Edward Stachura – the Polish Poet

Rebel, vagabond, and one of the most well-known and sensitive Polish poets died tragically 30 years ago.  Poetry festivals throughout Poland this year are dedicated to him.

Edward Stachura, known as “Sted”, was an idol to rebellious youth in the 80’s and 90’s.  Most young people are familiar with Stachura through the musical adaptations of his poems by Polish folk-rock group Stare Dobre Malzenstwo ( Good Old Marriage).

Edward Stachura was born in 1937 to a Polish family of immigrants in France.  In 1956 he completed high school in Gdynia.  That same year he published his first poems in the bi-weekly publication “Kontrasty” (“Contrasts”).  From 1957 to 1960 he studied Philology at the Lublin Catholic University, then later until 1956 at Warsaw University.  During an annual trip to Mexico he studied literature at the National Mexican University.

He traveled often and visited Yugoslavia, the Middle East, Norway, Switzerland, France, USA, Canada, and Mexico, among others.  Stachura’s wife was writer Zyta Anna Bartkowska, who wrote under the pseudonym Zyta Oryszyn.  They divorced in 1972.

Stachura and his poetry are marked by extreme sensitivity and the complete unveiling of feelings.  April 1979 his vulnerability resulted in his thrusting himself under a train.  He survived, yet lost four fingers on his right hand.  He bid farewell to the world with the work “Letter to Those Who Remain”, which was written with his weaker left hand.  Shortly after, he committed suicide in his own home on Rebkowski Street in Warsaw.

Considered his most important works are “Duzo ognia” (“Much Fire”), “Przystepuje do ciebie” (“I Approach You”), “Po ogrodzie niech hula szarancza” (”Let the Locust Run Wild Through The Garden”), “Cala jaskrawosc”  (“Entire Vividness”), “Piosenki” (“Songs”), “Missa pagana” (Pagan Mass”), Fabula Rasa”, “Duzo ognia I tak dalej” (“Much Fire and So Forth”), “Sie” (“Oneself”), “Siekierezada albo zima lesnych ludzi” (“Hatchet or Winter of Forest People”), and “Wszystko jest poezja.  Opowiesc – rzeka” (“Everything is Poetry.  A Short Story – River”).

Below is the text (both Polish and the English translation) of the poem, “Z nim bedziesz szczesliwsza” (“With Him You Will Be Happier”), and its musical adaptation by the group Stare Dobre Malzenstwo.

Z NIM BEDZIESZ SZCZESLIWSZA

Zrozum to, co powiem,
Spobuj to zrozumiec dobrze
Jak zyczenia najlepsze, te urodzinowe
Albo noworoczne, jeszcze lepsze moze
O polnocy gdy skladane
Drzacym glosem, nieklamane

Z nim bedziesz szczesliwsza,
Duzo szczesliwsza bedziesz z nim.
Ja, coz -
Wloczega, niespokojny duch,
Ze mna mozna tylko
Pojsc na wrzosowisko
I zapomniec wszystko
Jaka epoka, jaki wiek,
Jaki rok, jaki miesiac, jaki dzien
I jaka godzina
Konczy sie,
A jaka zaczyna.

Nie mysl, ze nie kocham
Lub ze tylko troche kocham
Jak cie kocham, nie powiem, no bo nie wypowiem -
Tak ogromnie bardzo, jeszcze wiecej moze
I dlatego wlasnie zegnaj,
Zrozum dobrze, zegnaj, zegnaj

Z nim bedziesz szczesliwsza ,
Duzo szczesliwsza bedziesz z nim.
Ja, coz -
Wloczega, niespokojny duch
Ze mna mozna tylko
Pojsc na wrzosowisko
I zapomniec wszystko
Jaka epoka, jaki wiek,
Jaki rok, jaki miesiac, jaki dzien
I jaka godzina
Konczy sie,
A jaka zaczyna

Ze mna mozna tylko
W dali znikac cicho

WITH HIM YOU WILL BE HAPPIER

Understand that, what I say
Try to understand well
Like best wishes, birthday
Or New Year’s, even better yet
At midnight when said
With a shivering voice, unfeigned

With him you will be happier,
Much happier you will be with him.
I, well -
A wanderer, a disturbed soul,
With me you can only
Go to the heath
And forget everything
Which era, which age,
Which year, which month, which day
And which hour
It ends,
And begins.

Don’t think I don’t love
Or that I love just a little
How I love you, I won’t say, well, because I won’t express -
So very much, even more perhaps
And because exactly of this say goodbye,
Understand well, say goodbye, say goodbye

With him you will be happier,
Much happier you will be with him.
I, well -
A wanderer, a disturbed soul
With me you can only
Go to the heath
And forget everything
Which era, which age,
Which year, which month, which day
And which hour
It ends,
And begins

With me you can only
Vanish quietly in the distance