Don’t you regret, Mother, affectionate lovers
so dear to your heart those idyll fiancés
of the countryside’s most peculiar arrays
from tilling the fields all the way to the love for cooking.
so dear to your heart those idyll fiancés
of the countryside’s most peculiar arrays
from tilling the fields all the way to the love for cooking.
Don’t you regret the first erring gleam
that out of the shutters of your hearts
into the darkness of the room did stream
and there upon a chest of drawers acted as a clock supreme:
neither had you a loaf of abundance from the bread-stove
placed upon the table there nor sanctified it with the sign
that out of the shutters of your hearts
into the darkness of the room did stream
and there upon a chest of drawers acted as a clock supreme:
neither had you a loaf of abundance from the bread-stove
placed upon the table there nor sanctified it with the sign
of the cross commending to God’s care.
I’m telling you, Mother - you’ve done the wrong thing
your patches are all in dismay overtaken by bentgrass
I’m telling you, Mother - you’ve done the wrong thing
your patches are all in dismay overtaken by bentgrass
and pastures ravaged by sedge every day…
while you are asleep on your mattress of clay.
Countrywoman, with gnarled hands,
so well-fitted for the hoe
with a wooden handle, which for the sake
of your convenience were put together
in the sunny rays of a bad and salty weather.
while you are asleep on your mattress of clay.
Countrywoman, with gnarled hands,
so well-fitted for the hoe
with a wooden handle, which for the sake
of your convenience were put together
in the sunny rays of a bad and salty weather.
Copyright © by Wiesław Musiałowski 15/03/2003
