Recently, Istarted thinking about translation polish poetry into english, just to make them more famous, than it is right now. I started searching and I found one of my favourite poets, Krzysztof Kamil Baczyński, who died at the Warsaw Uprising in 1944. He was only 23. And his poetry is absolutely stunning... Just read:
In your hair's torrent, your mouth's river, in
the forest dark as evening
a vain summoning,
a plash in vain.
I'll enwrap yet in dusk, in night's rose-flower
and as branch, scrap, or gesture, the world will turn,
then it will mutely stagger,
pass through the eyes like a blur
and I'll say: not being-I am.
Flowing into you still, and bearing your reflection
in pupils, or like a tear from eyelids hanging,
I'll hear in you silver seas etched by a dolphin,
like sleep inside the shell of your body ringing.
Or in a grove, where you are
a birch tree, pure white air
and the milk of daylight,
a huge barbarian,
bearing a thousand centuries
I'll burst with the copse's noise
into your branches, birdlike.
one day-and a whole age in which to long,
one gesture-and endless storms at once come crashing,
one step-and here you are, and you alone
each time-a spirit waiting in the ashes.
To my darling Basia-Krzysztof
February 2, 1942
PS. Basia was his wife. She was killed in 1944 at the age of 22.