Quote: "Poland"
From book by James A. Michener
"Though the Poles were doomed to live in the battlegrounds of Eastern Europe and to fight in many historic conflicts, they were as robust and zestful in the pursuit of pleasure and grandeur as they were valiant in warfare. And no invader has ever conquered the heart of Poland, that spirit which is the inheritance of sons and daughters, the private passion of families and the ancient, unbreakable tie to all those who came before..."
Verse: "Strangers In The Box"
by Pam Harazim
Strangers in the box
Come, look with me inside this drawer,
In this box I've often seen,
At the pictures, black and white,
Faces proud, still, and serene.
I wish I knew the people,
These strangers in the box,
Their names and all their memories,
Are lost among my socks.
I wonder what their lives were like,
How did they spend their days?
What about their special times?
I'll never know their ways.
If only someone had taken time,
To tell, who, what, where, and when,
These faces of my heritage,
Would come to life again.
Could this become the fate,
Of the pictures we take today?
The faces and the memories,
Someday to be passed away?
Take time to save your stories,
Seize the opportunity when it knocks,
Or someday you and yours,
Could be strangers in the box.
Poem by Krzysztof Koehler
Bound ever more tightly
to fate, like a train
dragging along underneath
a falling sky.
Snow, fog, greyish
slabs of frozen
ponds, the dismal
movement of waters,
through valleys, through
mounting sheafs of mists
over roofs;
In a prison echoed out
by a voice. A song of thanksgiving.
On the homestead of unending liberty.
In Poland. Here and now.
Source: The Sarmation Review Poems by Krzysztof Koehler. Translated by W. Martin. (visit for more works of poet)
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Poem: "Pilgrim"
by Adam Mickiewicz (1798-1855)
THE PILGRIM
A rich and lovely country wide unrolled,
A fair face by me, heavens where white clouds sail,
Why does my heart forever still bewail
Far-distant lands, more distant days of old?
Litwa! your roaring forests sang more bold
Than Salhir maid, Baydary nightingale;
Id'rather walk your marshes than this vale
Of mulberries, and pineapples of gold.
Here are new pleasures, and I am so far!
Why must I always sigh distractedly
For her I loved when first my morning star
Arose? In that dear house I may not see,
Where yet the tokens of her lover are,
Does she still walk my ways and think of me?
Poem: "Kazimierz"
by S.L. Shneiderman(Kuzmir in Polish is consider Kazimierz)
Kuzmir, old Polish soil
On which Mitskevitch once walked.
You, royal corner, full of dreams and full of pride.
I am your poet!
I, the Jew
Who grew up with wild honey-cakes
In your impoverished palaces
I sing to you, you wonderful shtetl
My first songs
In honest simple Yiddish.
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