Non omnis moriar, “Not all of me will die,” .....

[dajan.jr]

(Non omnis moriar, “Not all of me will die,” are the opening words of
Horace, ... Non omnis moriar may have been written in 1942 after she was
denounced ......
Non omnis moriar. My grand estate—
Tablecloth meadows, invincible wardrobe castles,
Acres of bedsheets, finely woven linens,
And dresses, colorful dresses—will survive me.
I leave no heirs.
So let your hands rummage through Jewish things,
You woman of Chomino, you from Lvov, you mother of a Volksdeutscher.
May these things be useful to you and yours,
For you are near and dear to me; no lute playing, no empty words.
I am thinking of you, as you, when the Gestapo underlings came,
Thought of me, in fact reminded them about me.
So let my friends break out holiday goblets,
Celebrate my wake and their wealth:
Kilims and tapestries, bowls, candlesticks.
Let them drink all night and at daybreak
Begin their search for gemstones and gold
In sofas, mattresses, blankets and rugs.
Oh how the work will burn in their hands!
Clumps of horsehair, bunches of sea hay,
Clouds of fresh down from pillows and quilts,
Glued on by my blood, will turn their arms into wings,
Transfigure the birds of prey into angels.

Zuzanna Ginczanka

[drf]

Polish poet Zuzanna Ginczanka was born in Lvov in 1917. She published her first
poems while still in school. At age eighteen she moved to Warsaw, where she
continued to publish and was active in literary circles. Non omnis moriar may
have been written in 1942 after she was denounced and arrested, then released.
In 1944, while living in Crakow, she was again denounced, arrested, and
executed. To the best of our knowledge, this is the first English translation of
this poem.




www.bu.edu/agni/poetry/online/2006/kassell.html

?

[pozarski]

Ja nie lubie polskich poetow przebranych za Zydow.To juz wole zydowskiego
poete,ktory nie musi sie ubierac w cudze slowa.Np:
"I am a solitary man,not a democracy.
The executive,the amatory and the judicial arms in one body.
The hating power and the hurting power
the blind power and the dumb power.
I wasn't elected.I am a demonstration.I raise
my face like a placard.Everything is written there.Everything.
Please,ther's no need to use tear gas,
I'm weeping already.There's no need to disperse me.
I'm dispersed.
The dead are also demonstration.
When I visit my father's grave,I see
the tombstones raised by dust below:
They're a large demonstration."