and.
long autumn evenings,
Adorned with the glow of a mysterious full moon,
caressing loving fingers,
Ornate covers of favorite novels,
I slowly ran away with my thoughts
to the worlds painted on their pages,
An inspired writer with a brush of imagination,
Imbued with the mysterious colors of the past…
perhaps once upon a time many years ago
He put his whole heart into writing them.
An inspired writer dedicated to the work,
Totally engrossed in his work…
In the long evenings, an eminent old writer,
He touched the faded pen with love,
He put his imagination on paper,
Inspiring generations to come in centuries to come…
in the wilderness of modernity,
Young people lost in the modern world,
with colorful literary characters,
They found a worthy role model…
so entangled in everyday affairs,
Leaning over the pages of your favorite novels,
reads the extraordinary fate of their heroes,
They found relief from all their troubles…
Therefore, once, in the mentioned works,
still reads without memory
When evening darkness covered the earth,
And when the golden sun reached its zenith,
Be it a pleasant summer evening,
on a sad winter afternoon
I kept turning the pages of the Master's later novels…
– Cities of Kraszewski Breathing Air…
II.
Touching with nostalgia on the cover of Stara Baśni,
I am looking at the following pages of Ljubljana with interest,
I wandered with the eyes of the soul
In the world of past centuries…
Immerse yourself in it without memory,
thoughts conveyed by the imagination,
explore all its secrets,
A simple reader with countless assumptions…
In the vast forests of Poland,
I was carried away by the fantasy of reading,
Whence he called him with his dirge,
A young beauty from Ljubljana…
Where do the young sisters Zhvia and Dziva come from?
They called in an inaudible whisper to the young reader,
Fascinated by the mysterious power of the written word,
I paint a picture of forgotten prehistory in my head…
At the mysterious crossroads of prehistory,
They awakened my imagination from the present,
The terrible fate of the evil king Chvost,
In ancient legends, enchanted by the word of time…
plucked from the depths of the ancient past,
A prominent novelist of creative inspiration,
Thoughtfully poured out on clean paper,
Stirring up emotions for generations of readers…
Therefore, in ancient times, deep down
I cast the net of my reading imagination,
with my favorite novelist
Disappearing into the mists of history brought to the past,
A prophetic word that has been thrown away by time,
touch my heartstrings
Turning the next pages of Ljubljana and the old tale…
– Cities of Kraszewski Breathing Air…
III.
The Great Mysteries of the First Piast Dynasty,
Carefully hidden in the course of history,
Like a richly decorated trunk interior,
A small fragment of a priceless crystal,
drawn from oblivion by the invisible hand of imagination,
Reflecting on the past of prominent novelists,
And like a carob in the crowns of fair maidens,
Chapters woven into subsequent excellent novels,
Where is the turbulent fate of the Lubon family,
cast into the twilight of heathen time,
intertwined with the history of the Piast dynasty,
They left their mark on the threshold of Christian Poland,
When Vlast returned after many years of captivity,
I carry in my heart the treasure of a new faith,
Let us be the word of God as a flint shell,
kindle the flame of Christianity in the land of the Poles,
Where are Yurga and Andryushka, the Yaks brothers,
They stood in fear before King Boleslav,
Have their sins been forgiven?
Together we are plunged into absolute uncertainty,
So, having obtained the pardon of the generous king,
go before the pope soon
received a royal crown for his ruler,
The Pope's assent to the coronation by consenting to…
Wandering through the forests of Mazovia with the eyes of my soul,
Where heathen reaction kindled a thousand flames,
The fury of the Mazovians, reaching to the sparkling stars,
with evil hatred kindled in their hearts,
When the time of the great struggle was over,
Rejoice my soul with the triumph of Casimir's troops,
I am sorry for Maslav's unfortunate fate…
– Cities of Kraszewski Breathing Air…
IV.
Many secrets of noble estates,
wrapped in the delicate darkness of history,
Like coir webs in dark chambers,
hides clay jugs filled with thalers of pure gold,
My favorite novelist told me
on its pages dozens of novels,
The bedspread that hides past centuries opens its bottom,
His sword with the strokes of the pen…
where at night the eyes stuck in the pillow,
A young, shy, sensitive girl,
joined an unwanted family bond,
A violent, loveless man…
where is crazy old cherkon
In a mad frenzy he wandered through the woods,
in the mysterious glow of the full moon,
Young Vilchkova, unhappy as in years…
Where Master Tvardovsky admired from the moon,
Like Janasz Korczak, who drinks a fever,
He jumped onto the roof of a burning castle.
cutting the heated roof tiles with an ax,
Cease fire spread boldly,
On the pages of the novel, ignited by the imagination of the writer,
A reflection in the swordfish's frightened pupils,
Like a sparkling star in the blade of an iron sword…
long moonlit nights
read without memory in his favorite books,
Looking deep into your emotions with the eyes of the soul,
totally engrossed in these stories,
if only there was a soul
Among the many great feasts,
I flipped through the yellowed pages of subsequent novels…
– Cities of Kraszewski Breathing Air…
V
Without avoiding difficult questions,
raising the problems of ordinary people,
woven into the complex meanders of centuries-old history,
addresses aspects of inequality, poverty, deprivation,
Among the sparkling green country meadows,
among peasant huts with thatched roofs,
I wandered excitedly with the eyes of the soul,
Full of emotions aroused by the above-mentioned novels…
And beyond the village where the lonely cottage stood,
my reader's imagination is gone
I felt sorry for the fate of two people,
United by the power of an unexpected feeling…
Where is the mysterious gypsy Aza?
She danced passionately in the moonlight at night,
reflected in his magical pupils,
Landing on her raven hair…
Where do feelings burn in Ulana's heart?
among thatched peasant huts,
Despite the passing of centuries, they have not disappeared,
It burns even in our time…
still burning in the hearts of young girls,
Among the glass skyscrapers,
on the example of his favorite literary characters,
Those who seek love with sincere feelings…
wandering with imagination
In Polesie Volhynia forests, swamps, forests,
Let's honor simplicity and hard work,
ordinary people who once lived there,
It is sad about the fate of the peasant Yermola,
I cried on the yellowed pages of the novel,
Take a deep breath with emotion…
– Cities of Kraszewski Breathing Air…
VI.
obsessed with all this romance,
sleeps like a dream, closes his eyes,
I paint these pictures in my dreams
moonlit nights, dream,
Everything I read in daylight
Awaken your emotions with a colorful question,
In the dark of the night I dreamed in a dream,
Transforming them into dream images with the power of imagination…
the power of my mysterious dreams
Giving bright colors to the heads engraved in memory,
written on ink paper in black,
stuck in the heart with experience,
Like millions of other readers like me,
When we dreamed, we made them vivid images,
In the friendly darkness of the night mother,
Remaining immersed in the sleep of the abyss…
And I've seen the dreams of millions of loyal readers,
Fueled by the novels of their favorite author,
hidden like the most numerous treasures,
In a mysterious cave unknown to the human eye,
Hidden among the constellations of human emotions,
Various reading experiences with constellations,
Rich book collections and huge libraries galaxies,
And the worlds sank into the hearts of the deep…
And I touched with the eyes of my soul the great mystery,
lost in the dark of night
What do they dream about while sleeping unshakably in stone sleep?
Lovers of the work of Joseph Ignacy Kraszewski…
When the golden moon guards their dreams,
unconsciously drowning in dreams,
They could still dream of the worlds from their favorite novels…
– Cities of Kraszewski Breathing Air…
– A poem inspired by the work of Joseph Ignasi Kraszewski.
