And you know what, today I looked at him terribly unfavorably. Krela was indeed right when she said he was vulgar—I could die of embarrassment. But Norka made it all disappear, she presented it somewhat humorously and gently and as a result one could be sympathetic. Good, dear Nora, it’s so nice of her. I’m curious about the photo and what he says. I’m sure we look like Antek and Margośka.* You will help me, Buluś and God.
MARCH 19, 1942, THURSDAY
Sweet Thursday, which tastes of kisses and tears! I have expressed my worries and now I feel better. And Zyguś was also so good and loving. But something still bothers me. I don’t know what it is. Some conversations leave me with an unpleasant feeling. But I still love him very, very much, even though I don’t find him as beautiful as I used to. I like this tender atmosphere, full of caresses, warmth—I would give everything for it. Yes, my Dear Mama, I long for, I crave what I didn’t have, because you were far away. You will help me, Buluś and God. Good night …
MARCH 21, 1942, SATURDAY
Irka is supposed to come. It’s all trifling; she is meanness incarnate. Mila called it as it is …
But today’s a special day for me, because Norka … I tremble with curiosity and contentment. Finally, phew! I can breathe now.
I am so very sorry
for spring, for love, for myself
I’d like to drown in sky expanses
in blueness, following my gaze
or into the unknown take my chances
I feel so lonely, oh so poorly
I know that by all I’m forgone
I struggle in my helplessness, sincerely
my heart’ll stay here even when I’m gone
I will do nothing, my dear madam
’cause I can’t fight against myself
though I do know, though I do want
though I push for it, I say it myself
Stay, I’m dying with you
I know this is not true
Mock me, why don’t you?
I will not die, I’m not in line
I’ll keep on living, I’m not yet due.
I’ll finish later.
* * *
We’ve won. Or rather Nora has won. She pushed for it and today it (didn’t happen) but manifested itself. We felt we had each other and that we have them.
Julek went with Nora, Zygmunt stayed with me. She was somewhat deflated, disappointed and lonely. I could see she wanted to make me jealous and then show me pity (like she once did), but she trapped herself. To a large extent it was Zygmunt’s doing. I was so grateful to him for it. I could kiss him to death. Zyguśka, I feel such an urge now that I haven’t felt for a long time. By the way you were in a bad mood.
The best thing is that now I feel sorry for Irka, I’m torn with regrets when I think about her almost crying when she was leaving. I’m very, very sorry, but it has to be that way, such is life. If she went away smiling, I would be the one crying now. Buluś, now you can laugh. Bye, I’m sending kisses to you … and not to you. You will help me, Buluś and God.
MARCH 23, 1942, MONDAY
Thank You, Lord! Many thanks that I’m not alone now, hungry and locked away in prison, but at home with my dear ones—that I can appreciate. I can still remember the face in the helmet and again I’m terribly scared, so terribly scared like I was then and I badly want to cry. It was really a miracle, an extraordinary miracle—thank You, God Almighty and my Dear Mama who prays for me somewhere far away. Compared to this, everything else is trivial and pale, a walk, kisses, photos. So what that Z, so what that I was worried that I didn’t like him anymore, that he seemed ridiculous, that in my thoughts I turned his face in my hands. But that’s not even funny, how can I even say that, what a terrible cow? In the face of his tenderness I have forced myself to get over it somehow and then I didn’t need to force myself at all, which was the best. I’m glad today is over … and it’s a pity too. Because I crave something again. You will help me, Buluś and God.
MARCH 25, 1942, WEDNESDAY
It’s so ironic. They are closing our quarter (I won’t be able to see Norka); they are moving people out of town; there are persecutions, unlawfulness. And on top of that—there’s spring, kisses, sweet caresses, which make me forget about the whole world. Bye. You will help me, Buluś and God.
MARCH 28, 1942
Somebody stays at home, because they must. Somebody has a mirror on the desk and looks into it and can see that they gained weight. Thoughts rush through somebody’s head like water through a mill wheel. I’ve been interrupted and haven’t finished, bye. You will help me, Buluś and God.
THE FOLLOWING DAY
It’s a pity I didn’t write yesterday. Spring longing engulfed me yesterday. Zyguś is so good to me, so tender, so affectionate—like never before. Even in company I feel good about it, i.e., I have felt good about it, it’s not the case anymore, no, it isn’t. I simply can’t stand all those “hunters.” There are plenty of them; I’m surrounded as if I were in a cage. Some try their openness and honesty, others bad-mouth me behind my back, others still try through a brother or a cousin, still others … eh, it’s not worth writing about.
Shame we didn’t take any photos. Did you know? And what did you think? Nasty world. No, not the world, just our little world. And anyway why is Z. telling me all this, it seriously puts me off our relationship and at the same time gives me a kick, I start “feeling” that I am on earth. “If the sun only shines for the bourgeoisie, we will put the sun out.”* That’s right! Yes, yes, this is what I’ve learned.
Julek disgusts me. I feel bad about not telling Nora, but I can’t. She seems so happy, so self-contented. How could I destroy it with one word?! No, I won’t do it, I can’t. And anyway nobody is perfect. Nobody. I don’t even know what is better. But when Z was telling me this, I was glad; I was glad that he exists at all, that we exist, and our miss.* I felt that what we had was somewhat bigger than what she had. That Z is more permanent. But nothing’s certain. Nothing at all. I’m going through a strange period, I want to write poems and I can’t—I really don’t have the energy.
Hello, listen, hi
you funny passersby
you dreamers, rhymists
and incurable fantasists
walking the earth
always looking up
what do you search for
among the stars high up?
Who do you sigh to
on a silver moonlit night?
There is life down here
It rumbles ahead with might
it bubbles over, boils, brews
First the wave needs to be pacified
You must not follow paths untrue
on the map of the endless sky, its guide
Stop staring at expanses
with your daydreaming eyes
unless you want to take your chances
be jostled and well chastised
Gather your powers don’t think twice
look what’s here, take a look around you
or else you’ll pay the price
and plenty of bruises will come through!
Yes, that is true, but it’s so nice among the clouds and so ugly down on the earth—there is no point in it. Now for something for the club, a little gossip.
D’you want to?
We will climb the mountains
I used to say, “I do”
But now I ask you
D’you want to? Can you?
You crave it? Know it?
That is all my affection
It’s just one big question.
Do you know …
Yes, yes, our affection
is another question
What do you want?
Yes, yes, our affection
is really a question.
How dare you!
I will ponder on things in bed. You will help me, Buluś and God.
APRIL 7, 1942, TUESDAY
That’s that … We fell out and … I’ve decided to stay ang
ry. But Norka came to persuade me. And she did. I’m easily persuaded. And in fact I’m happy that Norka talked to Zygu. I’ve wished for it for a long time. I’m also glad she is coming to the picnic tomorrow and that she loves her Julek, that she’s going through this spring with such a “flourish.” I keep thinking of my spring last year. Let Noreńka be happy, she deserves it. Everybody needs to experience the first spring. Our “springs” are so similar, just like the two of us are. But there is also a different “something,” as you know.
I’ll fight Irka with … every available weapon. I had this silly, indifferent feeling and now—it doesn’t matter … You will help me, Buluś and God.
APRIL 9, 1942, THURSDAY22
All’s well already, all’s well. Things are good … and that’s good. My adorable, adorable Zyguś! My dear, dear Nora! I’m so glad you got to know each other. Zyguś, your soul is as delicate as a sprig of mimosa. It dwindles with every gust of wind. It dies. I’ll never be different. I’ll always be a dreamer and that is that. I still soar high, I still live in the realm of dreams. Buluś, today, even though I don’t love you any less, I have a grievance, and it is not the first time. I feel so good with him now, I would like to cling to him, hold him tight and … already. Mine, mine, only mine! Good, better than me. Bye, Zyguś … You will help me, Buluś and God.
APRIL 10, 1942, FRIDAY
This morning I thought a lot about our yesterday’s conversation. The sun was so bright and (it seemed) loving. I sensed the spring and I can tell that this was my first proper spring day. Today I wasn’t annoyed with “couples”; actually it’s been like that for a few days now. Today even kissing couples could evoke only friendly and warm feelings. But even today, yes, still, in the morning, I was planning to go far away, high up, deep inside and, as I’ve planned for a while, I wanted to take Zygmunt with me. I think the beginning went like this:
What do you say? Give me your hand
Let’s go away, let’s leave this land
Yes, this was the beginning for sure, I wrote it down exactly as it was, but later I gave up on it, I wanted to travel on my own, but then I thought we were walking together. Something like that came out of this jumble of thoughts:
I ride on each dragonfly
I gallop on the bright sunrays
I climb every cloud that goes by
I make circles all day.
The old wind knows me well
It warmly shakes my hand
And asks, “Are we going, pray, tell,
my fare dodger, oh so grand?
“Where to?” A snowdrop wants to know
which grows by the big bush of blackthorn
“Far, my friend, so far I want to go
where the sky kisses the earth at morn.”
Worldly news won’t catch me there
Even if they speed like light
But if you want to track my flight
Look for me, but there, not here!
Yes, but that’s not all. In the morning I felt this rush, I wanted to write a poem made of pure absurdities.
Everything is twisted
Everything is wrong!
The earth is too slow unassisted
Giving birth to days too short
The sun creeps in too quickly
Into the sunset’s dying might
The moon is looking sickly
Against stars in the sky so bright
Silence is too loud
Distance is too near
Spring unusually dowdy
sorrow is too drear …
But if you want …
we will get the world going
we’ll move the sun to the sky’s crust
the moon will be glowing
If you want, then you simply must!
The hum of silence must be quelled
Close distances—pushed away
Spring must be less dowdy, sorrows curtailed
No, let’s get rid of the sorrows, if we may!
I’ve finished and I feel good! Today Z solved me like you solve a riddle. It’s true that I run away from this world only because I’m not in a good frame of mind. He said that this is not a regular romanticism, but it’s more something like symbolism. This is the escape from the oppressive life, which I don’t know how to enjoy, which I don’t love. He was terrified that this might be quite abnormal and that I might drag him with me. Yes, he is right, 100 percent right (as usual), because I wanted to do it. But now I see that I had no right, that I must not do it! I can’t hijack a person who passionately loves life, who knows how to seize it and lets life seize him, just because I feel bad here. No, I don’t feel bad, I feel unwell. Yes, he needs to stay here, play, have fun and … nothing. And I? I’ll try to fall in love with life, with the “earthly” spring and people. Falling in love with life is my new task. Adjusting to its requirements, becoming a regular romantic (if I must) to a high degree. The other option is what I thought of so many times, shedding all those dreams, never writing poems again, never analyzing anything—and instead becoming a regular “earthly” 17-year-old girl, learning to dance, going to parties, enjoying it and everything else. Becoming like, you know … like Rena, but this other one, like I wrote. Then there would be no issue of developing a complex; I wouldn’t even know that something like it exists and I’d ask, “What’s that?” I know it’d be good, but that means dying and being reborn. Perhaps I can become the first one. I’ll try, anyway.
Anyhow I’m full of good intentions and cordiality, I reach out. Let’s see how the world receives me, no, not the world, our little world. But let me admit here that I’m only doing it under Zygmunt’s influence and because of him; otherwise I’d never do that. Aha! Just in case I wanted to defect (it might happen), just look at me, Zygu, like you did today and … all will be well. See you soon.
Until spring betrays you
until it gives you pain
until false thoughts hurt you
get some hugs while you can.
Until you buckle under
the heavy weight of the moments, years
laugh out loudly, don’t ponder
love the world, give it cheers.
7:30 A.M.
You will help me, Buluś and God.
APRIL 11, 1942, SATURDAY
I’ve missed Zygu, I’ve missed him so much. All night long I kept thinking about it and the day seemed to go on forever. All day long I waited to see him. I was as excited as I haven’t been for a while. And I was in such bad luck! I barely had him to myself for a moment. But I’m very contented, very happy! Zyguś, darling, you were so, so sweet and good, I was really touched. I can appreciate your behavior. My dear, good, wonderful boy! I’d like you to always be like that. That would make me happy. And what I’d like the most in the world is to have you by me now. I’d like to be with you, because this is no relaxation, it’s a torment of waiting and longing, but! I’ll just imagine in detail that we are together! Yes! Help me, Buluś and God.
APRIL 13, 1942, MONDAY
A sweet day. There were parcels from Mama, and in those parcels there was candy, sweet candy. But … It wasn’t the only reason it was sweet. Somebody’s lips were much sweeter. Whose? You can figure it out. I don’t feel like writing it, what for? I would spoil “it” with words. “It” needs to be experienced to be understood. You can envy me, all of you who have never experienced spring, the second one with a subtle fragrance of April fields or love so hot, though earthly, which sometimes travels across my skin like shivers. Ah. You will help me, Buluś and God!
APRIL 16, 1942
The wind catches my every word
I command it to carry them across
This is my song, my response
My spring mating song!
I shout, I gush
taking air into my lungs
this chuckling rush
Listen to the wind when it comes
Listen to the hum, the chirp, the w
hisper
I call you, Mum, I summon
It’s a cheerful call, the song’s my whimper
It’ll land by your feet, Mama
It might’ve seen blood on its way
It might’ve been scared by some graves
It might’ve met a cloud of gray agony
Or maybe hot tears in waves
And now any sound it doesn’t deliver
It is pale, it curls up and shivers.
It was dawn
fragrant and vivid
in the orchard
wind
shook blooms
off the trees
We just sat there
daydreaming, in oblivion
forgetting the world that looms
Sweet gazes
and sweet verses
(d’you remember my blushing face?)
so very shy and cautious
the first ones, the very first
I loved, I dreamed, I longed.
All was quiet, bright and fresh
snow of apple blossom on the ground
we just sat there in the flesh
pale with happiness
white with flowers.
Sun took mercy on us
and covered us with dew
Not true, that didn’t happen!
But it might happen anew.
You will help me, Buluś and God.
APRIL 20, 1942, MONDAY
Today is the Führer’s birthday. And more. I want to scream with all my might. And I keep thinking of the words, “vodka is cold and lips are hot!”* And … No, I can’t say this; Zyguś is right, can you express just how much? No, there are no words to describe it.
How can you be in love for 18 months? What an idiotic question! Only now you can really love. I am … Well, I lost my mind, I think. But no, everything is real, pulsating, seething with life and love and youth. I feel as though I were riding a chariot or racing into the wind and rain. And about Zygu, about my most wonderful one in the world, I can’t write. I can’t catch my breath, I can’t find words. I might dissolve in my own tenderness, my affection. Today I was really ready to strangle him, but what would I do then? Zyguśka, I’m really writing this for you and you only! I’ve opened my heart to you and you’re so very dear to me! I’m happy, happy and light and … Dreams! Stupid, mad, wonderful dreams! Everything.