Ewa Demarczyk - Wiersze wojenne - War poems

Words to this song are a compilation of poems by great Polish poet, Krzysztof Kamil Baczyński (that's the one appearing in 2:09), who participated in Warsaw Uprising, and died 4th August 1944. And here's my totally amateurish translation of this song, I hope there are not that many mistakes and it's rather comprehensible. But remember, this is poetry, it's impossible to transfer everything ideally ;) (every comment would be welcomed;) War poems I will open you a golden heaven in which - white thread of silence, like a huge nut of sounds, which will crack to live on green leaflets, on warble of lakes, on playing of twilight till the birdlike whistle shows the milky core. only take out from my eyes painful shard -- picture of days, which's rolling the white skulls through the burning meads of blood. only change this crippled time, cover graves with coat of river, wipe the battle dust of hair the black dust of wrathful days. who will give me back my reverie and this shadow, which's walked away behind you? oh, those days, growling like animals, like plants - they are younger and younger and shortly now - so little, standing on the nutshell, we will drift against the seasons, like against the water vains and verging alternately to water we will drift carelessly into oblivion, and only our shadows, left on the earth, will cry I'll transform for you rough ground into fluent flight of soft sow-thistles, I'll lead shadows, tighting like a cat, out from things. twinkling with the pelage, they will furl everything into colors of the storms, into hearts of leafs, into grey tangle of rains only take out from my eyes painful shard -- picture of days, which is rolling the white skulls through the burning meads of blood. only change this crippled time, cover graves with coat of river, wipe the battle dust of hair the black dust of wrathful days With long, curling ribbon, warm voice is cooling in the air, till it attains him in dusk, and he will hear a whisper near his mouth 'Darling' - the song hums and coils his head, rings like trail of soft hair, and lilies smells from it so strong, that he, leaning over the death, he locks his fingers on gun, and stands up, and still, black of the battle dust, he still feels violin playing in him silently, so he walks carefully, slowly, like on the thread of light, through soughing sea of dusk, and the softness of white clouds is closer and closer till the space completes, and he feels the soft voice standing within his grasp, in terrific silence 'Darling' - the song soughs, and so then arms will hug Forest grows in the night. Abyss opens extreme mouth, it absorbs and sucks. They passed, they mawed; only reek is squeezing, and high scream in mist, in mist only take out from my eyes painful shard -- picture of days, which is rolling the white skulls through the burning meads of blood. only change this crippled time, cover graves with coat of river, wipe the battle dust of hair the black dust of wrathful days (wszelkie uwagi do tłumaczenia mile widziane;)