to speak of my shattered dreams and everything stolen
My home, my friends, my family, and life as I knew in my Poland.
This became my fate and from the fallen ashes others and I had to rise
As many of us in silence learned to tuck our nations banner deep inside.
Many years ago times were different and we searched for a place to fit in
We asked new countries to accept us and tried to forget where we had been.
No one cared about our war, spoke of our pain and what our nation had lost.
And only the Poles that survived the journey from hell knew what that cost.
There wasn’t time to keep looking back for change seemed too far away
We’d had too many of our hopes shattered waiting for a better day.
Do you see fear I tried many times to hide and tears that could not fall?
Dziecko.... I know it all seems so trivial now…. so petty and so small.
My freedoms were lost more than once but somehow given back to me
And from that emerged another dream that eventually created our family.
There didn’t seem to be the time to tell you everything I wanted you to know
Some things were better left in the past so you could have a chance to grow.
Perhaps in hindsight I was wrong and should have taught you more
But perhaps the missing pieces of my life enriched your hungry soul.
Perhaps what you have learned will teach others what I couldn’t share
And you can become my voice and teach others that they must care.
Teach your children what you have learned so they can understand pride
Only then can I fully release the banner that I kept tucked so deep inside.
Every child that learns my past will forever keep my memory free
And Dziecko, this legacy… is what I want you to see, when you look at me.
2007
*****
In memory of all Mothers who endured the tragedy of deportations with their children into Stalin's inhuman lands.
Many had the task of doing this alone as their Polish husbands and fathers were taken prisoner by Invading Russians.
How many mothers did not even know what fate befell their husbands?
And how many mothers never made the journey back trying to bring their children to freedom?
They made the survival possible ...... Because of the mothers ..... We just have never publicly acknowledged
the mothers in their own right ......
Hania 2016
My Mother’s Unmarked Grave
Your body lies in an unmarked grave in a distant foreign land
Years that have passed still do not make it easier to understand
There is no marker or cross to show that you were left here
To know what day you died or even what year
There are miles between my today and your yesterday
So much has happened and changed I cannot even say
I often wished I could’ve had a place to grieve and say goodbye
A place to lay your favorite flowers and to have a silent cry
But I never knew where they buried you after you died
At the time to ask for a journey back would’ve been denied
In saddest of moments I would think of you left behind alone
No family close and no intimate ceremonies shown
So I decided to bury you myself in a little place in my mind
With a grave that had a marker and always easy to find
The grave is in a valley lush with forests and streams
Surrounded by images one can only imagine in dreams
The sky is always blue kissed by the warmth of the sun
The greenest blades of grass blow in soft breezes full of fun
There is a tree on the top of a hill with branches touching ground
And when you’re underneath it you can barely hear a sound
But thru the tranquil beauty you can hear a songbird’s voice
Echoing favorite melodies as if requested by choice
Under the branches there is a cross with an everlasting flame
And lovingly written is the day you died underneath your name
I often come to visit here and tell you what I’d like to share
I tell you about my life and what’s happened everywhere
When I lay the lavender pansies you loved, gently on your grave
It’s as if I can see you standing here with your hand up to wave
You show me you are happy with the place I laid you to rest
You know if I‘d had the chance I’d have given you my best
You make it easier here to remember the sweetness of your smile
Your gentle hugs, your fragrance and your individual style
There is nothing in life left to feel that is lonelier than losing you
So I choose to keep alive the wonderful mother that I knew
A foreign land might hold the body that you once lived within.
But your spirit came with me and left behind where it had been
I cannot change the past and the way you had to leave
And I cannot honour you by always having to grieve
So I tend your grave with as much love and care as I have to give
And in doing this the memory of your spirit is helping me to live.
2007
******
Remembrance Day
In autumn leaves between the graves I take a morning jaunt
The eleventh hour, the eleventh day of the eleventh month
Two minutes of silence set aside with quiet memories as we pray
Who do you honour, your father or your grandfather on this day?
There are many who died in battle in many wars yet to come
They all deserve our honour, no matter what country they were from
Perhaps the unknown soldier whose name and country you never knew
But he gave his life in line of duty so freedom was there for you
On my father’s grave I light a candle and lay a poppy for those who died
But I also lay another one for all the men and women who survived.
For all the ones who lost their youth and never can grow old
And all the ones who survived their youth so their stories can be told
*****
Polska Ziemia
Czym jest dla mnie Polska ziemia moich ojcw ?
What does the Polish soil of my father's land mean to me?
Since I was a little girl my mind has held cradled memories
With faded fragments of imagined pictures and stories
It’s hard to think of my parents without imagining this place
Something so foreign and yet in my heart impossible to erase
This earth mother that nurtured through toil and war
The home of the nest that let the white eagle soar
She continues to remain invincible like an invisible shroud
Embedded into our being forever sacred and proud
Locked into memories frozen in time, once a home of dreams
Shattered by destruction, greed and neglectful regimes
Only to rise time and time again from her enemies capture
Bursting with songs and folklore in passionate rapture
As the pages of time continue to pass us by
For her old souls still weep and generations of children cry
Is that what brings the wonderment of her that we embrace?
Soil that nurtured our parents as children in this strange place.
It is a land I never knew but somehow I hear her beckoning call
Her voice is clear and familiar even tho I didnt know her at all.
There is something warm and magical about her ties to me
And how far her roots have touched the hearts of my family tree.
In a deep moment of reflection it is as if I can hear her say
My fate is bound with your future like the sun to its ray
Draw strength from me in whichever way you find
But do not weep as though I am left behind.
Hear my songs passed down in gift wrapped moments in time
Take from them ripened wisdom and treasures sublime
Remember that centuries will forever be echoed with my name
I was marked with history before the invaders came.
After touching her soil I understood and took her home with me
In a little ribboned bag to share with my dad now that she was free
I treasure touching this little bit of soil my dad fought so hard to keep
The soil he would never again touch for it was not within his reach
He lived his life in another land but his heart never forgot
How much her people suffered and how hard for her they fought
So I sprinkled her soil upon his grave as a symbol to honour his past
And I know he would be happy to be close to her again at last.
2008
*****
Kawalek Chleba - A piece of Bread
Breaking into the warmth of a piece of Christmas bread
I can't help but remember the words that my father said
"Kawalek chleba in a soul destroying camp with bitter cold
If taken away, becomes more valuable than riches or gold"
To steal bread could become one's death by punishment
To not steal could be death from starvation and torment
It was knowingly unforgiveable to steal another man's bread
And to hear "Nie ma chleba" were words of dread.
Most times the badly baked bread was heavy and wet
This bricklike, tasteless necessity of life is hard to forget
When you got the heel of the loaf you felt lucky that day
They were driest of the black slices that were given away
Behind barbed wire, a package came to Archangelska camp
A sugar sack parcel from my brother covered in Polish stamps
Inside were summer onions tucked in amongst garlic cloves
But the best by far were those dried, bread loaves.
It never mattered from which part of the loaf came my next bite
The memory of home was in every slice golden and light
A crust of bread and a warm bed to sleep in were always dreams
Tho' well remembered, it was such a long time ago it seems
The tasty loaves of bread from home never lasted very long
But I enjoyed the last crumb and tried to keep my spirit strong
A few crusts were tucked in my pockets to soak up watery soup
Sadly, not enough to share with joy in our hungry group
Kawalek chleba you could trade for a smoke or a wool sock
Or munch it with a rare onion dipped in boiling kipitok
It's hard to imagine any bread that really has a better taste
Than the one received in the depth of hunger by God's grace."
So I share my kawalek chleba with the spirits that knew hunger
And I share this with memories for the survivors when younger
Break a piece of bread and share your family's story today
And most of all, my blessings to all, for a Merry Christmas Day
2008
*****
Especially in honour of the most distinguished and proud Polish 2nd Corps Army and of course Wojtek the soldier bear who is standing amongst them with a smile on his face... that says "Jestem Polak"....Pin a poppy on me too!
May the poppies laid for you touch every single heart.