Recent Posts

Most Used Categories

Christian Witness

Reflection for Trinity Sunday 2025

Christian Witness

Reflection for Trinity Sunday 2025

Christian Witness

Reflection for Trinity Sunday 2025

Poetry

November 8 – Timothy’s Plea from The Russian Maidens by Szymon Zimorowic

Zephyr! that gently o’er Ukraine art flying,
Go and salute my Maryna for me;
Whisper her tenderly, soothingly sighing
“Lo! he has sent these soft accents to thee!”

Why dost thou dwell, my maiden so lonely?
Why dost thou dwell in so gloomy a spot?
Think of the palace of Leopol —” only
Think, my fair maid! though thou visit it not.

There in thy tower is a window, where seated
Often thou sheddest a smile on thy swain,
There have my sighs oft an audience entreated;
Maiden, that window invites thee again.

Lady! the thought of thy absence has shaded
Even the flow’rets with sorrow and gloom;
All the bright roses and lilies are faded,
And my gay orchard is stripp’d of its bloom.

Come, my fair maid, with thy beautiful blushes,
Shine o’er our turrets,—” oh, come for awhile!
Smile on us, lady; oh, smile, though Red Russia’s
Twice-castled towers may deserve not thy smile.

Lo! it expects thee, its lions await thee,
Watching like sentinels fix’d on the height:
Sleepless and eager to welcome and greet thee
When thy fair vision shall dawn on their sight.

Haste, maiden, haste! scatter blessings around thee,
Laughter and wit are waiting thee here;
Courtesies, feastings and smiles, shall be found thee,
Wanderings and wassails to honor thee, dear!

Here we have centered the graces and pleasures;
Come thou, bright lady! inherit them now.
Here Nature pours out her charms and her treasures,
Nothing is wanted, oh, nothing but thou.

Translation from Poets and Poetry of Poland A Collection of Polish Verse, Including a Short Account of the History of Polish Poetry, with Sixty Biographical Sketches of Poland’s Poets and Specimens of Their Composition by Paul Soboleski

Lion near Baszta Prochowa in Lwow

Wdzięczny Zefirze, lecąc śrzodkiem Ukrainy
Nie zapomnij ode mnie pozdrowić Maryny,
Nie zapomnij łagodnym szeptem twego ducha
Tę piosnkę jej zaśpiewać cichuchno do ucha:

“I takeś barzo sobie, moje dziewczę lube,
Umiliła w odległych krajach kąty grube,
Że też do leonowych budynków przezacnych
Bynamniej w sobie tesknic nie czujesz niesmacznych?

Izaż nie wiesz, że alkierz z okienkiem przychylnym,
Z któregoś ty strzelała na mię okiem pilnym,
Którym do ciebie moje zalatały chęci,
Ustawicznie się z twojej niebytności smęci?

Dla ciebie ogródeczka mego bujne zioła
Frasobliwe nadzwyczaj pomarszczyły czoła,
Do ciebie z lilijami fijołki steskniły,
Drzewa niedonoszone płody poroniły.

Hejże, kochana dziewko, pokaż nam swe czoło,
Na którego ozdoby już nie tylko sioło,
Ale i roksolańska stolica dwójgrodna
Zawsze się zapatrować nie zawsze jest godna.

Patrzaj, jako cię z chęcią wyglądają wieże,
Jako lew, który miasta z wysokości strzeże,
Upatrując przyjazdu twego, nieuśpiony
Obraca ustawicznie wzrok na wszytkie strony.

Pokwapże tedy do nas niezwykłym pośpiechem,
Kędy cię trefne żarty z krotofilnym śmiechem,
Zabawy pokojowe, przechadzki pomierne
I panieńskie czekają kompanije wierne.

Tu rozkosz co przedniejsze złożyła swe zbiory,
Tu Cyterea wszytkie przeniosła Amory,
Tu Kupidowie z oczu dziewiczych się snują,
Tu na udatnych wargach strzały swe hecują,

Tu się jako do gniazda wszelkich pociech zlata,
Cokolwiek jest lubości uciesznego świata.
Tu wszytko jest, co tylko mają ruskie kraje,
Oprócz, że ciebie samej jednej nie dostaje”.

Poetry

November 7 – Cyceryna from The Russian Maidens by Szymon Zimorowic

I saw thee from my casement high,
And watch’d thy speaking countenance;
With silent step thou glidest by,
And didst not cast a hurried glance
Upon my mean abode nor me.

Then misery smote me,—” but for heaven
I should have fallen scathed and dead.
I blame thee not,—” thou art forgiven;
I yet may hear thy gentle tread,
When evening shall o’ermantle thee.

The evening came,—” then mantling night;
I waited till the full moon tower’d
High in the heaven. My longing sight
Perceived thee not; the damp mists lower’d.
In vain I sought thee anxiously.

Didst thou upon some privileged leaf
My name record, and to the wind
Commit it,—” bid it charm my grief,
Bear some sweet influence to my mind
And set me from despairing free?

Where are the strains of music now,
The song, the dance, that morn and eve
We heard around my house,—”when low
And sweet thy voice was wont to heave
Soft sighs and gentle thoughts for me ?

‘Tis past, ’tis past, and in my heart
Is sorrow, silence in my ear;
The vain world’s wonted smiles depart;
Joy and the springtide of the year,
Fond youth! are scatter’d speedily.

Thou hast not said farewell! no sleep
Shall close my mourning eye,—”the night
Is gloomy now. Go, minstrel, weep!
For I shall weep; and sorrow’s blight
That scathes my heart shall visit thee.

Translation from Poets and Poetry of Poland A Collection of Polish Verse, Including a Short Account of the History of Polish Poetry, with Sixty Biographical Sketches of Poland’s Poets and Specimens of Their Composition by Paul Soboleski

Widziałam cię z okieneczka, kiedyś przechodził.
Rozumiałam, żeś się ze mną obaczyć godził.
Aleś ty pokoje
I mieszkanie moje
Prędkim minął skokiem,
A na mię, nędznicę,
Twoją niewolnicę,
Aniś rzucił okiem.

Żal mię przejął niesłychany, gdym to ujrzała.
Bóg strzegł, martwą zaraz w oknie żem nie została,
Lecz to niebaczeniu
Abo też niechceniu
Twemu przyczytałam;
A wieczornej chwile,
Tusząc sobie mile,
Tylko wyglądałam.

Przyszedł wieczór, mrok mnie nocny w okienku zastał;
Trwałam przecie, dokąd księżyc pełny nie nastał.
A ciebie nie było,
Ani cię zoczyło
Oko moje smutne.
Aniś listkiem cisnął
Aniś słówka pisnął,
O serce okrutne!

Kędy teraz twe usługi, kędy ukłony?
Kędy lutni słodkobrzmiącej głos upieszczony?
Który bez przestanku
Z zmierzchem do poranku
Słyszećeś mi dawał?
Przy nim winszowania
I ciche wzdychania
Lekuchnoś podawał.

Nie masz teraz dawnych zabaw, nie słychać pienia,
Pełne serce tęsknic, uszy pełne milczenia.
Gdzie zwyczajne śmiechy?
Gdzie dawne uciechy?
Niebaczny człowiecze!
Nie wiesz, że pogoda
I godzina młoda
Prędziuchno uciecze.

Przeto, żeś mi nie winszował szczęśliwej nocy,
Nie uznały snu miłego biedne me oczy.
Także ty wzajemnie
Łaskawej przeze mnie
Nocy nie zakusisz,
Lecz przykre niespania
I częste wzdychania
Co noc cierpieć musisz.

Poland - Polish - Polonia, , , , ,

Interesting artifact of Polish-Ottoman-Turkish history

From the Hí¼rriyet Daily News & Economic Review: Muslims, Christians pray together in Polonezkí¶y

Poles in and Turks greeted each other warmly as the priest at the small church in Polonezkí¶y, a village on Istanbul’s Asian outskirts settled by Polish emigrants in the 19th century, invited worshippers to exchange the peace during the All Saints’ Day mass on Nov. 1.

Muslim Turks participating in a Christian ritual was —normal for Polonezkí¶y,— an elderly inhabitant of the town said. The priest conducted the mass in both Polish and Turkish so that everyone could participate. After the mass, the congregants commemorated the deceased at a nearby cemetery with flowers while the priest blessed the gravestones with holy water, just as he would in Poland.

The cemetery reflects the story of Polonezkí¶y. The majority of the oldest graves belong to Polish soldiers, combatants in many national uprisings during the 19th century. The Ottoman state was the only one in Europe that did not recognize Russian, Prussian and Austrian’s late-18th century partitions of Poland.

In 1841, Duke Adam Czartoryski sent emissary Michał Czajkowski from Paris to Istanbul to negotiate the establishment of a Polish colony there. One year later, Sultan Abdí¼lmecid I granted Istanbul’s Polish mission the right to take land from the Lazarite Order and establish a semi-autonomous Polish settlement, Adampol, named after Czartoryski.

—Thank the Lord, who gave us this land where we can pray for Poland and talk about Poland in Polish —“ let’s pray and act righteously and God will return us to our Motherland,— Czajkowski, also known as Mehmet Sadık PaŁŸa after he converted to Islam and served in the Ottoman army, said in a letter during the initial settlement period.

Speaking Polish in Poland was forbidden under Prussian and Russian rule, but Adampol was a safe haven for Polish patriots. Poles not only found refuge in the Sultan’s land, but also fought on the side of the Ottomans in the Crimean War (1853-56) against the Russians.

polonezkoyBy the end of the 19th century approximately 150 Poles lived in the village. Even in 1918 after Poland finally re-gained its independence, the Poles in Adampol remained in Turkey. Today, there are about 750 inhabitants in Polonezkí¶y, 90 of whom are of Polish origin.

—We are Turks with Polish origin,— said Antoni Dohoda, one of the elderly inhabitants. —I was a Turkish officer,— he said proudly. The Polish-Turkish friendship seen in Polonezkí¶y is indeed amazing: The villagers said it was natural to see Polish and Turkish flags flying side-by-side or flowers from the gendarmerie at Czartoryski’s monument.

On one side of Adam Mickiewicz St., named for a famous Polish writer who died in Istanbul in 1855, there is both a Catholic church and a mosque just a few meters away from each other. —We go to weddings together, funerals and we carry coffins for each other when needed,— said Dohoda, somewhat surprised at the question about religious issues.

Dohoda said he was not worried about the loss of Polish culture and language. Though there is now much intermarriage in the community, he said this was a worldwide trend. Whatever the case, religious and cultural life in the community remains strong —“ mass is held every Saturday evening, after which Sister Arleta leads a number of children in religious study. Also, the children prepare a nativity play for the birth of Jesus every Christmas.

Recently, land from the graves of Adam Czartoryski and Michał Czajkowski were brought to Polonezkí¶y and placed in symbolic graves in a ceremony attended by Polish President Lech Kaczyński. Indeed, the town often receives visits from Polish heads of state during their trips to Turkey, having hosted former presidents Lech Wałęsa and Aleksander Kwaśniewski in the past.

Polonezkí¶y keeps ties not only with Poland, where children go every year for holidays, but also with similar Polish migrant communities in Romania. In October, Polonezkí¶y welcomed 12 children and two teachers from Nowy Soloniec in Romania.

—We also want to establish connections with Polish towns in Georgia. The origins of these villages are the same —“ they were built by Polish patriots,— said Polonezkí¶y Mayor Daniel Ohotski. These meetings with other Polish children motivate interest in Polish culture and help to maintain the language, he said.

Polonezkí¶y is not just a heritage park for Polish culture, but also a beautiful destination for residents of Istanbul seeking a quiet place for a weekend getaway. Hotels and restaurants offering traditional Polish and Turkish food attract Istanbul clientele.

The fact that there is no public transportation connecting Polonezkí¶y to Istanbul helps to maintain the peacefulness of the village. Moreover, Ohotski is not very enthusiastic about the idea of having a public bus —“ —That would bring too many people. It is good the way it is now,— he said.

Poetry

November 6 – Muted June by Karol Maliszewski

Radek Wiśniewski (age 34) presents —Muted June— by Karol Maliszewski.

Poetry Unites is a series of 5-minute films initiated and coordinated by Evens Foundation. In each of these films, a particular poetry lover speaks about his or her life in the context of presenting a favourite poem. The project’s goal is to promote poetry and poetry readers, in the hope that their enthusiasm will be contagious to thousands, if not millions, of their fellow European citizens. It introduces poetry as an instrument of mutual understanding in a newly united Europe.

Kaplice jak ptactwo,
co obsiada miedze
i wydaje głuchy krzyk
słyszany przez nielicznych;

przez nielicznych tak bardzo.
Urodziłem się w okolicy pozbawionej
katedr – luster wyższej wiary,
pośród wzgórz kręcących się w kółko

nasiąkałem pustką, niedzielą
bez znaczeń. I teraz nie słyszę,
co w powietrzu drży
i dlaczego; za moja głuchotę pomódl się

czytelny, jasny i wytrwały.

Christian Witness, , , , , , ,

All for a dollar

…but the price of the sin being committed is death (Romans 6:23, Deuteronomy 24:14-15). From IWJ:

blog_banner

What’s a dollar worth to you?

Three candy bars, 10 text messages, a third of a venti latte? It seems a dollar can’t get you much these days. Well, it depends on whom you ask.

To families of low-wage workers underpaid a dollar for every hour he or she works, that one dollar could mean the difference between a roof over their heads or homelessness.

The illegal underpayment or non-payment of workers’ wages affects millions of workers each year. Too many unscrupulous employers are getting away with wage theft and too many families are hurting because of it. Together we can end this crime against workers!

November 19th is Interfaith Worker Justice’s National Day of Action to Stop Wage Theft. IWJ, its affiliated groups, and various communities of faith will be holding prayer vigils, rallies and press events in different parts of the country drawing attention to this egregious crime and how it disrupts the lives of working families.

If so inclined you may donate to support this day of action.

Poetry

November 5 – Winter approaching by Tomasz Gil

Again winter’s hand
Holds up this bitter capsule
Filled with black poison
Terrible yet so mild.

Biting it causes no revulsion
Or grimace – just calm
And strange solace
Unfolding in the veins.

Is it a new being? Is it you?
Born in this gentle collapse,
Put your hand on the nape
Of my neck – turn off the lights.

If I’m awake or asleep
This hand holds my head
And guides me to a dream
In the cave of your lips.

This is how I will live
Through winter’s deathly caress
A loving touch is a gift
Of faith and nothingness.

This work is used with permission of the author and is taken from Venedi – An East European Perspective

old-man-winters-handprint1

Perspective, Poetry

November 4 – Pioneers! O Pioneers! by Walt Whitman

Come my tan-faced children,
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind,
We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,
We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we,
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental
blood intervein’d,
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O resistless restless race!
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Raise the mighty mother mistress,
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress,
(bend your heads all,)
Raise the fang’d and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon’d mistress,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

See my children, resolute children,
By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

On and on the compact ranks,
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill’d,
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill’d.
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,
Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,
Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Life’s involv’d and varied pageants,
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

I too with my soul and body,
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,
Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Lo, the darting bowling orb!
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets,
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

These are of us, they are with us,
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind,
We to-day’s procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you daughters of the West!
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,)
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious,
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock’d and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Till with sound of trumpet,
Far, far off the daybreak call–hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind,
Swift! to the head of the army!–swift! spring to your places,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Poet and fellow blogger John Guzlowski points out that Walt Whitman Sells Pants. Levis is now using this poem and Whitman’s America to hock its wares. I am trying to imagine Whitman looking at the Levis ad and wondering how the young, half clothed, seeking uncommitted sex, equates in some way to the hard road traveled by his pioneers. Also interesting the Nazi-esque salute at about 26 seconds in. We salute our new marketing created order I guess…

All Right Reserved © 2005 - 2023