Tag: YouTube

Poetry, ,

June 23 – I wasn’t with you long by Ryszard Kniat

It was a typically gray day,
The children crying loudly
My husband says: “Smile!”
So I obediently twist my face.
And suddenly someone’s knocking,
Obtrusively, loud, alarmingly;
Yes, it can only be you,
But how did you find your way into my thoughts?

I wasn’t with you long,
I thought you wouldn’t return.
This is my world
I cannot leave this now!

Better for you to go away until time passes,
Hidden away until the end of the world,
Today — no longer the time for us,
Today — too late, well you know!
Don’t knock loudly, the children are asleep
They depend on my concern;
The head of the house after all,
And life like a bitter tear.

I wasn’t with you long…

It was a typically gray day
With the voices of children crying loudly
My husband says: “Smile!”
So I obediently twist my face.

I wasn’t with you long…

Translation by Dcn. Jim

[audio:https://www.konicki.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/krystynagizowska-niebylociebietylela.mp3]

To był zwyczajny, szary dzień,
Za ścianą dzieci głośny płacz
I męża głos – uśmiechnij się!
Więc ja posłusznie krzywię twarz.
I nagle stuka ktoś do drzwi,
Natrętnie, głośno, że aż strach;
Tak pukać możesz tylko ty,
Lecz jak strafiłeś pod mój dach?

Nie było ciebie tyle lat,
Myślałam, że nie wrcisz tu,
Poukładałam sobie świat
I nie zostawię tego już!

Najlepiej odejdź póki czas,
Na końcu świata schowaj się,
Dziś już nie pora szukać nas,
Dziś już za późno – dobrze wiesz.
Nie stukaj dłużej, dzieci śpią
I na mnie czeka tyle spraw;
Na głowie przecież cały dom,
A życie gorzkie jest jak łza.

Nie było ciebie tyle lat…

To był zwyczajny szary dzień,
Za ścianą dzieci głośny płacz.
I męża głos: “Uśmiechnij się!”
Więc ja posłusznie krzywię twarz.

Nie było ciebie tyle lat…

Poetry, ,

June 11 – Laud Sion your Salvation by St. Thomas Aquinas

Sion, lift up thy voice and sing:
Praise thy Savior and thy King,
Praise with hymns thy shepherd true.

All thou canst, do thou endeavour:
Yet thy praise can equal never
Such as merits thy great King.

See today before us laid
The living and life-giving Bread,
Theme for praise and joy profound.

The same which at the sacred board
Was, by our incarnate Lord,
Giv’n to His Apostles round.

Let the praise be loud and high:
Sweet and tranquil be the joy
Felt today in every breast.

On this festival divine
Which records the origin
Of the glorious Eucharist.

On this table of the King,
Our new Paschal offering
Brings to end the olden rite.

Here, for empty shadows fled,
Is reality instead,
Here, instead of darkness, light.

His own act, at supper seated
Christ ordain’d to be repeated
In His memory divine;

Wherefore now, with adoration,
We, the host of our salvation,
Consecrate from bread and wine.

Hear, what holy Church maintaineth,
That the bread its substance changeth
Into Flesh, the wine to Blood.

Doth it pass thy comprehending?
Faith, the law of sight transcending
Leaps to things not understood.

Here beneath these signs are hidden
Priceless things, to sense forbidden,
Signs, not things, are all we see.

Flesh from bread, and Blood from wine,
Yet is Christ in either sign,
All entire, confessed to be.

They, who of Him here partake,
Sever not, nor rend, nor break:
But, entire, their Lord receive.

Whether one or thousands eat:
All receive the self-same meat:
Nor the less for others leave.

Both the wicked and the good
Eat of this celestial Food:
But with ends how opposite!

Here ‘t is life: and there ‘t is death:
The same, yet issuing to each
In a difference infinite.

Nor a single doubt retain,
When they break the Host in twain,
But that in each part remains
What was in the whole before.

Since the simple sign alone
Suffers change in state or form:
The signified remaining one
And the same for evermore.

Lo! bread of the Angels broken,
For us pilgrims food, and token
Of the promise by Christ spoken,
Children’s meat, to dogs denied.

Shewn in Isaac’s dedication,
In the manna’s preparation:
In the Paschal immolation,
In old types pre-signified.

Jesu, shepherd of the sheep:
Thou thy flock in safety keep,
Living bread, thy life supply:
Strengthen us, or else we die,
Fill us with celestial grace.

Thou, who feedest us below:
Source of all we have or know:
Grant that with Thy Saints above,
Sitting at the feast of love,
We may see Thee face to face.
Amen. Alleluia.

Translation from Wikipedia

Lauda Sion Salvatórem
Lauda ducem et pastórem
In hymnis et cánticis.

Quantum potes, tantum aude:
Quia major omni laude,
Nec laudáre síºfficis.

Laudis thema speciális,
Panis vivus et vitális,
Hódie propónitur.

Quem in sacræ mensa cœnæ,
Turbæ fratrum duodénæ
Datum non ambí­gitur.

Sit laus plena, sit sonóra,
Sit jucíºnda, sit decóra
Mentis jubilátio.

Dies enim solémnis ágitur,
In qua mensæ prima recólitur
Hujus institíºtio.

In hac mensa novi Regis,
Novum Pascha novæ legis,
Phase vetus términat.

Vetustátem nóvitas,
Umbram fugat véritas,
Noctem lux elí­minat.

Quod in cœna Christus gessit,
Faciéndum hoc expréssit
In sui memóriam.

Docti sacris institíºtis,
Panem, vinum, in salíºtis
Consecrámus hóstiam.

Dogma datur Christiánis,
Quod in carnem transit panis,
Et vinum in sánguinem.

Quod non capis, quod non vides,
Animósa firmat fides,
Præter rerum ordinem.

Sub divérsis speciébus,
Signis tantum, et non rebus,
Latent res exí­miæ.

Caro cibus, sanguis potus:
Manet tamen Christus totus,
Sub utráque spécie.

A suménte non concí­sus,
Non confráctus, non diví­sus:
Integer accí­pitur.

Sumit unus, sumunt mille:
Quantum isti, tantum ille:
Nec sumptus consíºmitur.

Sumunt boni, sumunt mali:
Sorte tamen inæquáli,
Vitæ vel intéritus.

Mors est malis, vita bonis:
Vide paris sumptiónis
Quam sit dispar éxitus.

Fracto demum Sacraménto,
Ne vací­lles, sed memento,
Tantum esse sub fragménto,
Quantum toto tégitur.

Nulla rei fit scissíºra:
Signi tantum fit fractíºra:
Qua nec status nec statíºra
Signáti miníºitur.

Ecce panis Angelórum,
Factus cibus viatórum:
Vere panis fí­liórum,
Non mittendus cánibus.

In figíºris præsignátur,
Cum Isaac immolátur:
Agnus paschæ deputátur
Datur manna pátribus.

Bone pastor, panis vere,
Jesu, nostri miserére:
Tu nos pasce, nos tuére:
Tu nos bona fac vidére
In terra vivéntium.

Tu, qui cuncta scis et vales:
Qui nos pascis hic mortales:
Tuos ibi commensáles,
Cohærédes et sodales,
Fac sanctórum cí­vium.
Amen. Allelíºja.

Poland - Polish - Polonia, Political, ,

20 years ago today – High Noon – the downfall of communism

ulotki_plakaty_3338190

High Noon – June 4, 1989

ulotki_plakaty_3338171

Do not sleep because it’s time to vote.

Zachowaj, Panie Boże, Ojczyznę naszą.
Która w Tobie, Boże nasz, nadzieję pokłada.

Ześlij, Panie, pomoc z przybytku Twego.
Z nieba wysokiego wesprzyj ją.

Niech nie weźmie nad nią góry nieprzyjaciel.
A duch nieprawości niech jej nie szkodzi.

Niech Bóg sprowadzi pokój i szczęście do domu jej.
I bezpieczeństwo do posiadłości jej.

Panie, wysłuchaj modlitwę moją.
A wołanie nasze niech do Ciebie przyjdzie.

Pan z Wami.
I z duchem Twoim.

Módlmy się: Błagamy Cię Panie, za przyczyną Najświętszej Maryi Panny, Królowej Polski, i wstawiennictwem Świętych Patronów naszych, ochraniaj Rzeczpospolita Polska od wszelkich przeciwności, zachowaj ją od zasadzek nieprzyjaciól oraz błogosław nam i władzom naszym we wszystkich dobrych przedsięwzięciach. Przez Chrystusa Pana naszego. Amen.

Pomoc Boźa niech będzie zawsze z nami. Amen. — From Ojcze Nasz

Translation by Dcn. Jim

Save, O Lord God, our Motherland.
For in You, O God, we have our hope.

Lord, bring Your help from on high.
From on high, aid us.

May the enemy not overtake us.
Nor a spirit of evil harm us.

May God bring peace and happiness to our homeland.
And security to her possessions.

Lord, hear our prayer.
And let our cry come unto you.

The Lord be with you.
And also with you.

Let us pray: Vouchsafe O Lord, through the prayers of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Queen of Poland, and through the intercession of our Patron Saints, protect our Republic of Poland, keep it from enemy ambush and bless us and our authorities in all good works. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

In the Lord is our help, now, and forever and ever. Amen.

Poetry,

May 31 – Let the Holy Spirit unite us by Rev. Piotr Kleszcz

Let the Holy Spirit unite us,
Because everyone is my sister and brother.

Open our hearts to the breath of the Spirit
Would that all the faithful listen to God.

Open our hearts to God’s gifts,
Would that everyone sing to His glory.

Open our hearts to God’s Light,
Would that what is good in us never be extinguished.

Translation by Dcn. Jim

Duch Święty niech jednoczy nas,
Bo każdy człowiek to siostra i brat.

Otwórzmy serca na tchnienie Ducha,
By każdy wiarą mógł Boga posłuchać.

Otwórzmy serca na Boże dary,
By każdy śpiewał dziś dla Jego chwały.

Otwórzmy serca na Boże Światło,
By to co dobre w nas nigdy nie zgasło.

Poetry, , , ,

May 25 – Sir Sinclair by Edvard Storm

Sir Sinclair sail’d from the Scottish ground,
To Norroway o’er he hasted;
On Guldbrand’s rocks his grave he found,
Where his corse in its gore is wasted.

Sir Sinclair sail’d o’er the blue, blue wave,
For Swedish pay he hath sold him,
God help the Scot, for the Norsemen brave
Shall biting the grass behold him.

The moon at night shed pale its light,
The billows are gently swelling;
See a mermaid merge from the briny surge,
To Sir Sinclair evil telling.

“Turn back, turn back, thou bonny Scot:
Thy purpose straight abandon:
To return will not be Sir Sinclair’s lot,
Should Sir Sinclair Norroway land on.”

“A curse on thy strain, thou imp of the main,
Who boding ill art ever!
For what thou dost preach, wert thou in my reach,
Thy limbs I would dissever.”

He sail’d for a day, he sail’d for three,
With all his hired legions;
On the fourth day’s morn Sir Sinclair he
Saw Norroway’s rocky regions.

On Romsdale’s sands he quickly lands,
Himself for a foe declaring;
Him follow’d then twelve hundred men
Such evil intentions bearing.

They vex’d the people, where’er they rov’d,
With pillage and conflagration;
Nor them old age’s feebleness mov’d,
Nor the widow’s lamentation.

The child was slain at the mother’s breast,
Though it smil’d on the murderous savage:
But soon went tidings, east and west,
Of all this wo and ravage.

From neighbour to neighbour the message runs,
On the mountain blaz’d the beacon;
Into lurking-holes crept not the valley’s sons,
As the Scots perchance might reckon.

“The soldiers have follow’d the King to the war,
Ourselves must arm us, brothers!
And he who here his life will spare
Shall be damn’d as a cur by the others.”

The peasants of Vaage, of Laxoe and Lom,
With axes sharp and heavy,
To the gathering at Bredaboig, one and all, come,
On the Scots fierce war to levy.

A pass, which all men Kringe call,
By the foot of the mountain goeth;
The Lauge, wherein the Scots shall fall,
Close, close beside it floweth.

The aged shooters are taking aim,
Each gun has been call’d into duty;
The Naik his wet beard uplifts from the stream,
And with longing expects his booty.

Sir Sinclair fell the first, with a yell
His soul escap’d him for ever,
Each Scot loud cried when his leader died;
“May the Lord-God us deliver!”

“Now fierce on the dogs, ye jolly Norse-men,
To the chine strike down and cleave them!”
Then the Scots would fain be at home again,
Their vaunty spirits leave them.

Filling their craws to their hearts content
‘Midst carnage the ravens wander’d;
The Scottish maids shall long lament
The young blood on the Kringe squander’d.

Not a single man escap’d, not one,
To his landsmen to tell the story;
‘Tis a perilous thing to invade who wone
On Norroway’s mountains hoary.

A pillar still towers on that self-same spot,
Which Norraway’s foes defyeth;
To the Norman wo, whose heart glows not
When he that pillar eyeth.

Translation from Targum – Or Metrical Translations From Thirty Languages And Dialects by George Borrow. Provided under a Project Gutenberg license.

Herr Zinklar drog over salten Hav,
Til Norrig hans Cours monne stande;
Blant Gudbrands Klipper han fant sin Grav,
der vanked sí¥ blodig en Pande.
– Vel op fí¸r Dag,
de kommer vel over den Hede.

Herr Zinklar drog over Bí¸lgen blaa
For Svenske Penge at stride;
Hielpe dig Gud du visselig maa
I Gresset for Nordmanden bide.

Maanen skinner om Natten bleg,
De Vover saa sagtelig trille:
En Havfrue op av Vandet steeg
Hun spaaede Herr Zinklar ilde.

Vend om, vend om, du Skotske Mand!
Det gielder dit Liv saa fage,
Kommer du til Norrig, jeg siger for sand,
Ret aldrig du kommer tilbage.

Leed er din Sang, du giftige Trold!
Altidens du spaaer om Ulykker,
Fanger jeg dig en gang i Vold
Jeg lader dig hugge i Stykker.

Han seiled i Dage, han seiled i tre
Med alt sit hyrede Fí¸lge,
Den fierde Morgen han Norrig mon see,
Jeg vil det ikke fordí¸lge.

Ved Romsdals Kyster han styred til Land
Erklærede sig for en Fiende;
Ham fulgte fiorten hundrede Mand
Som alle havde ondt i Sinde.

De skiendte og brændte hvor de drog frem,
Al Folket monne de krænke,
Oldingens Afmakt rí¸rte ei dem,
De spottet den grædende Enke.

Barnet blev dræbt i Moderens Skií¸d,
Saa mildelig det end smiled;
Men Rygtet om denne Jammer og Ní¸d
Til Kiernen af Landet iled.

Baunen lyste og Budstikken lí¸b
Fra Grande til nærmeste Grande,
Dalens sí¸nner i skjiul ei krí¸b
Det mí¥tte Hr. Zinklar sande.

Soldaten er ude paa Kongens Tog,
Vi maae selv Landet forsvare;
Forbandet være det Niddings Drog,
Som nu sit Blod vil spare!

De Bí¸nder av Vaage, Lessí¸e og Lom,
Med skarpe í˜xer paa Nakke
I Bredebí¸igd til sammen kom,
Med Skotten vilde de snakke.

Tæt under Lide der lí¸ber en Stie,
Som man monne Kringen kalde,
Laugen skynder sig der forbi,
I den skal Fienderne falde.

Riflen hænger ei meer paa Væg,
Hist sigter graahærdede Skytte,
Ní¸kken oplí¸fter sit vaade Skiæg,
Og venter med Længsel sit Bytte.

Det fí¸rste Skud Hr. Zinklar gialdt,
Han brí¸led og opgav sin Aande;
Hver Skotte raabte, da Obersten faldt:
Gud frie os af denne Vaande!

Frem Bí¸nder! Frem I Norske Mænd!
Slaa ned, slaa ned for Fode!
Da í¸nsked sig Skotten hjem igien,
Han var ei ret lystig til Mode.

Med dí¸de Kroppe blev Kringen strí¸ed,
De Ravne fik nok at æde;
Det Ungdoms Blod, som her udflí¸d,
De Skotske Piger begræde.

Ei nogen levende Siel kom hjem,
Som kunde sin Landsmand fortælle,
Hvor farligt det er at besí¸ge dem
Der boe blandt Norriges Fielde.

End kneiser en Stí¸tte pí¥ samme Sted,
Som Norges Uvennner mon true.
Vee hver en Nordmand, som ei bliver heed,
Saa tit hans í˜ine den skue!

Poetry,

May 24 – A Prayer by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov

Faithful before thee, Mother of God, now kneeling,
Image miraculous and merciful — of thee
Not for my soul’s health nor battles waged, beseeching,
Nor yet with thanks or penitence o’erwhelming me!

Not for myself,– my heart with guilt o’erflowing —
Who in my home land e’er a stranger has remained,
No, a sinless child upon thy mercy throwing,
That thou protect her innocence unstained!

Worthy the highest bliss, with happiness O bless her!
Grant her a friend to stand unchanging at her side,
A youth of sunshine and an old age tranquil,
A spirit where together peace and hope abide.

Then, when strikes the hour her way from earth for wending,
Let her heart break at dawning or at dead of night —
From out thy highest heaven thy fairest angel sending
The fairest of all souls sustain in heavenward flight!

Russian Lyrics: Songs of Cossack, Lover, Patriot, and Peasant by Martha Dickinson Bianchi

Я, матерь божия, ныне с молитвою
Пред твоим образом, ярким сиянием,
Не о спасении, не перед битвою,
Не с благодарностью иль покаянием,

Не за свою молю душу пустынную,
За душу странника в мире безродного;
Но я вручить хочу деву невинную
Теплой заступнице мира холодного.

Окружи счастием душу достойную;
Дай ей сопутников, полных внимания,
Молодость светлую, старость покойную,
Сердцу незлобному мир упования.

Срок ли приблизится часу прощальному
Ð’ утро ли шумное, в ночь ли безгласную –
Ты восприять пошли к ложу печальному
Лучшего ангела душу прекрасную.

Poland - Polish - Polonia, , , , , , , , ,

Polonian events in New York’s Capital Region

Parish Festival

St. Michael’s Parish Festival, 20 Page Ave, Cohoes, NY

Polish American Food, Games & Rides, Freckles’ the Clown, Children’s Activities, Vegas Games of Chance, Raffle, Chinese Auction, Dancing to the Rymanowski Brothers Orchestra and Tony’s Polka Band, Polish & American Craft Vendors, and Dance Groups

Friday, May 29th, 5pm-10pm
Saturday, May 30th, Noon – 10pm
Sunday, May 31st, Noon – 6pm

For more information please call 518-785-9002.

Screening of Andrzej Wajda’s Katyn

At Proctors Theater in Schenectady, Friday, May 22, 2009 at 2:30pm, 5:10pm & 7:45pm

This Oscar nominated film follows the story of four Polish families whose lives are torn apart when, at the outset of WWII, a great number of Polish soldiers fall into the hands of Soviet troops and later brutally become victims of Stalinism along with citizens in the Katyn forest in 1940.

This war drama is not rated. This film is in Polish, Russian and German with English subtitles. This film has a total running time of 121 minutes. Tickets are $6.